"One step at a time."
Lucan chose a spot just a few paces from his cabin—close enough for easy access, but open enough to work with.
As he selected the blueprint for a Small Shelter, the glowing projection unfolded before him in midair. A ghostly outline of the completed shelter appeared directly on the ground, showing him exactly where everything would go.
"Nice," Lucan muttered.
"So I just need to build over this guide, and the shelter can be like the one it's showing."
He began by clearing the land—kicking aside loose rocks, broken roots, and scattered debris until the soil was mostly flat.
Then he placed flat stones to form a simple base. With axe in hand and sweat on his brow, Lucan chopped sturdy logs from the nearby treeline and hauled them over one by one.
He arranged them into a rectangular frame, securing the corners tightly with thick rope he'd scavenged earlier.
Overhead beams came next, forming the skeleton of a slanted roof. He covered it with layers of bark, leaves, and scraps of tattered canvas—anything to help block the wind and rain.
Inside, he laid out dry moss and grass to cushion the ground and wedged stones around the base of the walls to brace the structure against storms.
It wasn't pretty—but it was solid.
The screen flickered to life in front of him:
[Small Shelter Constructed – Durability: 67%]
[+5 LP]
[+Passive Morale Boost: Rest Site Enabled]
[Shelter Count: 1/15]
[Night Exposure Penalty: Reduced]
Lucan wiped the sweat from his brow, reading the new data.
"Huh… So if I build more shelters like this one, maybe I can house the others. The five people still left here… this might help them boost their morale."
He glanced at the counter. 1/15.
"So only 15 shelters max through the screen… but maybe, if I build them manually without the blueprint guide, I could sneak in more—though it'll take more time and probably be harder without the visual aid."
Then his eyes narrowed at a new term. "LP, huh? What's that?"
As if on cue, the screen responded to his curiosity:
[Land Points (LP): A measure of the land's response to restoration. LP is earned by improving the territory—constructing shelters, supporting residents, purifying corrupted zones, and nurturing the land back to life. LP can be used to reshape terrain (level ground, raise hills), unlock advanced constructions or hidden features, and upgrade existing buildings or zones. The more the land thrives under your care, the more it responds in kind.]
"Oh… so the land itself reacts to some of my actions. That's… actually kind of amazing."
Lucan smiled to himself. "This is it. A place where I can build what I want—no rules, no limits. Just progress."
He looked at the horizon. The sun was dipping low, casting the world in warm, fading gold.
"Alright. Shelter's done. Next up—firepit."
Lucan gathered stones and arranged them into a ring beside the shelter. He placed a pile of firewood—collected earlier—at the center and fanned it gently. With night creeping closer, time was short.
He returned to the cabin, rummaging through drawers and boxes until he found two rough flint stones. Back outside, he crouched at the firepit and struck them together.
Once. Twice. Three times.
Nothing.
Fourth try.
A spark.
Then—a flicker of flame.
He gently blew on it until the wood caught and the fire came alive, dancing with golden tongues in the deepening dusk. As soon as the flame stabilized, the system responded again:
[Basic Firepit Constructed]
[+1 LP]
[Passive Effects:]
• Heat Radius: 5m
• Morale +1
• Night Vision Debuff: Softened
[Firepit Count: 1/15]
Lucan leaned back, watching the numbers tick up.
"So the screen counted it—even though I didn't use a blueprint… same as the shelter. That means I can go beyond 15—if I build the extras myself."
The fire crackled, snapping tiny embers into the air.
Lucan smiled. "Not bad. A roof over my head to sleep, some warmth and light. Now let's eat, and call it a night."
Lucan opened his satchel, pulled out a dried ration, and sat beside the fire. He chewed slowly, staring into the flickering flames—when a noise caught his ear.
Footsteps.
Lucan turned his head.
Five figures emerged from the shadowy path beyond the ruins. They walked slowly—cautiously—drawn by the scent of smoke and the sight of fire.
At the front was an elderly man, stooped with age, his gait a weak, limping shuffle, yet his eyes, though sunken, held a flicker of desperate hope.
