The Sunset Forest was a place of eternal twilight, where the canopy of ancient iron-wood trees choked out the sky. It was a place where mistakes were paid for in blood. But today, the forest felt less like a wilderness and more like a shopping aisle for a very picky customer.
"Hold the line," Bill commanded quietly.
He stood in a small clearing, his single eye glowing with the violet light of Analysis. His aura, now a dense, suffocating pressure of Rank 48, kept the lesser beasts at bay.
Beside him stood Sarah. At Rank 36, she was no longer the housewife she had been months ago. Her Faithful Hound spirit was manifested, a sleek, silver-furred beast, radiating power. She wore a tailored leather hunting suit, looking every inch the matriarch of a martial family.
Behind them, leaning against a tree with a bored expression, was a man in heavy plate armor. This was Korg, a hired mercenary. He was a Soul Emperor—Rank 62. His spirit was the Heavy Shield. Bill had paid a small fortune in gold coins to hire him for three days, not to fight, but as an insurance policy.
"You have weird kids, Teacher Bill," Korg grunted, watching the scene in the center of the clearing.
Three six-year-old children and one sturdy ten-year-old were sitting in a meditative circle. Hovering over each of their heads was a yellow Soul Ring.
Not ten-year white rings. Four-hundred-year yellow rings. The absolute limit for a first ring.
"They aren't weird," Bill said, his eyes not leaving his children. "They are prepared."
The triplets—Finn, Jory, and Elara—and his student, Marcus, were in the final stages of absorption.
Bill had selected their prey with the precision of a surgeon.
For Finn, the Lightning Hound, Bill had tracked a Thunder-Strike Panther (410 years). He didn't want just electricity; he wanted conductivity and speed. For Jory, the Shadow Stalker, a Mist-Walker Civet (425 years). It offered phasing capabilities, allowing Jory to slip through solid matter for a fraction of a second. For Elara, the Gale-Ear, a Sonic Bat (400 years). It enhanced her sensory input to echolocation levels. For Marcus, the boy with the Iron Rod, Bill had found an Iron-Hide Boar (430 years). It granted density and recoil absorption.
Most children would be screaming in agony absorbing rings this old. But the "Wolf Pack" sat in silence. Their meridians, widened by months of the Void Vortex technique and fortified by expensive beast-meat diets, drank the energy greedily.
"Hah!"
Finn was the first to open his eyes. A crackle of blue electricity arched across his iris.
"Done," the boy whispered, standing up. He looked at his hands. "Daddy, I feel… buzzy."
"Skill?" Bill asked.
"Thunder Step," Finn grinned. "I can shoot lightning for three meters. Instant movement."
"Kinetic discharge coupled with elemental transmutation," Bill nodded, satisfied. "Good."
One by one, they woke up. Jory could turn transparent. Elara could hear a leaf fall a mile away. Marcus could swing his rod with enough force to crack a boulder, his arms shielded by a phantom layer of iron skin.
Korg pushed off the tree. "I've seen nobles from the Seven Treasure Clan scream louder than these runts. You're running a factory, Bill. Not a family."
"Survival is a factory, Korg," Bill said, tossing the mercenary a pouch of extra gold. "And business is good."
—————
The return to Silvershade City marked the end of summer. The air was turning crisp, the leaves beginning to yellow.
The city had changed in subtle ways over the last few months. Paper was everywhere. The streets were littered with discarded pamphlets. Even the beggars were reading scraps of news. The Printing Press had done its work.
Bill dropped Marcus off at his home—his parents weeping with joy at seeing the yellow ring—and took his family back to the estate.
The house was quiet. Jenny was working late at the Academy archives. She was Rank 25 now, a workaholic who channeled her trauma into efficiency. Bill missed her presence, but he knew she was building her own kingdom of paperwork and influence.
The next few days were a whirlwind of preparation.
Bill stood in the main classroom of the Greenwood Academy. It had been renovated over the summer, largely funded by "anonymous donations" (Bill). The chalkboard was new slate. The desks were polished oak.
