The idea did not come to Daniel in a flash of brilliance.
It came the way most of his decisions did now—quietly, inevitably, as if the world itself had already chosen the path and he was merely acknowledging it.
City Red Flags was already the safest place on the continent.
That alone was enough to draw attention.
Fear drove refugees. Safety attracted merchants. But influence—that required something more refined.
Daniel wanted the people who shaped regions without wearing crowns.
So he began to pull the strings.
Word spread first through traders and information brokers.
Not loudly. Not officially.
Just enough.
The safest city on the ground. No noble chokeholds. Absolute protection under the Red Flags Banner.
Influential families from neighboring towns began to send envoys. Then scouts. Then relatives "just to see."
Daniel welcomed them all.
But he did not make it easy.
City Red Flags expanded fast—stone roads laid with mana reinforcement, clean water channels enchanted against corruption, patrol routes designed to overlap without ever looking oppressive. The city felt safe, but never weak.
Then came the gold.
The mines granted to Daniel after Varreth were not hoarded.
They were weaponized.
Gold flowed into the city like blood through arteries. Prominent districts rose—wide streets, high walls, houses built not just to impress, but to intimidate. Mana-insulated foundations. Private training yards. Security formations etched invisibly into the stone.
And then Daniel made a choice that confused everyone.
He did not sell the land.
Every house.
Every estate.
Every luxurious residence—
Belonged to the city.
They were for rent.
Expensive rent.
Ownership could be purchased only temporarily—contracts spanning years or decades, bought at prices that made even wealthy nobles pause. When the contract ended, the land returned to the city.
No inherited chokeholds.
No eternal noble domains.
Only relevance.
The result was immediate.
City Red Flags became a twenty-four-hour income engine. Gold moved constantly—rent, contracts, trade taxes, training fees. Wealth circulated instead of stagnating.
Those who wanted to live there had to contribute, not simply exist.
Miimi was the first to see the full picture.
"You're filtering them," she said one night, eyes scanning economic reports. "Only families with actual value can afford long-term presence."
Daniel nodded. "Power rots when it stays still."
Beth raised an eyebrow. "And when they leave?"
"They leave behind gold," Daniel replied calmly. "And empty houses ready for the next generation of ambition."
Beth laughed softly. "You're building a city that eats nobles alive."
Daniel allowed himself a small smile.
"Good."
The second pillar came quietly.
Education.
Not schools for nobles. Not academies for prestige.
A School of Martial Arts for Humanity.
It stood slightly apart from the city center—large training grounds, reinforced halls, underground sparring chambers built to survive catastrophic force. The banner above its gates did not boast lineage or glory.
It bore a simple inscription:
Strength Earned, Not Given.
Entry was not free.
But not because of gold.
The price was intent.
The Eighteen Elders were chosen carefully—veterans of wars that never made songs, survivors of Daniel's early campaigns, warriors who understood discipline more than cruelty. They were not recruiters.
They were hunters.
They went on missions beyond the city's borders—clearing demonic nests, escorting caravans, stabilizing frontier zones.
And sometimes—
They bumped into children.
A boy who stood between a wounded sister and a demonic hound. A girl who picked up a broken spear after her village fell. A child who refused to run, even when fear screamed louder than reason.
The elders watched.
Tested.
Then offered a choice.
Not promises.
Not glory.
A purpose.
Those who accepted were brought to the school.
The training was brutal.
Foundations first—body, breath, will. Then weapons. Then formations. Then survival. Failure was common. Tears were ignored. Quitting was allowed—but returning was not.
Those who endured began to change.
They stood straighter .Spoke less. Listened more.
And when they passed the school's trials—
They faced something far more terrifying.
Evaluation for the Main Battalion.
The tests were not about power alone. Loyalty. Discipline. Judgment under pressure. The ability to retreat. The willingness to stand.
Those who passed were not called soldiers.
They were called assets.
And among the young warriors, something unexpected formed.
A sense of true royalty.
Not inherited.
Earned.
They did not bow because of blood.
They bowed because they knew what it took to stand where they stood.
Daniel watched it all from a distance.
And he was thrilled.
"You're smiling again," Beth said, catching him off guard one afternoon.
Daniel blinked. "Am I?"
Miimi folded her arms. "That usually means something terrifying is working perfectly."
Daniel chuckled—a sound few outside his wives ever heard.
"Imagine it," he said, voice lighter than usual. "When Eeseren wakes up."
Beth's eyes widened. "She'll think she slept through a century."
Miimi smiled softly. "A city, a school, a battalion… and a system replacing kingdoms."
Daniel leaned back, looking toward the horizon. "She'll complain first."
Beth laughed. "About what?"
"That I didn't wait for her approval."
Miimi smirked. "And then?"
"She'll walk the streets," Daniel said quietly, "and realize humanity finally has something worth fighting for."
For a moment, the three of them stood in silence.
Then Beth nudged him. "You know you only get sentimental like this around us."
Daniel exhaled. "Because sentimentality is weakness."
Miimi raised an eyebrow. "And we're exempt?"
"You're liabilities," he corrected flatly.
They both burst into laughter.
Around the battalion, Daniel was different.
No jokes.
No smiles.
He walked among them like a blade given human form—eyes sharp, presence heavy. Conversations died when he approached. Not from fear alone.
From respect.
Orders were brief.
Expectations absolute.
Failure was met with silence worse than punishment.
And success?
Acknowledged once.
Never repeated.
The battalion did not love him.
They believed in him.
And that was stronger.
City Red Flags continued to grow.
Influential families relocated quietly, embedding themselves into trade networks, information webs, and financial systems that all routed—eventually—back to Daniel.
Nobles began sending second sons. Third daughters. "Representatives."
Daniel accepted them.
Under the same rules.
Some failed.
Some survived.
All learned.
And far away, beneath layers of mana and time, Eeseren slept.
Unaware that when she opened her eyes—
She would awaken not to a territory…
But to a city that had already begun to replace the world.