The weekend sun in Silvershade City was brighter, less oppressive than the grey dawn of the work week. It was a day for rest, or so the city believed. For Bill, rest was a luxury he could no longer afford.
The backyard of his home had been transformed into a makeshift dojo, though to the triplets, it looked like a playground.
"Freeze!" Bill shouted, clapping his hands.
Jory, Finn, and Elara froze instantly. They were in the middle of the grass, their small legs bent into deep squats, arms extended forward.
"This is the Statue Game," Bill said, walking around them like a drill sergeant, poking a knee here, straightening a back there. "If you wobble, the stone cracks. If the stone cracks, the castle falls."
"My legs burn, Daddy!" Jory complained, his face scrunching up.
"That means the fire is working," Bill said cheerfully. "Burn is good. Burn builds the foundation."
In his mind, he wasn't seeing children playing; he was seeing the foundational principles of isometric exercise strengthening their core muscles and widening their lower meridians before their spirits even awakened. A strong vessel could hold a stronger soul.
"Now, switch! Monkey Game!"
The triplets broke their stance and scrambled for the old oak tree in the corner.
"Don't use your palms!" Bill instructed. "Fingertips and toes! Gripping strength!"
He watched them scramble up the bark. It wasn't just play. It was grip training, crucial for tool spirit users and beast spirit users alike. If they awakened a weapon, they needed hands of iron. If they awakened a beast, they needed claws.
Sarah sat on the back porch, sipping herbal tea, watching with a bemused expression.
"You're running them ragged," she commented as Bill walked over for a water break.
"They have energy to burn," Bill smiled, wiping sweat from his forehead. "And better they burn it building muscle than breaking your vases."
He sat beside her, his voice dropping lower. "Sarah, give me your hand."
She looked at him curiously but extended her hand. He took it, his thumb pressing against her pulse point.
"Close your eyes," Bill whispered. "I want you to try something. You've been stuck at Rank 32 for a year, right?"
"Beast spirits hit walls," she shrugged. "My Hound is loyal, but not powerful."
"It's not about power. It's about oxygen." Bill activated his Analysis silently. He saw her meridian network. It was healthy, but sluggish. "When you cultivate today, don't just meditate. I want you to pulse your soul power in time with your heartbeat. Systole, diastole. Push, rest. Push, rest."
He guided a sliver of his own energy into her wrist to demonstrate the rhythm. It was a technique derived from the 'memories' of how a combustion engine timed its firing.
Sarah's eyes widened. She felt the surge. "That… that feels aggressive."
"It is. Your Hound is a hunter, Sarah. Stop treating it like a house pet. Let it run."
She looked at him, a newfound respect warring with the familiarity of marriage. "You've figured out so much in so little time."
"I have to," Bill said simply.
—————
By mid-morning, Bill was out the door. The neighborhood was alive with weekend chores.
"Morning, Teacher Bill!" Mrs. Gable, the baker's wife, called out. Her eyes lingered on his eyepatch with a mixture of pity and morbid curiosity. "How is the eye healing?"
"It doesn't hurt when I smile, Mrs. Gable," Bill replied with a polite nod. "Two loaves of rye, please."
He moved through the market, engaging in small talk. He asked the blacksmith about the price of iron (rising), asked the grocer about the grain shipments from the south (delayed). He was gathering intelligence. Economic shifts often preceded conflicts.
He bought a heavy sack of necessities—flour, oil, dried meats. He dropped the first load off at his own house, kissing Sarah goodbye and telling her he had errands to run for the school.
Then, he went back to the market, bought a second set of supplies, and headed east.
When he arrived at Jenny's house, it was nearly lunchtime.
The atmosphere was lighter than the day before. The windows were open.
"Uncle Bill!" Lucas opened the door, holding the wooden bird toy Bill had bought yesterday.
"Hey, pilot," Bill grinned. "Is your mom around?"
Jenny emerged from the kitchen. She was wearing an apron, and there was flour on her cheek. She looked… present. The ghost-like quality was fading, replaced by the resolve of a mother who realized she had mouths to feed.
"You came," she said, wiping her hands. Her voice was steady, though her eyes held a soft, grateful warmth.
"Lunch delivery," Bill said, hoisting the bag. "And I invite myself to eat."
They ate together—Bill, Jenny, Lucas, and Mia. It was a simple meal of bread, cheese, and soup, but it felt like a feast compared to the starvation rations they had been on.
"I've been thinking," Jenny said midway through the meal, tearing a piece of bread. "I can't just sit here. I need to work. I was good with numbers before I married Kael. And my Needle spirit… I can do fine embroidery."
"Embroidery pays pennies," Bill said gently. "And it ruins your eyes."
"I have to do something, Bill."
"I know. I'll arrange something." Bill leaned back. "The Academy always needs administrative support. Keeping records, managing student files. It pays a steady silver coin salary, and it's safe. I know the Director. I'll vouch for you."
Jenny looked like she might cry, but she swallowed it down. "Administrative work… I could do that. I could really do that."
"Consider it done," Bill said. "Start preparing. You'll need to look sharp."
After lunch, while the kids played with the wooden bird, Bill sat Jenny down on the sofa.