Behind him, a gaunt man and a tired woman walked close together, their faces pale and etched with the lines of starvation, the woman clutching a small, silent child to her chest.
Following them closely were two boys: a teenager with wary, darting eyes that took everything in, and a younger boy, no older than twelve, who clung to the woman's side, his eyes wide and fearful.
They were filthy—clothes tattered, faces pale, eyes hollow from hunger and fear. Their skin clung tightly to their bones. 'It looked like they hadn't eaten in days… or longer.'
Lucan stood slowly, his heart pounding. 'These must be the other survivors… the 'population' the system mentioned.'
The figures hesitated at the edge of the firelight, like skittish deer, unsure whether to approach or retreat.
They shivered visibly in the cold, but fear kept them rooted in place, their gazes fixed on Lucan, wary of his sudden movement. Lucan stood up slowly, watching them.
They froze when he reached for his sword. The elderly man visibly flinched.
But instead of drawing it in threat, he simply kept his hand near it—just in case.
"Sir, please, you don't need it," the old man said, his voice raspy, stepping forward cautiously, his eyes pleading.
"Sir, may we sit here? My family... have caught a chill. We don't know how to make fire, but we saw smoke from afar and thought maybe... maybe we could come here and warm ourselves."
"We also saw you inspecting the land earlier. Are you here for a purpose, sir?" His gaze held a mixture of desperate need and an ingrained caution, like a stray dog approaching a hand offering food.
Lucan studied them. Ragged clothes, thin limbs, gaunt faces. These weren't raiders or soldiers. Just survivors. The other five... 'These must be the others the screen mentioned.'
"You can sit here," Lucan said finally, gesturing to the fire. His voice was steady, aiming to reassure.
"Actually, I wanted to speak with you. Are you the only ones left in this land, or is there anyone else?"
They nodded and moved slowly toward the warmth, their movements stiff, as if each step was a conscious effort.
They settled down hesitantly around the fire, their eyes, wide and hollow, devouring the sight of the flames.
Their faces showed a deep, silent gratitude, but their bodies remained tense, ready to spring away at the slightest threat.
Lucan stepped into his shelter and pulled out some supplies—bread, jerky, a bottle of filtered water. The water came from a nearby stream, but Lucan had rigged a basic filter device of his own design to purify it.
He returned to the group, sitting in front of them and offering food. No one moved at first. Their eyes, though filled with hunger, still held a flicker of doubt.
But when the younger boy, unable to resist, reached out and gingerly accepted a piece of jerky, followed by the teenager, the others followed one by one.
The woman was the last to take it, her eyes lowered, a tremor in her hand as she accepted the bread for her child.
Trying to keep the conversation going, Lucan asked, "So... why are you staying here? This land's practically cursed. Couldn't you go somewhere else?"
The old man looked startled but answered calmly, "Sir... it's not that we don't want to leave. But even if we did, we'd be nothing in those other lands. No one would hire us. No one would help. Here, at least, we can hunt. Maybe even fight a beast and earn our next meal. Out there, someone would slit our throats for a coin."
Lucan tilted his head. "So you've accepted it, then? You'll just live here until the end?"
No one answered.
Their silence said everything.
Lucan sighed. 'I guess it's time to be direct.'
"Listen up. From this day forward, I'm the lord of this land. Official or not, this territory belongs to me. My father gave it to me—probably just to get me out of the family. But I'm here now. And I intend to make something of it. You five are the first people I have seen in this land… and I'll need your help."
He paused, letting his words sink in. "My name is Lucan Ashford. And your names?"
The old man gave a small nod, a gesture of weary respect. "Lord, my name is Nors Silan. This here is my son, Evan Silan," he said, pointing to the injured man whose gaunt face seemed permanently etched with pain.
"That's Evan's wife, Daria Rowen. This young man is my grandson, Kenny Silan. And this little one is my youngest grandson, Alian Silan."
The boy clung to Daria's leg, his wide, fearful eyes fixed on Lucan, but offered a shy nod.
The first to speak was Kenny, his voice barely a whisper despite his youthful energy. "L–Lord, this land... it's cursed. The last lord died here—killed by monsters. You should return to your estate. This place is unworthy of your presence."
