The casualty list went up at dawn.
Wang Ben had learned that this was the fortress's routine during his first week of service. Each morning, the previous day's losses were documented and posted on the memorial wall near the main barracks, a running tally of the cost the war extracted from those who defended these walls.
He had avoided looking at it for the first three days. The weight of what he saw in the tactical displays, the damage he repaired, the wounded he passed in the corridors, that was already enough reality to process.
But on the fourth morning, he forced himself to stop and read.
[CASUALTY REPORT: SPRING SEASON, WEEK 3]
[Total confirmed deaths: 412]
[Classification breakdown:]
[Body refinement: 147]
[Qi condensation: 189]
[Foundation establishment: 67]
[Core formation: 9]
[Mortal shedding: 0]
[Cause analysis: Combat (287), Formation failure (68), Supply interdiction (34), Other (23)]
The numbers were abstractions. Statistics that the System processed with mechanical efficiency, sorting them into categories and patterns that the tactical mind could analyze without emotional interference.
But the wall wasn't about numbers.
The wall was about names.
Liu Xiaofeng, mid-stage qi condensation. Northern wall, formation team seven. Died during node collapse.
Zhang Mei, early-stage foundation establishment. Medical corps, supply convoy. Died during interdiction assault.
Chen Yong, late-stage body refinement. Infantry reserves. Died during enemy breakthrough attempt.
Huang Wei, early-stage core formation. Formation master, western sector. Died during precision strike on array infrastructure.
Wang Ben read them one by one, refusing to let his eyes glaze over the characters the way it would have been easy to do. Each name represented a person who had woken up that morning expecting to survive the day. A person with family somewhere, maybe waiting for news that would never bring them peace.
Liu Xiaofeng. Formation team seven. The same sector Wang Ben had been assigned to work on.
If he had arrived a week earlier, that could have been one of his colleagues. Someone he'd worked beside, shared meals with, exchanged the casual conversations that defined fortress life between the moments of crisis.
[OBSERVATION: Psychological impact of casualty list exposure]
[Emotional response: Elevated. Grief and guilt responses detected]
[Rationalization attempt: Deaths occurred before host's arrival. No personal responsibility applies]
[Counter-observation: Emotional response not proportional to logical responsibility assessment]
[Note: This is normal. The capacity for empathy is not bounded by logical causation]
The System's observation was accurate in its clinical way. Wang Ben couldn't have prevented these deaths. He hadn't been here. The guilt he felt wasn't rational.
But rationality had little to do with how it felt to read four hundred names and know that each one represented a life ended too soon.
"You're reading them."
The voice came from beside him. Wang Ben turned to find a man he didn't recognize, late-stage foundation establishment based on his presence, wearing the practical robes of a long-term fortress resident.
"Everyone does, the first time." The man's face carried lines of age that his cultivation level shouldn't have allowed. Stress aging, Wang Ben realized. The kind that came from years of watching people die. "The trick is learning how to keep reading them without letting it break you."
"How do you manage that?"
"I don't know if I do." The man extended his hand. "Liu Feng. Formation corps, medical support section. I help keep the physicians' arrays functional."
Wang Ben clasped the offered hand. "Wang Ben. Formation delegation from Redstone City."
"I know. The young master who impressed Commander Feng." Liu Feng's smile was worn but genuine. "Word travels fast in the fortress. Especially about new arrivals who might actually help with our problems."
"I'm trying." Wang Ben's gaze drifted back to the casualty list. "Though looking at this makes me wonder if trying is enough."
"It isn't." Liu Feng's voice held no judgment, only the acceptance of someone who had learned hard truths. "Nothing we do is ever quite enough. The enemy keeps coming, and we keep losing people, and the best we can manage is to slow down how fast things fall apart."
"That's a bleak perspective."
"It's an honest one." Liu Feng gestured toward the names on the wall. "I've been at this fortress longer than I care to count. I've watched the casualty lists grow longer every season. I've buried friends, colleagues, people I trained alongside. And I'm still here, still reading the names, still hoping that tomorrow's list will be shorter than today's."
[ASSESSMENT: Liu Feng psychological profile]
[Cultivation: late-stage foundation establishment]
[Time at fortress: 18 years (corresponds to increased enemy activity period)]
[Emotional state: Resigned but functional. Chronic stress without acute crisis]
[Evaluation: Survivor mentality. Has adapted to sustained trauma through philosophical acceptance]
"Why stay?" Wang Ben asked.
"Because someone has to." Liu Feng's eyes met his directly. "Because if everyone who felt the weight of this place left, there would be no one to hold the walls. Because every day I manage to keep one more array functional, one more physician able to treat wounds, that's one more person who might survive to see their family again."
