Annette's workstation was perfectly organized, all of her different materials labeled and tucked away in drawers or the storage unit next to her bench. Everything in its place, and no one dared mess with her system. In contrast, the view outside her window was uninspiring, factories and foundries belching smoke and a constant stream of workers, without even a glint of the ocean breaking through the mundanity. But she forgave Laurel for the location, since something about the building filtered any of the accompanying smells out of the air before they could become noticeable.

When there was nothing else she could possibly procrastinate by cataloguing, she pulled out her current project. To all appearances it was a plain leather sack. Functional but unremarkable. For now. Annette had goals. No more languishing and forgetting her cultivation while she applied herself to the organization of the sect, she would push forward into a new frontier.

Spatial storage. She wanted one of those tattoos, but those were the end of the path rather than the beginning. Every memory tablet and book they had tucked away said bags were the easiest place to start. Then when she got comfortable, the next step was slowly decreasing the interior size of the vessel and increasing the size of the pocket space. Rings were historically considered the best options, both for convenience and for the status symbol of wearing the work of a highly competent crafter.

The bag in front of Annette was a large duffel, meant for long treks through the wilderness. But it was a start. She had gotten a great deal on purchasing a couple dozen in bulk.

Not much else but to do the thing. She finished her tea and took a few calming breaths, then she let her senses expand into the ambient mana. No one technique manual had fully explained the process, at least not to her standards. Each of the preserved memories assumed later viewers would have a competent teacher, not starting from scratch. As a result, she was working on her own method cobbled together from disparate parts.

First she just let her own mana reach out to the world. Something she had learned the hard way, while the ambient mana was usually unaspected, it still carried different flavors. Memories of the ocean or the sky, or, most importantly, space itself. Both the wide-ranging universe and the fabric holding reality together, there were strands of mana that were better for this than others, and she needed to tease those apart from the rest. Laurel might be able to grab any mana to fuel her lightning, but crafting was all about bending reality around a desired effect, and it required, above all, delicacy.

Next, she grabbed those strands her mana resonated with, and twined them together. She'd failed at this dozens of times before she got the knack. Now in a solid half of her attempts she was able to form the spatial pocket out of mana threads. This time was touch and go for a moment, when a puff of smoke from a nearby station almost broke her concentration. Annette grabbed at the strands of mana before they could slip away, and the attempt was a success.

Which left her running up against her current barrier. She took the carefully crafted space, and mentally shoved it into the bag. It was a process that offended her sensibilities with the crude metaphor, but she hadn't been able to make progress any other way. Every time she tried to do it slowly, the whole thing fell apart.

Annette paused. Now the hardest part. Anchoring the mana she'd collected to the physical bag. Another topic on which the cultivators of the past had skimped on the details. With nothing but intuition to fall back on, Annette had defaulted to her oldest memories of learning to sew at her mother's side. Honing her mental touch to a razor thin needle, she tried to stitch the constructed space into the bag.

The first stitch went fine. She pierced through without shattering the construct – a process that had taken three weeks on its own – and into the bag itself. The next stitch went the same. On the third, things started wobbling, but Annette firmed up her will and pushed on. The more anchor points she added, the harder it was to keep the space separate, the mana wanted to rush back out. Two more, then four.

"Fuck," she hissed.

She pushed the bag off her workbench, into the wide box set up for the purpose. A soft thwump and a fizzle of sparks was all that escaped as the spatial mana tore the bag apart. Annette allowed herself a moment to slump in defeat.

When Laurel had chosen this building as one of the earliest perks of their Core evolving to a City, Annette had argued against it. Did Verilia really need a Crafting Hall more than another Hospital, or the thousands of other quality-of-life improvements? It turned out that yes, they did. Annette's failures notwithstanding, members of the sect and independent cultivators alike had already brought a handful of products to market that were dead useful. From healing balms to magical ovens, to a series of engines that could entirely replace coal with mana, the building had been a resounding success. And dampening the results of any failure had probably kept more than a few of the more adventurous cultivators alive in the meantime.

With a deep sigh Annette recorded the results in her notebook, a strategy she'd picked up from one of their new recruits, Felix, a former natural sciences student at the university who had vowed to revive alchemy or die trying.

She pulled out another bag from her storage locker and placed it on the bench. Leaving it for a few days would activate another feature of the building, infusing the bag with just enough mana to make the crafting easier.