Nors chimed in, his voice thick with earnest appeal, "We're grateful for the food, Lord, and in return, we beg you—don't stay here."
Lucan let out a humorless chuckle, the sound dry and devoid of mirth. "You think I want to be here? My father didn't send me with love—he sent me with a decree. Said it was a lord's order, not a father's wish. I've got nowhere else to go."
"But—" Daria started, her voice raspy from disuse, but Lucan held up a hand, cutting in firmly.
"We're all in the same boat. I can't go back, and you can't go forward. So let's stop pretending otherwise and start working together. Now... who among you can help?"
Nors was the first to respond, a flicker of renewed purpose in his old eyes. "Lord, I can clean. Kenny can fetch some water. Daria can tend to fires. My son's injured, so he's no good for now. And Alian... well, he's too young."
Lucan nodded, accepting their meager offerings of skill. "That's fine. Evan can rest, and I'll figure out something light for Alian when the time comes."
[Population Roles Set: 3 Active / 5 Total]
[Work Efficiency: 48%]
[+1 LP]
[Zone Mood: Hesitant Tolerance]
'So the screen tracks who's working… and how well the land responds to it,' Lucan thought, eyes narrowing at the data. 'This could be useful.'
He looked up. "Where have you all been sleeping?"
Nors answered, his gaze dropping to the ground,
"Wherever it's clean and dry. We make a simple roof of wood, but we don't know how to build stone houses or anything like that."
"Hmm, that won't do," Lucan said, shaking his head. He pointed toward his own shelter.
"See that? I built it earlier today. I'll make one for your family tonight—and another tomorrow. You'll stay close to me. We're going to work together now, and I need you healthy enough to help me."
Their eyes widened, a mixture of disbelief and profound gratitude washing over their gaunt faces.
"Thank you, Lord!" Kenny exclaimed, his voice cracking with emotion.
"We won't let you down!" Daria murmured, her hand still clutching her child, but her shoulders visibly relaxing.
"Thank you for your kindness!" the old man, Nors, added, his voice thick with tears.
Lucan nodded, trying not to let their gratitude get to him too much. 'All it took was some bread and a roof. I've never had anyone call me 'lord' before… not like this, with genuine hope in their voices.'
The family pitched in as Lucan laid out a second shelter. With their help—carrying logs, placing stones, tying supports—they finished in under thirty minutes.
The sound of their shared effort, the thud of wood and scrape of stone, filled the dusk.
[Small Shelter Constructed – Durability: 68%]
[+5 LP]
[Shelter Count: 2/15]
[Night Exposure Penalty: Reduced]
The sun had vanished by the time the shelter was done. Nors volunteered to sleep outside and keep watch.
The others filed into the newly built shelter, their murmurs of awe soft, their movements slow with fatigue but quick with relief as they settled onto the dry moss.
The air inside seemed to exhale with their relaxed expressions for the first time all day.
Lucan returned to his cabin and collapsed on the bedding. The rough blankets felt surprisingly comfortable after the day's toil.
As he closed his eyes, the screen shimmered again:
[Daily Report – Day 1]
[Population: 6]
[Structures: 3]
[LP Gained: +12]
[Morale: Stable]
[Threat Level: Holding]
[New Objective Unlocked: Stabilize Hamlet – 25% Complete]
[Next Suggestion: Establish Food Supply]
'Day one,' Lucan thought, staring at the glowing report.
'Some days ago, I was dining in silk, my hands soft, my biggest worry the angle of my next blueprint. Now I'm building shacks in a cursed land, handing out dried meat, and trying to rally strangers into settlers. The stench of rot still clings to my clothes, and my muscles ache.'
He let out a soft sigh, a strange mix of exhaustion and satisfaction.
'But... maybe that's not such a bad thing. This place, this cursed land, it feels raw, untamed. But here, I'm free to build what I want—no rules, no limits imposed by a family name or a cold father. The screen is helping me. And I've already got people relying on me. That's a start.'
With those thoughts, Lucan drifted off to sleep—beneath a roof he built with his own hands, in a land that was finally starting to stir under his care.