It was the philosophy of attrition made personal. Not fighting to win, but fighting to prevent loss. Not optimism, but stubborn refusal to surrender.
"I understand." Wang Ben found that he meant it.
"I thought you might." Liu Feng nodded toward the list. "Don't stop reading them, young master Wang Ben. The day you stop caring about the names is the day you become just another piece of the fortress's machinery. And machines don't save people. Only other people do."
He moved on, leaving Wang Ben alone with the memorial wall and its four hundred silent accusations.
The morning's formation repair work took Wang Ben to the northwestern section of the walls, an area that had seen significant damage during the previous week's assault.
Elder Wang Hongwei supervised while Wang Ben and two of the mid-level formation masters worked to restore a critical node cluster. The work was demanding, requiring precise placement of formation chalk and careful calibration of energy flows, but Wang Ben found himself completing tasks faster than his cultivation level should have allowed.
[FORMATION REPAIR: Progress update]
[Node cluster 7-12: 68% restored]
[Time elapsed: 4.2 hours]
[Projected completion: 2.1 additional hours at current pace]
[Note: Host work speed exceeds expected rate by factor of 2.7. May attract observation]
"You have steady hands." One of the formation masters, a middle-aged woman named Zhao Lian, paused in her work to observe Wang Ben's technique. "The chalk placement is remarkably precise for someone of your experience."
"I've practiced extensively." Wang Ben kept his focus on the work, not meeting her eyes. "My grandfather is very demanding about fundamentals."
"Patriarch Wang Tiexin's reputation is well-known." Zhao Lian's voice carried respect. "It shows in your training. Though I confess, I've rarely seen a qi condensation cultivator maintain such steady energy control for extended periods."
[ALERT: Capability observation detected]
[Subject Zhao Lian has noted discrepancy between stated cultivation and demonstrated performance]
[Risk assessment: Moderate. Specialists are more likely to recognize anomalies than general personnel]
[Recommendation: Vary work speed to match expected qi condensation limitations]
Wang Ben deliberately slowed his next sequence of movements, allowing signs of strain to show that his body didn't actually feel. "The work is tiring. But the results are worth the effort."
"Indeed they are." Zhao Lian returned to her own section, apparently satisfied with his explanation.
Elder Wang Hongwei caught Wang Ben's eye from across the repair site, his expression carrying subtle warning. The elder had noticed both the observation and Wang Ben's adjustment, filing away details that would be discussed later in private.
The work continued, slower now but still effective. By early afternoon, the node cluster had been restored to functional status, its defensive capability recovered to approximately 89% of original specifications.
[NODE CLUSTER 7-12: Repair complete]
[Efficiency achieved: 89.2% (above initial target of 85%)]
[Improvement over previous repair: +31.4%]
[Note: Higher efficiency partially attributable to reinforced materials. Primary factor: Host's optimized technique application]
"Good work," Elder Wang Hongwei said as they packed their tools. "Better than the original target. The commander will be pleased."
"The materials made the difference." Wang Ben deflected the compliment. "The reinforced compounds held the energy patterns more effectively."
"Partly." The elder's voice dropped low enough that only Wang Ben could hear. "But materials don't explain the speed or the precision. We'll need to discuss how much of your capability you reveal here, young master. The fortress needs effective support, but too much efficiency attracts the wrong kind of attention."
It was a conversation for later, in private quarters away from curious ears. For now, Wang Ben simply nodded acknowledgment.
...
Wang Ben spent the afternoon watching the fortress's cultivators train.
It had become part of his routine: observing how different units practiced their techniques, studying the patterns of movement and energy manipulation that defined their combat styles. The tactical analysis team valued his observations, but he had a secondary purpose that he shared with no one.
He was measuring efficiency.
[TRAINING OBSERVATION: Foundation establishment combat unit, 50 cultivators]
[Exercise type: Coordinated assault formation practice]
[Duration: 3 hours]
[Individual efficiency measurements:]
[Average qi utilization: 3.2%]
[Average technique execution: 4.1%]
[Average energy recovery: 2.9%]
[Aggregate efficiency: 3.4%]
[Host current efficiency: 6.5%]
[Comparative advantage: 1.9x standard Azure Sky level]
[Note: First milestone (10%) approaching. Each threshold crossed doubles effective power]
The numbers confirmed what Wang Ben had suspected. The fortress's cultivators were working with techniques that wasted most of their spiritual energy, burning through reserves that could have been conserved for extended combat. They trained hard, practiced diligently, and achieved results that were a fraction of what their cultivation should have allowed.
