The sergeant's tent became an unlikely classroom. He arrived there each morning with the servile gait of a slave and left with pockets of information tucked behind his ribs: newly recorded shipments, missing tools put down in different places, and the sergeant's offhand comments that hinted at where the camp's weaknesses lay. Each detail was a thread, and he was learning to weave them into something stronger.
With his new access, Li Wei began to place men into roles that amplified the cell's abilities without attracting praise for himself. The boy—whose name he still didn't know—was given minor mending tasks that put him near the overseer's laundry pile, a good place to observe the guards' comings and goings. Chen's hands were steadier than a drunkard's; he was moved into the granary checks where he could note delivery patterns. Hu became a favored checker of stone for the ramp—his rough hands were always needed, and thus his presence was underrated. Zhang was the pivot, the one who trained quietly but could swagger when necessary and draw attention away from delicate work.
The Logistics Manager offered small efficiencies: rotation adjustments that saved time for the overseers, slight miscounts that allowed the cell's pockets to hold a little more discreetly, and a soft, suggestive module that recommended men who could be sent on "special tasks." The system's intelligence was not omniscient, but it provided the leverage to nudge fate.
He used that leverage to nudge hearts next. The cell's small successes had begun to crack the ice of the camp. Men who had once avoided them now lingered near their section, listening for slivers of conversation. Small favors—an extra trickle of gruel, a shallow patch of bandaging, a hand to lift a stone—became the currency of loyalty.
He also learned that influence required a story. The sergeant's trust in him had grown because he could tell a convincing tale about being a builder. Stories mended the world's sharp edges—explaining why he knew to shore a ramp, why a chest might leak arrows. He wove such tales carefully, each an armor against suspicion.
The system supplied a cold new window one morning as he studied the ledgers: [Opportunity: Local militia recruitment drive in three weeks. Inspectors will select men for training; soldiers with basic formation skills stand a higher chance.]
A test of opportunity. The militia recruiters would bring a chance to move men out of the slave lines and into the army. It was the very lever he had been waiting for: the way out that didn't require running and didn't require burning every bridge. But it was also a lottery—public, observed, and dangerous. How to win without exposing his cell?
The answer lay in influence. If he could seed recommendations through the sergeant—suggest names in the correct way, praising men for skill and fitness while obscuring their true affiliations—he could send his core into the militia recruitment rolls. Once in militia training, a man could receive equipment, legal status, and training; once trained, he could be an instrument rather than a victim.
He started with small moves. At the sergeant's request for recommendations, he praised a man named Gao with a soft emphasis on "reliable" and "steady under pressure." Gao had once been a carpenter and had hands fit for construction and for wielding a bow. Li Wei's praise had just enough conviction to be plausible. The sergeant smiled and made a note to consider the man.
The first recruit selection day arrived like a dry wind. Men gathered under a pale morning, and the recruiters—stern-faced veterans from a nearby garrison—shadowed the lines like hawks. The selection tests were basic: run a short distance, shoulder a load, show discipline in standing. The sergeant's men performed adequately; a few of Li Wei's recommended names passed with a nod from the recruiters.
When Gao was chosen and marched away with others toward nominal freedom, a thrill chased through the camp. They had done it. A man had left the chains—not through escape, but through a path the camp itself sanctioned.
But freedom in Qin was crooked. The militia recruiter looked at Gao and then at him with a measured gaze. "This man has skill," the recruiter said, "but watch him. Men like him rise quick and sometimes burn quick."
"Thank you for your oversight," he replied smoothly. "I trust the empire's wisdom."
The recruiter's glance hardened like weather, and he made notes in a crude ledger. A subtle warning hung in the air: progress would bring attention.
They trained the men in the basics that the cell had taught: drills, spear stances, silent signals in rows. The men left better armed, better fed, and with knowledge the camp could not take away. Each departure was painful—a loss of hands—but necessary. The camp's structure began to shift as their people moved toward legal ranks that might one day be used to carve a territory for themselves.
Meanwhile, Li Wei rotated other men through the sergeant's recommended "special tasks" so that more could be observed by officers and noticed for merit. It was a dangerous game of names and faces, praise and silence, but it widened their reach. The Logistics Manager hummed with approval. [Influence Expanded: +12% selection probability for recommended men.]
He woke one night with the weight of his decision on his chest. Sending men out of the camp was a gamble. He had to trust the militia, trust the recruiters, and trust that the men would not be given away to cruel masters. But the alternative—keeping them in the slow death of labor—felt worse.
When the first batch of recruits marched past the wall toward the garrison, the boy—now given a small wooden practice sword by Zhang—watched with wide eyes and an ache in his throat. "Will they be safe?" he asked in a voice barely above a breath.
He knelt and placed a hand on the boy's shoulder. "We are making room," he said simply. "We make paths out of the cracks. If we are careful, those paths widen."
The system's menu flashed one more note as if approving his choice: [Population Mobility Enabled: Long-term viability increased.]
One by one, they moved men into positions where the camp itself would carry them away into a world where iron and rank could replace shackles. It wasn't escape in the dramatic sense, but it was a ladder—and ladders were built one rung at a time.
Teaser: He turned selections into exodus—embedding his men into the empire's own ranks and widening a fragile path out of slavery.
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