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The camp was loud with hammering, chopping, and the constant murmur of voices. What had once been a disorganized sprawl of tents was slowly turning into a structured settlement, thanks to Riven's insistence on order. He stood with Goldie atop a raised wooden platform, clipboard in hand, eyes scanning the ever-growing crowd.
"Three Mysticoins deducted for neglecting water duties," Riven said coolly, marking a note. "Two gained for maintaining the herb garden."
Goldie, perched beside him, flicked her tail as if tallying the numbers herself. "The balance is holding… for now," she purred, her golden eyes narrowing. "But if you don't keep them motivated, Riven, Mysticoins will lose value."
Riven exhaled through his nose. "That's why Aurelia's leading the tree project. Tangible effort equals tangible reward."
Across the field, Aurelia barked orders, her crimson hair catching the sunlight like fire. A cluster of blue-ranked Travelers struggled to plant saplings into the soil. Others corralled elemental animals—foxes with glowing leaves sprouting from their backs, deer with bark-like hides—and Aurelia kept them in check with a sharp glare.
"Keep the wooden imps off the roots!" she snapped, drawing her blade and slicing down one of the mischievous, twig-bodied creatures that tried gnawing at a young oak. The crowd cheered her efficiency.
"+5 Mysticoins!" Aurelia shouted over her shoulder, tossing a pouch of tokens to the sweating Traveler who had shielded the sapling. The man grinned as his name glowed faintly in the System ledger hovering over the camp square.
Meanwhile, near the stoneworks, Nico was in his element. He crouched with sleeves rolled up, his hands glowing faint orange with Vita as he smoothed rough stone blocks into seamless bricks. Sparks leapt at every strike, and slowly a sturdy, arched shelter formed.
"Now that's craftsmanship," Garrick said with a lopsided grin, arms stacked with bundles of herbs and rope. "You're makin' the rest of us look like toddlers stacking sticks, Nico."
Nico smirked. "Someone's got to show them what real structure looks like."
But as he wiped sweat from his brow, his eyes fell on the other side of the square—where Milo and his party were working.
Milo wasn't alone. His pink-haired companion was weaving enchantments to stabilize wooden beams. The sorcerer with glasses used runes to fuse planks. The stoic rogue darted about with uncanny efficiency, pulling nails from thin air as if conjured. And the muscular man hauled entire logs as though they weighed nothing.
Above them, Milo stood directing with awkward enthusiasm—yet everything fell into place perfectly, as though luck itself bent the world to his favor.
When they finished, their structure wasn't just stable. It was grand—a two-story hall with clean lines and a roof that caught the light.
The surrounding Travelers erupted in cheers.
"Milo's party strikes again!"
"They built that in an hour?!"
"Hero class really is different…"
Nico's jaw tightened. His own stone shelter, once the pride of the camp, suddenly looked small beside the hero's gleaming hall.
Milo turned, smiling sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck as his party clapped him on the shoulder. He looked confused by the praise—as though he didn't quite believe it himself.
Nico's hand clenched into a fist. "Tch. He doesn't even know what he's doing. Just stumbles around, and somehow it all works out."
Garrick raised an eyebrow. "What, jealous?"
"I'm not jealous," Nico snapped, though his tone betrayed him. "I'm just saying—I've bled for every bit of skill I've got. And this guy…?" His eyes burned as he watched Milo's awkward grin. "He's just coasting on luck."
Goldie, from Riven's side, noticed the tension. Her tail flicked thoughtfully. "Luck versus labor… This will become a story to watch, Riven."
Riven, brushing back his dark hair, didn't look away from the ledger he was balancing. "Stories are for those with the luxury to care. I only want results."
Still, his eyes flickered briefly toward Milo's new hall, then back to Nico's clenched fist.
The camp was beginning to divide—between those who admired the Hero's luck and those who respected the workers' sweat.
And Riven knew he would need to manage it before admiration became rivalry.
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