And there was nothing he could do about it.
[STRATEGIC ASSESSMENT: Efficiency improvement potential]
[If fortress cultivators achieved 10% efficiency (1st milestone): Combat effectiveness would approach that of cultivators one stage higher operating at standard efficiency]
[If fortress cultivators achieved 30% efficiency (3rd milestone): Combat effectiveness would rival cultivators two to three stages above their displayed level]
[Note: Each efficiency threshold represents qualitative breakthrough in combat capability. Such improvements would require systematic retraining. Time required: Minimum 6 months. Resource investment: Substantial. Political capital: Massive]
[Additional note: Implementing such improvements would reveal host's knowledge of Scripture cultivation methods. Risk assessment: Unacceptable]
Wang Ben watched a foundation establishment cultivator execute a defensive technique, his spiritual energy flaring in a pattern that the System identified as wasting nearly 90% of the power invested. The cultivator was skilled, his movements practiced and precise. But the technique itself was fundamentally inefficient, designed according to principles that had been obsolete for millennia.
He could teach them better. He had the knowledge, archived in a consciousness that spanned eras. He could transform this fortress's defensive capability, turn their desperate holding action into something approaching sustainable resistance.
And doing so would paint a target on his back that would attract attention from powers he wasn't ready to face.
"You're watching them again."
Zhao Yu had appeared beside him, moving with the silent efficiency that his Battle Soul provided.
"Just watching." Wang Ben kept his voice neutral. "Trying to understand how they train."
"Finding anything useful?"
Everything. And nothing I can share.
"Some observations that might help with the tactical analysis." Wang Ben turned away from the training ground. "Nothing dramatic."
Zhao Yu studied him for a moment, his instincts clearly sensing the tension beneath Wang Ben's calm surface. But he didn't press.
"Captain Liu asked me to find you. She wants to discuss your pattern analysis before the evening command meeting."
"I'll be there shortly."
Wang Ben took one last look at the training cultivators, watching them burn through spiritual energy that could have been conserved, practicing techniques that represented a fraction of their potential.
The waste was almost physical pain.
But revealing what he knew would create problems far worse than inefficiency.
He turned and walked toward the command center, leaving the training ground and its frustrated potential behind.
...
The evening's tactical meeting brought confirmation of patterns Wang Ben had identified.
Captain Liu Yanran presented the analysis to Commander Feng Zhaoyang and his senior staff, giving proper credit to the Wang Clan delegation's contributions without specifically highlighting Wang Ben's role. The political wisdom of the approach was evident: let the work speak for itself without making a young qi condensation cultivator too visible.
"Based on the pattern analysis, we've identified three priority targets for enemy action over the next two weeks." Captain Liu indicated the locations on the fortress schematic. "Western wall sector 4, the northern approach junction, and supply route hub 7. We recommend preemptive reinforcement of these positions."
[COMMAND RESPONSE ASSESSMENT]
[Commander Feng: Attentive, considering. Weighing resource costs against potential benefits]
[Senior staff: Mixed reactions. Some skeptical of pattern-based predictions. Others receptive]
[Probability of implementation: 65-75%]
"Reinforcing three positions simultaneously will strain our available formation resources," one of the senior officers objected. "We don't have the personnel to maintain enhanced coverage while continuing regular repairs."
"The alternative is waiting for the enemy to strike and then reacting." Captain Liu's voice remained professional. "We've tried reactive defense for six months. The casualty list outside tells us how well that's working."
The silence that followed was heavy with the presence of four hundred names.
"Approve the reinforcement plan," Commander Feng said finally. "Reallocate formation personnel as needed. If the pattern analysis is correct, we'll prevent damage before it occurs. If it's wrong, we'll have strengthened three strategic positions that needed attention anyway."
It was the pragmatic decision, the choice of a commander who had learned that doing nothing guaranteed failure while doing something at least offered the possibility of success.
Wang Ben watched the meeting conclude, feeling the quiet satisfaction of contribution that he couldn't openly claim. His analysis had influenced a decision that might save lives. That was what mattered, not recognition or credit.
But the frustrated potential of the training ground lingered in his thoughts. He could do so much more. If only the costs of revelation weren't so impossibly high.
...
That night, the dream came.
Wang Ben had grown accustomed to the System's processing during sleep, the background organization of information and the occasional diagnostic feedback. But this was different.
He stood in a place that wasn't anywhere he had ever been, surrounded by darkness that pressed against his consciousness like a living thing. Stars burned overhead, but they were wrong somehow, their light carrying grief rather than illumination.
