Teacher by day, Farmer by passion

Ace gave a small nod and stepped forward, his expression unreadable, but the corner of his mouth hinted at a smirk.

However, Lily didn't move. Instead, she took a few steps toward Queen Arlen, her maid dress fluttering with the wind.

"Can I go with you?" she asked with a tilt of her head, bright-eyed and eager.

Before the guards could object, Queen Arlen raised a hand.

"Sure," she said smoothly. "Follow me."

The guards exchanged glances, baffled but silent.

And with that, the entourage split—Ace heading off toward the southern lines, and Lily flouncing beside the queen with a hum.

The moment Ace and the royal guard began walking, the atmosphere around them shifted. Soldiers straightened.

Some whispered. Others simply stared—half in awe, half in disbelief. It wasn't every day that a foreign sect master was personally guided by one of the queen's own.

The guard walked with crisp precision, but after a few paces, he glanced sideways at Ace.

"I apologize for the earlier outburst from one of the men," he said, voice low and formal. "Not everyone knows your face… but all know of your name."

Ace gave a nonchalant shrug. "No harm done. I'm not the type to cry over barked words."

The guard allowed himself a slight smirk. "Still. If the queen bows to you, the rest of us should learn our place."

Ace didn't respond to that, though he did cast a glance back toward the distant figure of Queen Arlen, now walking with Lily—who was animatedly gesturing at the sky.

He sighed.

After a while he and the guard reached the first ridge overlooking the southern reef-line.

The trap markers were subtly placed—camouflaged glyphs etched into boulders, tiny formation flags poking just above the grass, and faintly pulsing runes buried in shallow trenches.

The sea below shimmered, calm and deceptively serene. But Ace's eyes narrowed.

"She really did go all out," he murmured.

The guard nodded. "The engineers and formation masters worked nonstop for five days. The entire cliffside's laced with elemental conduits, soul compression fields, and spike wards. It's enough to dismember a fleet of beasts."

Ace crouched beside one of the glyphs and pressed his palm over it. A faint feedback of energy returned, well-made, but tuned for physical and mid-tier spiritual strikes.

"Honestly, this won't work," he said simply, rising.

The guard stiffened. "Excuse me?"

"She'll just walk through it. This level of trap won't have any effect on her. Infact, it can barely even scratch a legend rank cultivator."

The wind carried the silence between them.

"...Then what do you suggest, Sect Master?"

Ace's gaze lingered on the distant sea, where the horizon was beginning to glow faintly with the dying light of dusk.

"I can make some adjustments. We won't need to stop her completely but just for a moment. Long enough for the rest of the forces to react. That's all we need."

The guard hesitated, then bowed. "Understood. I'll relay that to the formation team. Shall I escort you to the command tent now?"

Ace folded his arms behind his back, eyes still scanning the horizon as the wind tousled his dark hair. Without turning, he spoke.

"Not yet, take me to your formation master. I'd like to have a private conversation, if that is possible."

The royal guard straightened. "Of course. He's stationed just east of the ridge, overseeing final calibration. I'll escort you."

They moved swiftly across the uneven terrain, boots crunching against dry grass and stone.

They passed through rows of soldiers and formation engineers busy at their own world.

Eventually, they reached a shallow trench half-hidden beneath a canvas awning, where several scrolls and spirit compasses lay glowing in careful arrangements.

A middle-aged man in copper-lined robes knelt at the center, etching refinements into a formation disk with delicate flicks of spiritual energy.

The guard cleared his throat. "Formation Master Wen. Sect Master Ace requests your time… in private."

The man paused mid-etching, then slowly looked up. His brow furrowed as he rose, eyes keen and assessing. After a brief silence, he gave a respectful bow.

"Sect Master Ace. An honor. Shall we step aside?"

Ace nodded once.

They moved away from the others, behind a thin barrier of hanging talismans, meant to distort sound and blur shapes from prying eyes.

Wen folded his hands. "I assume this isn't a courtesy call."

"No," Ace replied simply. "I've reviewed the field. It's impressive, but not designed for what's coming."

Wen's eyes narrowed slightly. "If you're referring to the divine step threat, I know. But we didn't have the resources or time to prepare something more sophisticated."

"That's why I'm here," Ace said, voice calm but edged with purpose. "I want to make modifications myself. Minimal changes, quick implementation but tuned to disrupt her rhythm. I'll need full access to your array cores and anchor sigils."

Wen hesitated. "You're asking to alter state-sanctioned battlefield formations. That's… highly irregular."

"Irregular is how you survive a divine step cultivator." Ace's gaze was steady. "I don't need approval. I need results."

The tension hung for a beat. Then Wen exhaled slowly.

"Very well. I'll clear the area. You'll have everything you need." He bowed again, deeper this time. "If you can buy us even a few seconds of resistance… it may save thousands."

Ace gave a faint smile, faintly tired but sharp. "That's the idea."

With a flick of his sleeve, he stepped into the heart of the formation zone.

Within the makeshift barrier of talismans, Ace knelt silently in front of the main anchor sigil—a large, circular glyph etched into a polished obsidian slate.

The formation lines pulsed gently, awaiting command.

He drew a thin dagger from his sleeve. A plain, ceremonial dagger.

Without hesitation, he dragged it across his palm.

Crimson blood welled up instantly, shimmering faintly with spiritual resonance.

Ace let the blood drip directly onto the central glyph.

The reaction was immediate.

The lines shifted. The runes pulsed brighter, then bent inward as if drawn toward him.

A low hum echoed through the trench.

The hum deepened to a low growl. For a moment, the air shimmered with resistance

Then it bent, reluctantly, to his will.

The formations began to tremble, adjusting themselves around the foreign yet dominant presence now woven into their cores.

Ace closed his eyes and whispered as he continued.