"Before I go," he said, his tone turning serious. "I need to teach you something. It's for you, and for Lucas and Mia."
He explained the "Flow" method—the technique of clearing meridians before gathering energy. He explained it simpler than he did for his students, using the analogy of sewing. Unpick the knot before you pull the thread.
"Your Needle spirit is sharp," Bill said. "Use that sharpness to clear your own pathways. If you do this, you might break through to Rank 16 soon. But more importantly, teach Lucas. If his channels are wide open when his speed of training will rise dramatically."
Jenny listened intently, memorizing every word. She realized this wasn't just advice; it was a legacy.
"I will," she promised. "I'll make sure they practice."
Bill stood up. "I have to go. Business to attend to."
Jenny walked him to the door. She didn't kiss him. She didn't crumble. She just took his hand and squeezed it hard.
"Be safe, Bill."
"You too, Jenny."
—————
Leaving Jenny's house, Bill didn't go home. He headed toward the center of Silvershade City, to a building that loomed over all others.
The Spirit Hall Branch.
It was a domed structure of white marble, radiating a faint, holy pressure. This was the local arm of the most powerful organization on the continent.
Bill adjusted his collar, smoothed his eyepatch, and walked up the steps.
"Halt," a guard in silver armor blocked his path. "State your business."
"Bill. Rank 42 Spirit Ancestor. Teacher at Greenwood Academy," Bill said clearly, releasing two yellow and two purple rings.
The guard's eyes widened slightly at the two purple rings—the fourth one was particularly vibrant. A Rank 42 master was a respected figure in a small city like this.
"I have a business proposal for the Deacon regarding the dissemination of knowledge," Bill added.
He was ushered into a waiting room. Ten minutes later, a man in red robes walked in. Deacon Silas. A Rank 51 Spirit King.
"Teacher Bill," Silas said, his voice smooth but indifferent. "I hear you have a proposal. We are a religious and martial organization, not a merchant guild."
"You are an organization that values influence," Bill corrected politely. "And control over information."
Bill reached into his satchel and pulled out a scroll. But it wasn't his martial soul; it was a blueprint he had drawn using his Record skill and the "memories" of a mechanical press.
"My Martial Soul is a Scroll," Bill explained. "I have spent my life studying text. I have devised a method. Currently, books are copied by hand. It makes them expensive. Rare."
He unrolled the blueprint. It showed a machine. A press using moveable ceramic blocks (easier to make than metal with earth spirits) and a simple soul-guidance array to spread ink perfectly.
"This machine," Bill pointed, "can produce five hundred pages an hour. Uniform. Flawless."
Silas looked at the drawing. He was a bureaucrat as much as a warrior. He saw the implications immediately. Pamphlets. Propaganda. Spirit Hall decrees.
"And you designed this?" Silas asked, skepticism in his voice.
"I had a vision," Bill lied smoothly. "After I lost my eye hunting a Man-Faced Demon Spider. Clarity often comes with pain."
Silas traced the lines of the drawing. "Why bring this to us? Why not the Merchant Clans?"
"Because the Clans will steal it and cut my throat," Bill said bluntly. "Spirit Hall values order. I want a deal. I provide the design and the array calibration. You build it, you use it."
"And what do you want?"
"A patent fee," Bill said. "Two Gold Soul Coins for every machine built. And a monthly retainer of fifty Gold Soul Coins as a 'Consultant'."
Silas laughed. "Fifty Gold Coins? That's a fortune for a school teacher."
"For a teacher, yes. For the man who gives Spirit Hall the voice to reach every peasant in the Empire?" Bill leaned forward, his single eye locking with the Spirit King's. "It is a bargain."
Silas was silent for a long moment. He was calculating. If this worked, his branch would be credited with a revolutionary invention. He would be promoted.
"Twenty Gold Coins a month," Silas countered. "And one Gold Coin per machine."
"Thirty a month. Two per machine. And I want the contract signed under the witness of the Spirit Hall Insignia."
Silas smiled. It was a predatory smile, but a respectful one. "Done."
They shook hands.
—————
Bill walked out of Spirit Hall an hour later, a heavy pouch of advance payment in his pocket and a contract in his spatial tool (a small wristband he had looted from the spider's previous victims—a secret he kept).
Thirty Gold Soul Coins a month.
In a world where a common family lived on ten silver coins a month, he was now wealthy.
He could pay for the best food for Sarah and the triplets. He could secretly funnel money to Jenny without breaking his own bank. He could buy herbs for cultivation.
He looked at the setting sun. The city looked different now. It wasn't just a place he lived; it was a board he was playing on.
"Money secured. Training started. Relationships… managed," Bill listed mentally.
He felt the scroll in his soul realm vibrate.
[Business Acumen Integrated.][Influence Expanded.][Calculated Increase in Survival Probability: 12%.]
Bill smiled grimly. 12% was good. But he needed 100%.
He turned toward home, ready to be the father, the husband, and the provider. Tomorrow, the real work with the Year 4 students would begin, and he had a lot of "physics" to teach them.
[Current Status: Bill][Rank: 42][Assets: High][Influence: Growing]