The world was grey at six in the morning. A thick mist rolled off the distant canals of Silvershade City, clinging to the cobblestones like a damp shroud.
Bill sat on the edge of his bed, his good eye tracing the silhouette of his sleeping wife, Sarah. She breathed in a soft, rhythmic cadence, her chest rising and falling with a peace he envied. Beside the main bed, in a small trundle, the triplets were a tangle of limbs and blankets.
He moved like a ghost. Years of hunting in the Spirit Forests had taught him how to displace his weight so that floorboards didn't creak. He pulled on his trousers, his shirt, and finally, the leather eyepatch. The fabric against the healing wound was a constant, itchy reminder of his failure.
Kael is dead because you were slow, the voice in his head whispered. It sounded like his own voice, but colder. And now you leave your warm bed while he lies in cold earth.
He shook his head, trying to dislodge the thought. He grabbed his satchel and slipped out the back door.
The morning market was just waking up. Farmers from the outlying villages were setting up stalls, their breath misting in the chill air. The smell of raw earth, wet vegetables, and butchered meat filled the square.
Bill moved with a purpose that bordered on desperation. He went to the grain merchant first.
"Fifty pounds of white rice," Bill said, his voice gravelly. "High quality."
The merchant, a man with a heavy mustache and a Sickle spirit, looked up. He recognized the uniform of the academy teacher, then his eyes snagged on the eyepatch. "Teacher Bill? Heavens, that looks… fresh."
"Just the rice, please," Bill said, placing two Silver Soul Coins on the counter. It was expensive, enough to feed a family for a month, but he didn't haggle.
Next was the butcher. He bought five pounds of Spirit Boar meat. It was tough, but rich in energy—essential for growing children and grieving widows who forgot to eat.
Laden with the heavy sacks, Bill walked towards the eastern district. This was where Kael had lived. It was a neighborhood of small, identical stone houses, built for the lower-middle class of Soul Masters.
As he approached the familiar green door, his steps faltered. The house looked the same as it had a week ago, yet entirely different. The flower boxes in the window were wilting. The curtains were drawn tight, blocking out the dawn.
Bill stood on the porch for a long minute, his heart hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird. He shifted the heavy sack of rice to his left shoulder, wincing as the strap dug into his muscle, and knocked.
Three sharp raps.
Silence.
He knocked again. "Jenny? It's Bill."
A shuffling sound came from inside. The lock clicked, and the door creaked open a few inches.
A pale face peered out. Jenny.
She was ten years younger than Bill, a woman who usually radiated warmth and hospitality. She had a bright smile and always smelled of lavender soap. The woman staring at him now was a stranger. Her blonde hair was a matted bird's nest. Her eyes were sunken, rimmed with red so dark it looked like bruising. She wore a stained nightgown, shivering in the morning chill.
"Bill?" Her voice was a cracked whisper.
"I… I brought some things," Bill stammered, holding up the meat. "For the pantry."
Jenny stared at him, her eyes wide and glassy. For a second, he thought she didn't recognize him. Then, her face crumbled.
"I thought you wouldn't come," she sobbed, throwing the door wide open. "I thought everyone would forget us now that he's gone."
She threw herself at him. Bill dropped the meat, catching her just before she collapsed. She was frighteningly thin. She buried her face in his shoulder, her tears soaking through his tunic instantly.
"I'm here, Jenny. I'm here," Bill murmured, patting her back awkwardly. He felt a profound sense of intrusion, yet he couldn't push her away. "I won't forget. I promise."
He guided her inside, kicking the door shut with his heel.
The interior of the house hit him with a wave of stale air. It smelled of unwashed bodies and old food. The living room was a disaster zone—toys scattered everywhere, a shattered vase in the corner that no one had swept up, and a cold fireplace filled with grey ash.
Kael had been meticulous. He loved order. Seeing his castle in ruins was almost as painful as seeing his grave.
"Sit," Bill said gently, guiding her to the sofa. He moved to the kitchen, trying to ignore the mounting panic in his chest.
The cupboards were bare. A few crusts of bread, a jar of moldy jam.