"Not bad!"

Annette let out a little shriek and jumped out of her chair. "Stars above, Laurel. Warn a woman."

"I didn't want to interrupt your flow. You're getting close!"

She scoffed. "Hardly. I'm at a wall. I've tried different ways to anchor the space and every time, well," she gestured over to the blast box, now filled with confetti-sized shreds of leather.

"You'll get there."

Annette wished she had the kind of confidence Laurel walked through the world with. "If nothing else, Devon will be here in a few weeks to work on the arena and consult with the army. I doubt we'll be able to drag him out of the Hall once he gets started."

In unison they turned towards the walled-off section of the warehouse. While the rest was an open plan, with different stations for different kinds of crafting needs, some claimed for a monthly fee like Annette's, some able to be checked out by guild members for daily use, the army had commandeered a full third of the building for their own purposes. Purposes they did not see fit to publicize. Annette was pretty sure Laurel knew, but her Sectmaster hadn't spent much time talking about it, and Annette followed her lead on the interactions with the military.

This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

"Are you done for the day?" Laurel asked.

She had to consult her lab notebook before she was sure of the answer. "No, I have one more variation to try before I head out."

"I'll leave you to it then."

Annette watched Laurel leave and noted how her route took her by a half dozen stations. If she had to bet, there had probably been just as many stops before she appeared behind Annette to scare the living daylights out of her. A far cry from the leader with great intentions and no idea what to do that Annette had signed on with. Good changes, as far as she was concerned.

Sitting back down she dragged out another duffel. One more try, and if it didn't work she had a shipment of empty crates coming next week to see if the rigid sides made things easier.

***********

Laurel ducked beneath a swinging axe, aimed right where an average height neck would be and took a casual step forward and to the left, dodging the gout of flame that tried to capitalize on the opening.

The narrow rope may as well have been a stone bridge for all the trouble she had crossing the chasm, the trick was always to go faster than your body took to realize there was nothing to balance on. Ice tried to slow her and hidden poisonous vines reached for her ankles. She wove through them all like they were dance steps she'd memorized. The path narrowed, with walls reaching almost the entire way to the vaulted ceiling, from which shards of rock would occasionally shoot out, just to make sure she was paying attention.

In front of her a figure coalesced from pure mana. A human, just without any face or other defining features. No mouth meant no time for banter, her only complaint so far, and it launched at her as soon as the first arm was solid.

She blocked the strike, then another. Then it was her turn. A few moments later the construct was melting into mist, the simulated broken neck enough to overwhelm the energy keeping it corporeal.

The next three went the same way, though she made sure to vary the style in each takedown.

At last, she reached her prize. Sitting at the end of the trail was an actual treasure chest; the kind no one used because they were neither as practical nor as secure as spatial storage. Gold filigree adorned the edge, with a shining light leaking out in a tantalizing sliver from under the lid.

That the treasure chest was sitting behind an ogre approximately twice her height and wielding a club that weighed more than she did hardly mattered.

She cracked her neck from side to side and waved her arms around a bit to make sure she was loose. Then the butchery began. Calling it a fight implied the ogre ever landed a hit, which it most certainly did not. It was also less elegant than her previous showing. Laurel was far stronger than most people realized. Even cultivating so externally as she did, anyone at her level, with mana empowering their every move, was a force to be reckoned with. Every blow could shatter normal bones or smash through walls if she so desired.

But mass counted for something. Thick slabs of muscle, and a fair bit of opposing mana, diffused her blows. The result was an extended execution, where she had to beat the thing to death over the course of several minutes. Eventually she got onto the ogre's shoulders and it was over after a few final blows to the head.

A soft chime echoed from all around, riding on a wave of mana that suffused the area. There was a faint restorative property as well, which wasn't needed but she appreciated nonetheless. The chest swung open on silent hinges, revealing a glowing bronze token the size of her palm.

The moment she grabbed it, another chime rang out. On that signal, the chest disappeared, dissipating back into mana. The walls started falling as well. Not destroyed, but sliding into the floor, no longer needed.

With the course resetting, outside noise could filter in again, treating Laurel to a hearty round of applause. She retraced her steps to join her audience in the observation box. No bolts of magic or dangerous terrain impeded her path. By the time she reached the crowd, they were once more in a vast warehouse, with a few perches that looked out across the whole thing, walls of windows letting natural light illuminate the space.

