The morning sun spilled over the Kingdom of Merch, gilding the tops of the newly constructed teleport gates. Smoke from the forges mingled with the mist, a thin veil over a kingdom slowly rising from the ashes of its recent battle. Soldiers moved with purpose, wolves padded silently beside them, and the Red Flags battalion oversaw every operation, ensuring order and safety. Daniel's influence, though unseen by most, radiated through every corner of the city.
Inside the command tent, Lord Scallab Caelrith and Prince Eloween examined the progress of the teleport gate while soldiers and engineers adjusted magical conduits. Arrielle and Maria moved among the ranks, supervising training exercises for young recruits. Warrior Pills were distributed carefully, their use restricted to Red Flags battalion warriors, and yet every young soldier's eyes betrayed both fear and awe. The pills expelled terror, but they were only a temporary solution. True strength, Daniel's methods insisted, came through cultivation, patience, and guidance.
At the edge of a wide training ground, a group of children and teenagers had gathered for the latest round of Red Flags recruitment trials. The trial of combat was rigorous: a measure not of skill alone, but of courage, determination, and the unyielding spirit to keep fighting even in the face of pain, injury, or defeat. Candidates ranged from twelve to twenty years old, their eyes bright with excitement and fear. Some came from noble families, already trained in the art of combat, while others were peasants who had never held a sword before.
The selection criteria were clear: raw skill and background meant little if arrogance ruled the heart. A noble child who could easily crush a peasant's attempt but treated the opponent with disdain would be rejected. A child who fought valiantly, even if defeated, inspired the Red Flags overseers. This was the battalion's way—strength tempered by heart, courage balanced with humility.
A young girl, barely thirteen, faced a boy two years older and trained at her noble academy. The boy struck hard, precise, confident in his superiority. Yet she dodged, rolled, and countered with all her might, her movements flawed but relentless. Blood from a shallow cut streaked her arm, but she did not falter.
"Keep fighting!" Arrielle shouted. "Even if you lose, show your spirit!"
The girl staggered but lunged one last time, striking her opponent's shoulder. The boy blinked in surprise, and the onlookers murmured. When the duel ended, she collapsed, exhausted and bleeding, yet the Red Flags officers nodded. She had not won, but she had proven herself worthy.
Another candidate, a noble boy, smirked as he faced a peasant child half his size. He struck with overwhelming force, expecting an easy match. But the child met every attack with desperation and determination, refusing to yield. Though his technique was crude and he eventually fell to the boy's superior skill, the fire in his eyes—the refusal to surrender—earned him a place in the training program.
By contrast, several candidates were immediately dismissed: a boy who sneered as he struck down a weaker opponent, a girl who laughed while her rival stumbled, a noble child who used the fight to show off and humiliate. Arrielle and Maria made quick judgments, their hands decisive. The Red Flags were not here to create showmen or sadists. They were here to cultivate warriors.
Nearby, soldiers whispered among themselves. "Did you hear about the Red Flags warrior in the last battle?" one muttered. "He kept fighting even when his guts were almost falling to the ground."
Another's eyes widened. "Holding his own intestines in one hand while swinging his sword with the other… For God's sake, those guys are really strong."
The younger soldiers gasped. Awe mixed with aspiration, and whispers of admiration spread like wildfire. Red Flags warriors were living proof that disciplined cultivation could surpass raw skill or lineage. The stories made the recruits hunger for advancement, to awaken their mana cores, and perhaps one day, reach the elemental mastery ranks that Daniel had outlined in the Book of Ten Swords.
Even the nobility watched with curiosity. Rumors were already circulating: Prince Eloween, adored by the people, was said to have grown close to Daniel. Whispers suggested an unusual bond forming between the unseen general and the princess, stirring envy and speculation among courtiers. Yet Daniel never appeared. His influence remained subtle, almost invisible. He allowed the rumors to flourish without comment, knowing perception could be as powerful as action in shaping loyalty and fear.
By midday, the teleport gate hummed to life, a stream of citizens and soldiers marveling at the sight. Merch, once a kingdom at the mercy of demons, now had a direct line to Fort Knightfall. Trade would flourish. Resources would flow. Power would consolidate under the Red Flags' guidance, even if no one yet realized the scope of Daniel's plan.
In the late afternoon, recruits who had passed the trial were gathered for orientation. Daniel's spiritual presence hovered above the camp, unseen. He watched silently as the chosen children and teenagers were assigned to mentors, paired with older Red Flags warriors, and prepared for the rigorous path of cultivation. Those who showed courage but lacked strength were paired with others of similar skill, to learn from one another. Those with raw talent but flawed hearts received strict guidance, to temper arrogance into discipline.
A small group of apprentices practiced meditation. Sparks of mana flickered along the ground, hinting at their developing elemental abilities. Some had awakened minor powers, a few hinted at Qwii-level harmonization. Progress was slow, yet tangible. Only those who joined the Red Flags, or another organization with knowledge of cultivation, could hope to rise through the ranks—from Fifth Rank to Vast Realm, and ultimately God Realm. The others—untutored, undisciplined—would fade into ordinary life, their cores remaining dormant.
Daniel's gaze lingered on the horizon, where merchants were arriving under the escort of Red Flags emissaries. Supplies flowed, gold exchanged hands, and the foundations of a human unification under disciplined power were quietly being laid. This was not the work of banners or kings alone. It was knowledge, training, and subtle orchestration—a hidden empire, growing without any subject fully understanding its reach.
As darkness settled across the city, the campfires cast warm glows across the square. Soldiers cleaned weapons, apprentices shared experiences, and wolves padded among them, calm but alert. Daniel's influence hovered like a shadow over all. No one could see him, yet every decision, every movement, bore his mark.
Prince Eloween approached the fires, bowing slightly to the officers before sitting on a raised rock. She watched the recruits practice, her gaze softening. "They are… incredible. All of them," she whispered to herself. "And yet, there is something guiding them… something I cannot see."
A soldier nearby chuckled. "You're not the only one who wonders that, Your Highness. Red Flags… they are unlike any army we've ever known. Even the strongest among us can barely keep up."
Daniel allowed himself a small, invisible smile. The kingdom trusted the Red Flags. The young were inspired. The nobility whispered and speculated. And all the while, the backbone of his empire—discipline, cultivation, and controlled influence—took root.
One day, all humans would stand united—not under banners of kings alone, but under the strength and discipline of the Red Flags battalion. And Daniel… Daniel would be at the center of it all.
The night whispered its approval, carrying with it the promise of new recruits, new trials, and new alliances. The hidden empire was growing, and the world had yet to understand its scope—or the force behind it.