They haven't eaten properly in days, he realized with a jolt of horror. The Funeral cost everything they had on hand, and without Kael's income…
Rage flared in him. Rage at the world, rage at the academy for not sending support sooner, rage at himself for waiting three days while he licked his own wounds.
He set to work. He filled the pantry with the rice. He cut the meat, storing most of it in the ice-box (powered by a simple cooling array) and putting some in a pot to stew. He moved methodically, the mundane tasks grounding him.
When he returned to the living room, Jenny was still sitting there, staring at a picture of Kael on the mantle. She was trembling.
"The funeral was yesterday," she whispered. "Hardly anyone came. The Director sent flowers. But… Kael always said he had so many friends."
"People are afraid of death, Jenny," Bill said softly, sitting on the coffee table in front of her so he could look her in the eye. "It reminds them of their own mortality. It's cowardice, nothing more."
She looked at him then, really looked at him. She reached out, her cold fingers tracing the edge of his eyepatch.
"You were there," she said. "You saw him die."
"I did."
"Did he… did he suffer?"
The lie tasted like ash on his tongue, but it was a necessary mercy. "No. It was instant. He saved my life, Jenny. He pushed me out of the way. He died a hero."
A sob ripped through her throat. "I don't want a hero. I want my husband. I want the father of my children."
She slid off the sofa, falling to her knees between his legs, clutching his waist. Her grief was a physical force, a hurricane that threatened to pull the house down.
"I'm so scared, Bill," she wept. "I'm a Level 15 Spirit Master. My spirit is a Needle. I can't fight. I can't hunt. How do I feed Lucas and Mia? The landlord will come next week. The city is getting dangerous. Without a man… without protection…"
Bill gripped her shoulders. "I will take care of it. I'm telling you, Jenny, as long as I breathe, you and the kids won't starve. I swear it on my Martial Soul."
She looked up at him, her face streaked with tears, her eyes searching his single hazel orb for truth. In that moment, something shifted in the air. The desperation in her eyes morphed into something frantic, a need for connection that went beyond reassurance.
She needed to feel alive. She needed to know that death hadn't taken everything.
"Bill," she breathed, and before he could react, she surged upward.
Her lips crashed against his. It wasn't a kiss of romance; it was a kiss of panic. It tasted of salt and desperation.
Bill froze. His hands hovered in the air, uncertain. Every moral fiber in his body screamed Wrong. Stop. She is your best friend's wife.
But another part of him—the part that had stared into the many eyes of the Man-Faced Demon Spider, the part that had felt the cold breath of death three days ago—understood. She was drowning. She was reaching for the only solid thing in her universe.
He didn't push her away.
He felt her hands fumbling with his belt, her movements clumsy and urgent.
"Please," she whispered against his mouth, her breath hot. "Just hold me. Just… make it go away for a moment. Please."
It was the "please" that broke him.
He was a man, flawed and hurting, full of a survivor's guilt that was eating him alive. Maybe he wanted to be punished. Maybe he wanted to comfort her. In the chaos of his mind, the lines blurred.
He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close. The embrace tightened, fueled by a shared, jagged sorrow.
What followed wasn't lovemaking. It was a frantic collision of grief. It was two broken people trying to use friction to generate enough heat to ward off the cold void that Kael had left behind. Clothes were discarded not with passion, but with a need to remove barriers, to feel skin against skin, to prove that they were still flesh and blood and not just ghosts.
An hour later, the house was silent again.
Bill stood in the bedroom, buttoning his shirt with trembling fingers. On the bed, Jenny was asleep. She was curled into a fetal position under the quilt, her breathing deep and heavy. It was likely the first time she had slept in days. Her face, relaxed in slumber, looked younger, though the tear tracks were still visible.
Bill stared at her, a knot of complex emotions tightening in his stomach. He felt a profound tenderness for her, but it was mixed with a scorching shame.
I promised to protect her, he thought, looking at his hands. Did I just take advantage of her? Or did I save her sanity?
He couldn't answer the question. The moral calculus was too messy.