But the most significant change sat on each desk.
A book.
The Principles of Soul Mechanics: Volume 1.Author: Teacher Bill.
It was a printed textbook. Bound in simple leather, smelling of fresh ink. It contained diagrams of leverage, explanations of elemental reactions, and the basic theory of the Active Cycle meditation (the safer version).
Classes were starting tomorrow.
Bill looked at the roster.
Class A (Spirit Masters): 20 Students. This was his elite unit. It included the triplets (now Rank 11), Marcus (Rank 11), Lucas (Rank 10 - waiting for a ring), and the older geniuses like Elian (Rank 19) and Clara (Rank 18).
Class B (Spirit Scholars): 30 Students. A mix of his old students (Rank 8-9) and new enrollments (Rank 3-6).
He ran his hand over the cover of the book. This was how he scaled. He couldn't teach every child individually. But the book could.
And every mind that learned from the book fed the Celestial Scroll.
"Bill?"
He turned. Sarah stood in the doorway of the classroom.
She looked breathtaking. She wore a long coat of deep emerald velvet, trimmed with white fox fur. Her hair was piled high in an intricate braid held by a pearl pin. She held a copy of the Spirit Hall Daily in her gloved hand.
"Sarah," Bill smiled, walking over to kiss her cheek. "I thought you were at the tailor's."
"I was," she said. She didn't smile back immediately. Her expression was imperious, almost haughty. It was the look of a woman who knew her worth. "We need to talk. Come home."
"Is something wrong?"
"No," she said, tapping the newspaper against her palm. "But plans must change."
—————
Back at the manor, Sarah led him to the sunroom. She sat in her favorite high-backed chair, the afternoon light framing her like a queen.
She placed the newspaper on the table. The headline read: Pope Bibi Dong Announces Expansion of Hall Influence.
"The world is moving fast, Bill," Sarah said, smoothing her skirt. "You are Rank 48. I am Rank 36. We are wealthy. We are respected."
"We are," Bill agreed, sitting opposite her. "Where is this going?"
Sarah took a deep breath. Her haughty mask slipped, replaced by a radiant, fierce pride. A smile broke through that dazzled him.
"We need another room," she said.
Bill blinked. "We just expanded the west wing. There are three guest rooms empty."
"Not a guest room, Bill," Sarah laughed, a rich, throaty sound. "A nursery."
The world stopped for a second.
Bill stared at her. "Sarah? You mean…"
"I'm pregnant," she announced, lifting her chin. She placed a hand on her stomach. "I felt the second heartbeat yesterday. My spirit… the Hound… it's fiercely protective right now. It won't let anyone but you and the kids within five feet of me."
Bill sat there, the information processing through his mind.
A baby. Now?
His strategic mind—the "memories"—flashed warnings. Chaos is coming. War is coming. Is this the right time?
But then he looked at Sarah. He saw the "Lioness" in her. She wasn't asking for permission. She was stating a fact of life. She was building a dynasty.
He thought of the Celestial Scroll. He thought of his desire for a successor who could inherit his specific brand of intellect. The triplets were warriors, beasts of prey. Maybe this one…
He stood up and knelt before her, burying his face in her lap.
"Another wolf for the pack?" he murmured.
"Maybe," Sarah stroked his hair, her voice softening. "Or maybe a scholar. Maybe a little Bill."
She leaned down, whispering in his ear. "I told you, didn't I? We keep going until we get a Scroll. Or until we have an army."
Bill looked up at her, his single eye misting slightly. "You are terrifying, Sarah."
"I am a mother," she corrected. "Same thing."
—————
The next morning, the Greenwood Academy gates threw open.
The chaos was instant. Hundreds of children, shouting, running, reuniting.
But in the West Wing, where Bill's classes were held, there was order.
Bill walked into the Class A room.
Twenty students stood up. They didn't bow lazily. They snapped to attention.
"Good morning, Teacher Bill!"
