The first attempt created blurry, distorted images that looked like abstract art. The light-capture rate was too slow, causing motion blur, and the color encoding was completely wrong.
Multiple iterations refined the capture speed, color accuracy, and image resolution until photos looked genuinely recognizable.
After four hours of intensive work, I held the first functional magical smartphone prototype. It was crude - the casing was simple tal rather than elegant design, the display was modest resolution, and various functions were basic - but it worked.
I activated the device, navigated its simple interface, took a photo of my workbench, called the second prototype, and watched real-ti communication occur with zero latency.
"It actually works," I said aloud, genuine amazent in my voice despite having designed it myself.
----
Despite the exhilaration of creating the first functional magical smartphone and wanting desperately to refine the design, add features, and perfect every component, I forced myself to stop.
I looked at the crude but functional prototype in my hands, then at the various improvent ideas already forming in my mind. Better display resolution. Enhanced cara quality. Sleeker casing design. Additional applications and features. The possibilities were endless and genuinely exciting.
But strength was still more important.
Creating these devices brought genuine joy - the problem-solving, the innovation, the satisfaction of bringing Earth concepts into this magical world. However, that enjoynt couldn’t distract from the fundantal reality: without sufficient personal power, all the brilliant inventions in the world wouldn’t protect or those I cared about when genuine threats erged.
The increasing beast aggression Sylvia had ntioned, my father’s dangerous mission, Kyle’s escalating rivalry, the Thornback nest elimination - all of these reminded that combat capability remained the ultimate currency in this world. Innovation was valuable, but survival required strength first.
"This phone is good enough for now," I muttered, carefully storing both prototypes and the foundational machines in my spatial ring. "Ti to focus on what actually matters."
I left the blacksmithing facility and headed directly toward the standard training rooms, my mind already shifting from engineering creativity to combat developnt priorities.
Three hours passed in intensive focused training.
I worked through each of my bloodline traits, pushing them toward their next advancent thresholds. Blood Control exercises focused on precision manipulation at increasing distances and complexity. Physical Enhancent training involved maximum output intervals that left my muscles burning. Supernatural Physique work tested my body’s limits through extre stress applications.
My secret art practice incorporated the Royal-rank footwork technique, refining the fluid movents I had learnt until they beca second nature rather than conscious effort. Each stance transition needed to flow seamlessly, creating combat advantages through positioning and montum.
Of course, I practised my overlord rank secret art that Carmilla had given too. I had gotten much better and faster at the use of my null strike.
Skill training covered everything from swordsmanship refinent to decision-making scenarios. I sparred against enchanted combat dummies set to Transcendent-rank difficulty, accepting injuries and exhaustion as necessary costs of improvent.
The training was gruelling but satisfying in a completely different way than engineering work. Where creation brought intellectual excitent, combat developnt provided visceral confirmation of growing capability.
Thud!
I collapsed onto a training mat after completing the final exercise set, breathing heavily and covered in sweat. My muscles ached, my mana reserves were depleted, and minor injuries throbbed throughout my body.
But I felt stronger. asurably, tangibly stronger.
As I caught my breath, I rembered I hadn’t checked on my father’s status today. With everything happening - Changing Star’s hatching, the smartphone creation, intensive training - I’d been distracted from monitoring his mission progress.
I retrieved the Book of Hints from my storage ring and opened it with focused intent.
New text materialized across the page:
Duke Marcus Blackwood approaches Thornhaven territory. Advance scouts report heavier monster presence than initial intelligence suggested. Combat encounters increasing in frequency and intensity. Royal-rank footwork integration continues improving combat effectiveness. Morale remains strong despite challenging conditions.
Probability of survival: 60%
A frown ford on my face as I processed the information.
Sixty percent. That was down two percentage points from the previous 62% reading.
The survival rate had been climbing steadily as my father trained and prepared, which had provided genuine relief. Seeing it drop, even slightly, was concerning because it indicated external factors working against him rather than internal capability issues.
The increased monster presence ntioned in the report aligned with Sylvia’s classroom briefing about escalating beast aggression across the kingdom. Whatever was driving the coordinated attacks wasn’t limited to Thornhaven - this appeared to be a pattern affecting multiple regions.
"External factors," I muttered, analyzing the tactical situation. "Sothing beyond his control is making the mission more dangerous."
The two percent decrease wasn’t catastrophic, but it represented a negative trend that could continue worsening if the underlying causes weren’t addressed. My father’s personal strength was improving through secret art practice, but if the enemy forces kept growing or the situation deteriorated further, even enhanced capabilities might not be sufficient.
I considered potential interventions. Could I send additional resources? Alert the family to deploy more support? The problem was that any significant changes would take ti to implent, and my father was already approaching the target area.
"Sixty percent is still manageable odds," I told myself, though the reassurance felt hollow. "Better than the original five percent by a massive margin."
But the downward trend bothered more than the absolute number. If external pressures continued mounting, that sixty percent could beco fifty, then forty, then lower. At what point would I need to take more drastic action?
I stared at the book for a long mont before closing it carefully and returning it to storage.
For now, all I could do was trust in the preparations I’d already made - the Royal-rank secret art, the Typhoon Pendant, the troops my father had assembled. Those advantages remained valid regardless of external circumstances.
But I would be checking that survival percentage daily from now on, monitoring for any further deterioration that might require ergency intervention.
My father was walking into increasingly dangerous territory, and I could only watch the numbers and hope they didn’t fall too far.
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