He walked out of the bedroom and quietly closed the door.
In the hallway, he nearly bumped into a small figure.
Lucas. Kael's eight-year-old son.
The boy was holding a wooden toy sword, his eyes wide. He looked so much like Kael it made Bill's heart ache. Behind him, peeking from the doorway of their room, was little Mia, sucking her thumb.
"Uncle Bill?" Lucas asked, his voice trembling. "Is Mommy okay? We heard… crying."
Bill dropped to one knee, ignoring the pain in his joints. He placed a hand on Lucas's shoulder. The boy felt fragile.
"Mommy is sleeping, Lucas," Bill said, his voice steady. "She was very tired. She needs rest."
"Is she sick?" Mia piped up.
"No, sweetie. Just sad. Sadness makes you tired." Bill forced a smile. "Listen to me. I brought food. There is stew in the kitchen. When Mommy wakes up, you remind her to eat, okay? Can you be the man of the house until she wakes up?"
Lucas straightened his spine, trying to be brave. "Yes, Uncle Bill. I can do that."
"Good lad." Bill ruffled his hair. "I have to go to the academy now. But I will be back. I will always come back. Do you understand?"
"Yes."
Bill stood up. He felt like a fraud and a savior all at once. He walked to the front door, the image of the two children watching him burning into his mind.
As he stepped out into the street, the sun was fully up. The light was harsh, exposing the grim reality of the world. Bill took a deep breath, the cold air filling his lungs.
He had crossed a line. He knew that. Things would never be the simple same again. But as he touched his eyepatch, he realized that "simple" had died in the Sunset Forest along with Kael. Now, there was only survival.
—————
By the time Bill reached the Greenwood Elementary Soul Master Academy, he had erected a wall around the morning's events. He shoved the guilt, the shame, and the confusing tenderness into a box in the back of his mind.
He was a teacher. And right now, he had a job to do.
The classroom was buzzing with energy. Yesterday's lesson on "kinetic impact" had clearly spread. He saw students practicing in the courtyard, not just swinging their weapons blindly, but trying to use their hips, trying to find the fulcrum.
Bill walked into the classroom, and the respect was palpable. They weren't looking at him as the boring theory teacher anymore. They were looking at him as the man with the answers.
"Settle down," Bill commanded.
The silence was instant.
"Yesterday, we discussed force," Bill began, walking to the chalkboard. "Today, we discuss the engine that drives that force. Soul Power."
He turned to the class. "Who can tell me how they meditate?"
A girl raised her hand. "We recite the Inner Heaven incantation, teacher. We visualize the energy entering our pores and filling our dantian."
"Standard," Bill nodded. "And slow."
The class murmured. The Inner Heaven incantation was the foundation of the Heaven Dou Empire's education. Calling it slow was almost heresy.
"The body is not a bucket to be filled," Bill said, tapping the board. He drew a diagram of the human body, but overlaid it with a complex network of lines.
In his "memories," this was the Meridian System from the ancient martial arts novels of Earth. But combined with his Soul Land knowledge, he saw it as a bio-circuit.
"Soul Power is electricity," Bill stated. "It is a current. If you just dump it into your body, it sits there. Stagnant. To generate power, it must flow."
He pointed to a boy in the second row. "Jonas. Come here."
Jonas was a chubby kid with a Shield Spirit. He was notoriously slow at cultivation, stuck at Rank 6 for a year.
"Sit," Bill ordered. "Cross your legs. Close your eyes. Activate your soul power."
Jonas obeyed. A faint white glow surrounded him. It was flickering, unstable.
Bill activated his Fourth Soul Skill: Analysis.
His left eye burned with violet light. The world shifted. He saw Jonas not as flesh and blood, but as a map of energy.
He saw the problem immediately.
There was a blockage in the boy's shoulder meridian, and another near his kidney. The energy was hitting these blockages and dissipating, causing the flicker. The standard meditation method was trying to force water through a clogged pipe.
"Jonas," Bill said, his voice echoing slightly. "Stop trying to pull energy into your stomach. Focus on your left shoulder. There is a tightness there. Do you feel it?"