Among them were his own children—Finn, Jory, Elara—sitting in the front row, wearing their new school uniforms. They didn't look at him as 'Dad'. They looked at him as 'Instructor'.
And there was Lucas, sitting next to Marcus. Lucas looked determined. He was the only one in the front group without a ring, but his aura was dense, compacted by sheer will.
"Sit," Bill commanded.
He walked to the podium.
"You have textbooks," Bill said, pointing to the leather-bound volumes. "Open them to page one."
The sound of twenty covers opening in unison was crisp.
"Page One," Bill read. "The First Law of Soul Dynamics: Energy cannot be created or destroyed, only transferred."
He looked at the new faces in the back—transfers from other schools who had heard of the "Miracle Class." They looked skeptical. They were used to chanting prayers to spirits.
"Some of you are new," Bill said, locking eyes with a haughty-looking boy in the back row. Rank 14. A noble's bastard, probably. "You think this is boring. You think you want to learn how to shoot fireballs."
Bill snapped his fingers.
Finn, without looking up from his book, raised his hand. A bolt of blue lightning arced from his fingertips, bounced off the chalkboard, ricocheted off the ceiling lamp, and struck the inkwell on the noble boy's desk, vaporizing the ink instantly without burning the paper.
The class gasped.
"That," Bill said, "is calculation. Finn calculated the angle of incidence and the conductivity of the air. If he had just 'shot a fireball', he would have missed."
He leaned forward on the podium.
"In this class, we do not pray. We calculate. We do not hope. We engineer."
He saw the spark in their eyes. The hook was set.
Then, the feeling hit him.
It started as a trickle, then a river.
As twenty minds began to read his words, as twenty brains began to process the concept of energy conservation…
The Celestial Scroll in his soul realm unfurled.
[New Data Stream Detected.][Source: Mass Education Material (Textbook).]
This was it. The Printing Press wasn't just for money. It was a remote cultivation tool. Every student reading his book, even when he wasn't speaking, was feeding him a fraction of understanding.
[Soul Power Density Increasing.][Rank 49 Progress: 15%…]
Bill smiled. It was a terrifying, predatory smile.
"Let's begin," he said.
—————
Later that afternoon, Bill took the Class B session.
These were the younger ones. The beginners.
The energy was different here. It wasn't the intense, competitive focus of the elites. It was pure, unadulterated wonder.
"Teacher," a tiny girl with a Lantern spirit asked, Rank 4. "Why does my light get warm?"
"Because light is heat, little one," Bill answered gently. "It is radiation."
He spent two hours explaining the spectrum of light, using a prism to split a sunbeam into a rainbow.
The children oohed and aahed. They clapped. They looked at the rainbow like it was magic, and when Bill told them it was science, they looked at him like he was a wizard.
Bill felt a warmth in his chest that had nothing to do with cultivation. This… this was why he did it. The power was necessary for survival. The politics were necessary for protection. But the teaching? The teaching was the joy.
He saw the future in their eyes. A future where they wouldn't be fodder for spirit beasts or pawns for nobles.
As the bell rang, signaling the end of the first day, Bill packed his satchel.
He walked out into the courtyard. The autumn leaves were falling, drifting in the wind.
He saw Jenny waiting by the gate, holding Lucas's hand. She gave him a tired but happy wave.
He saw Sarah's carriage pulling up, the noble crest she had designed for their family painted on the door.
He felt the Scroll humming in his soul, pushing him toward Rank 49.
He felt the four rings—White, Yellow, Yellow, Purple—vibrating. He knew the fifth ring, the black ring of the Ten Thousand Year level, was calling to him.
"Winter is coming," Bill whispered to the wind. "But we are ready."
He adjusted his eyepatch, gripped his satchel, and walked toward his family. The Teacher was done for the day. The Patriarch had work to do.
[Current Status: Bill][Rank: 48 (High Stage)][Role: Head Teacher / Author / Patriarch][Family Condition: Expanding (Pregnancy Confirmed)][Next Target: Rank 50 Breakthrough]