In front of Laurel was a group of soldiers, half cultivators, half mortal, wearing a variety of eager expressions.

"Cultivation suppressed to the adept level. No techniques, and no weapons. I believe I am owed a bottle of something impressive."

"There's no way," Reynard grumbled. No doubt in part because he was one of those on the hook for their end of the bet. "How was that not a technique, you were dodging before the traps even sprung!"

"The traps, like most cultivators, cause a disturbance in the ambient mana before they go off. If you're paying attention you should be fine."

"We're supposed to go in there?" One of the mortals was muttering to his friend, not aware Laurel could hear him clear as day.

And not just Laurel.

"You have a problem, Chiron?" It was a tossup if Maria was more excited about trying the course out herself, or running her soldiers through it until they collapsed.

"No, Captain."

"That's right." Maria turned so that the whole group was in her sights. Laurel watched postures straighten and arms snap into a parade rest. "You've spent months on the easier version of this course. You just watched one unarmed woman beat the entire thing herself, and you're going in as squads of eight, equal mix magic-user and non magic-user. I don't want to hear any complaining, or you'll be running it alone. Every further complaint will see the loss of a piece of gear. You think I won't have you running this course in your skivvies, you have another thing coming."

"Emerald Platoon is running this version of the course on an alternating schedule. You have three months, and if we don't have more tokens than those soldiers, everyone here will be sorry. Do I make myself clear."

"Yes, Captain." They called in unison.

"That's right. Axon squad, you're up first."

At Maria's command, Reina stepped forward and pressed some mana into the command module. It was a direct connection to the Core, like the pedestal that lived at the heart of the sect house, but this one only gave access to the Training Hall controls. Enough to trigger the course options Laurel had demonstrated.

The Hall took an absurd amount of mana to run. Even in one of the largest cities to ever exist on Decorra, they were limited to ten runs a day for a full course. Enough for each of the squads in Maria's special forces division to make two or three attempts each week.

Laurel watched as her most fun City perk reconstructed the training course she had just conquered. There were better options for City perks that improved cultivation. Even down to chambers of any specialized mana type where someone could lock themselves away to force progress.

A Barracks would have been better for troop recovery, and there were hundreds of defensive structures to choose from. But the Training Hall was the best way to learn how to fight with, and against, cultivators and spirit beasts. There were passive benefits to technique development, soothing the mana channels of those inside to give them longer to practice, and subtly adjusting cycling rhythms for optimal effectiveness.

The army had been far from idle in the last few years. No one knew better than the military that open conflict was on the horizon. Building up their cultivator corps as a division of their special forces had been the first step. Training them to stand against more experienced foes was the far longer journey.

General Mansfeln arrived, and joined Maria and Laurel where they watched a credible attempt at crossing the sea of traps below. He always showed up the first time they opened a new course. More regularly than Laurel, who tried to stop in and give some hints at how they were possible to overcome. And make sure everyone remembered she was still able to kick all of their asses at once, if necessary. The general claimed it was a show of support to the troops, which she was sure was true. But the man had also dedicated his life to teaching. He was just obsessed with the best training aid that had ever existed.

Laurel clicked her tongue in disappointment as the group below slowed to a stop in the vines. "They don't have the defense for that."

"Reina will pull through," Maria said.

Just as she made the prediction, one of the vines got through the cargo pants around one of the soldier's calves, tearing a gash and delivering a shot of poison.

The run was over after that. Long practice in the Hall taught them what they could and couldn't handle. If they convinced Cooper to join them, maybe. Or a healer, then they could keep going. But as it was, all they could hope for now was a controlled retreat. Which is exactly what they did. The squad arrived back at the start, half dragging their injured colleague, panting and out of breath.

The sound the Hall made was mournful this time, as it bemoaned their failure. The soldiers huddled around the starting point, where golden light negated the poison and the cut. After all, it was meant to be training, not actually life or death. The pain and the lessons learned were real. The injuries were not.

"I'm off," Laurel said while the next squad lined up. She watched one enterprising soldier wrap extra clothes around their legs and nodded in approval at the improvisation.

"Good luck." Maria said.

"Try and convince Curson the Hall needs more of the mana budget."

"We'll see, general.

If you find any errors ( broken links, non-standard content, etc.. ), Please let us know < report chapter > so we can fix it as soon as possible.