"Y-yes, teacher," Jonas stammered.
"Push your soul power against that tightness. Don't pull in. Push through."
Bill placed his hand on the boy's shoulder, injecting a tiny sliver of his own Rank 41 soul power to guide the way. "Imagine a drill. Spin the energy."
Jonas frowned, concentrating. The white light around him wavered, then suddenly, it flared.
Pop.
A soft sound echoed from Jonas's body. The blockage cleared.
The energy rushed from his shoulder, down his spine, and into his bodey with a speed that made the boy gasp.
"Oh!" Jonas's eyes snapped open. "It… it feels hot! It feels like it's rushing!"
"That is flow," Bill said, stepping back. "You have been fighting your own biology. By clearing the path first, the destination fills itself."
He turned to the stunned class.
"The standard method assumes everyone has perfect conduits. You don't. You are children. Your bodies are growing, changing, knotting up. You must identify the resistance and remove it. Efficiency over volume."
For the next four hours, Bill was a whirlwind. He didn't just lecture; he operated.
He used Analysis on every single student.
"Your stance is pinching the nerve in your thigh, restricting flow by 15%. Move your foot left."
"You are breathing too shallowly. You are oxygen-starved, making your spirit sluggish. Breathe from the diaphragm."
"You. Your mindset is wrong. Your spirit is a Wolf, but you meditate like a sheep. Don't ask the energy to come; hunt it."
He was rewriting the manual on the fly. He was applying biomechanics, psychology, and fluid dynamics to a mystic art.
The results were terrifyingly immediate.
By the afternoon session, three students had broken through a minor rank. The air in the room was thick with the hum of fluctuating soul power. The children were exhausted, sweating, but their eyes were burning with a fervor Bill had never seen before.
They weren't just learning; they were evolving.
As the final bell rang, Bill felt a vibration in his soul that nearly brought him to his knees.
He dismissed the class, waving away their excited questions with a promise to continue tomorrow. He locked the door and slumped into his chair.
He summoned the Celestial Scroll.
It unfurled, the golden light brighter than yesterday. The script raced across the parchment.
[Teaching Session Complete.][Subject: Meridian Efficiency / Bio-Energy Flow.][Audience Receptivity: Critical Success.][Three students achieved breakthrough during instruction.][Teacher's Feedback Loop Activated.]
Bill watched as the numbers climbed.
[Soul Power Density: +2.5%.][Martial Soul Evolution Progress: 0.04%.][Analysis Proficiency: Level 2 (Detailed bio-feedback now available).]
He felt his own soul power surging. The blockage at Rank 41, which usually took months to stabilize, was trembling. The energy he had expended during the day was refilling at a frightening rate, purified and denser than before.
It's a feedback loop, Bill realized, his hand gripping the armrest. When they understand, I understand. When they break through, I get a kickback.
He closed his eye, sensing the barrier to Rank 42. It was paper-thin.
"By the weekend," he whispered to the empty room. "I will be Rank 42."
In the world of Soul Masters, gaining a rank in a week at the age of thirty-seven was unheard of. It was impossible.
But Bill wasn't playing by the rules of Douluo Dalu anymore.
He stood up, the scroll vanishing into his palm. He felt powerful. He felt capable.
But as the adrenaline of the lesson faded, the image of Jenny's tear-streaked face returned. The feeling of her desperate skin against his. The promise he made to her children.
He was becoming a great teacher. He was becoming a powerful Soul Master.
But was he becoming a bad man?
He picked up his satchel. The walk home would be long. He had to face Sarah. He had to face his own children. He had to look them in the eye and pretend that a piece of his soul hadn't been left in the widow's bed across town.
"Survival," he reminded himself, touching the eyepatch. "Everything is for survival."
He walked out of the academy, the shadow of the setting sun stretching long and distorted before him, like a path leading into the dark.
[Current Status: Bill][Rank: 41 (Peak) - Breakthrough Imminent][Martial Soul: Celestial Scroll][Condition: Mental Conflict / Rapid Growth]