Not his grief. Something older. Deeper. A sorrow that had watched civilizations rise and fall, that had witnessed endings beyond counting.
They are gone.
The words came without sound, an impression that bypassed his ears entirely.
All of them, gone. Every world I tried to save. Every people I tried to protect. Gone.
Images flashed through the darkness. Cities falling. Skies burning. Faces he didn't recognize frozen in moments of terror that became eternal. A hand reaching out across impossible distances, trying to catch something that was already lost.
I gave everything. It wasn't enough.
Wang Ben felt tears on his cheeks that weren't his own. Felt a burden of failure that exceeded anything his seventeen years could have produced. The grief was ancient, oceanic, the accumulated sorrow of someone who had loved too much and lost too completely.
Remember this.
The dream shifted. The darkness receded, leaving only a single image burned into his consciousness: a broken world, its surface cracked and bleeding light, surrounded by entities whose forms he couldn't quite perceive.
Remember what happens when we fail.
The entities moved closer, their incomprehensible forms casting shadows that were somehow darker than the void around them. They were feeding, Wang Ben realized with horror that wasn't quite his own. Feeding on the dying world, on the screams of billions that had already faded to silence.
And behind them, something larger still. Something that existed at a scale that made even the entities seem small. A presence that observed without emotion, that cataloged destruction without judgment, that would remember this ending long after the last star of this system went cold.
This is what awaits all worlds eventually.
This is what you fight against, whether you know it or not.
Remember.
The vision shattered.
...
Wang Ben woke gasping, his body drenched in sweat.
The room was dark, quiet, empty of anything except the normal sounds of a fortress at night. No ancient consciousness watching from the shadows. No cosmic grief pressing against his mind.
Just a dream.
[ANALYSIS: Dream sequence assessment]
[Origin: Unknown. Patterns do not match standard Qingxuan Transcendent Archive access]
[Emotional residue: Significant. Grief response persisting beyond sleep state]
[Content: Visual imagery suggesting large-scale catastrophe. Identity of perspective holder unclear]
[Note: This does not match previous experiences with Qingxuan Transcendent Archive information. Recommend monitoring for recurrence]
Wang Ben sat in the darkness for a long time, feeling the echo of a sorrow that didn't belong to him.
The System's analysis was accurate but insufficient. This wasn't simply information bleeding through from the Archive. This was something else, something deeper, a message that he couldn't interpret but couldn't ignore.
Remember what happens when we fail.
The words lingered in his mind as he lay back down, staring at the ceiling and waiting for a dawn that felt very far away.
Four hundred names on a wall. A grief that spanned galaxies. A war that he was only beginning to understand.
The fortress waited around him, its wounded infrastructure a reminder of everything that could still be lost. And somewhere in the Archive's depths, something ancient had chosen this moment to show him a truth he wasn't ready to comprehend.
Sleep did not return for a long time.
...
When dawn finally came, Wang Ben rose and made his way to the memorial wall once more. The new casualties hadn't been posted yet, the clerks still compiling the night's losses. But the four hundred names from before remained, silent witnesses to a war that extracted its price one life at a time.
He read them again. Every one.
Liu Xiaofeng. Zhang Mei. Chen Yong. Huang Wei.
And three hundred and ninety-six others whose stories he would never know.
"You're back." Liu Feng stood beside him, carrying two cups of tea. He offered one to Wang Ben without comment.
"I needed to remember." Wang Ben accepted the tea, its warmth a small comfort against the chill of the early morning. "What we're fighting for."
"And what is that?"
Wang Ben thought about the dream. The cosmic grief. The entities feeding on a dying world. The warning from a consciousness he couldn't identify about failures that spanned galaxies.
"A chance," he said finally. "A chance for these names to be the last ones on this wall. A chance for the people still alive to stay that way. A chance for tomorrow to be better than today."
Liu Feng was quiet for a long moment. Then he raised his cup in a small salute.
"That's as good a reason as any I've heard." He drank, then nodded toward the eastern horizon where the sun was beginning to rise. "Another day, young master Wang Ben. Another chance to make a difference."
"Another chance." Wang Ben echoed the words, feeling them settle into his heart.
The fortress stirred around them, its wounded infrastructure beginning another day of desperate defense. Somewhere in the enemy lines, strategists were planning their next strike. Somewhere in the Archive's depths, ancient knowledge waited to be applied.
And somewhere in the space between dreams and waking, something had shown him a truth he wasn't ready to understand.
But understanding could wait. For now, there was work to do.
Wang Ben finished his tea, memorized three more names from the wall, and went to face whatever the day would bring.