"Your men do not need hope, Prince. They need orders."
— Captain Garron, Veteran of the Deadwood War
The sunrise was cold and crimson.
Jag leaned over the scorched barracks wall, the stench of blood and burning wood thick in the air. The gnoll corpses had been dragged into a pyre, their twisted bodies now ash and smoke. The first wave had been repelled, but barely.
His fingers still trembled. A prince in name, a leader by force. And yet—he had survived.
[System Update]
EXP: 60/100 (Lv. 1)
Resources: 200 Gold
Morale: 52% (STABLE)
Militia Units Remaining: 1
Tower Status:
• Archer Tower (Cliffside): 87% Integrity
• Barracks (West Ridge): 42% Integrity (Nonfunctional)
Time to Next Wave: 11:49:37
[New Directive: Reinforcement & Recovery]
Objective: Rebuild Barracks and Recruit at Least 3 Units
Bonus: Recruit a Heroic Unit (Optional)
Failure: Civil Panic + Morale Crash
Secondary Risk: Execution for Insubordination
Jag gritted his teeth.
He wasn't just surviving waves—he was on a timer between them. Every second lost was death disguised as delay. He had to think, act, and lead like this wasn't a game.
Because it wasn't.
A voice interrupted his thoughts. "You look like you've seen a ghost, Prince."
He turned.
Captain Garron—grizzled, broad-shouldered, wearing half-rusted plate—approached with a limp. His right eye was a cloudy gray, the scar across it like a jagged canyon.
"I saw worse than ghosts last night," Jag muttered. "What's the status?"
Garron folded his arms. "Two towers up, but barely. Archer tower held, but the barracks is splintered and your soldiers are dead. One lad survived with a shattered arm—can't fight."
Jag's knuckles whitened. "Then we build again."
He swiped the air—Command Interface: Structures.
[Rebuild Options]
Barracks Tower (Lv. 1): 150 Gold
Upgraded Barracks (Lv. 2): 250 Gold
Training Grounds (Passive Regen): 300 Gold
Funds Available: 200 Gold
No hesitation. "Rebuild basic Barracks on West Ridge. Now."
[Construction Initiated: Barracks Tower Lv.1 – 150 Gold Spent]
Gold Remaining: 50
The ghostly scaffolding shimmered in the air before solidifying into a functioning structure. Three training dummies, a weapon rack, and a bunkhouse formed over cobblestone within moments.
[Barracks Tower Rebuilt]
Training Capacity: 3
Current Units: 0
Recruit Cost: 50 Gold per Unit
Jag winced. "Exactly enough for one…"
He turned. "Garron, I need bodies. Any volunteers?"
The old soldier spat. "Not likely. Half the town fled, the other half won't risk their necks for a prince they just met. You want soldiers, you either draft them or bribe them."
[New Sub-Directive: Civil Management]
• Option A: Issue Emergency Draft (Morale -15%)
• Option B: Host Public Speech (Morale +10% on success; -10% on failure)
• Option C: Bribe Citizens (100 Gold per volunteer)
Jag looked around—half-burned rooftops, peasants peeking from cracked shutters, the smell of fear still hanging like fog.
He had no gold. He had no goodwill.
But he had a voice.
"Option B," he said. "Public Speech. I'll speak to them myself."
By midmorning, a platform had been erected near the central plaza. Garron stood nearby, silent but watchful. A crowd of thirty villagers gathered—women clutching children, blacksmiths, old veterans missing limbs.
Jag stepped onto the wood. His breath caught.
Then he spoke.
"I won't lie to you," he began. "Stormwatch is dying."
Gasps. Murmurs.
"But if it falls—if we fall—then there's nothing left between Linirea and the dark."
He stepped forward. "I didn't ask to be your prince. I didn't earn your trust. But I will earn your blood. If I die tomorrow, I'll die on the front lines, not behind these walls."
He drew his sword—barely used, but gleaming in the sun.
"I'm not here to rule you. I'm here to fight with you."
[Speech Result: PASS]
Morale: 52% → 61%
+2 Volunteers Joined the Barracks
Gold Required: 0
[Militia Units Recruited: 2/3 Required]
Garron gave a small grunt. "Not bad for a green noble."
Jag smirked. "Two more than we had. One more to go."
Back in the war chamber, a new icon pulsed red.
[Optional Task Available: Heroic Recruitment Detected]
• Name: "Ashra the Unbroken"
• Class: Hero Unit (Blade-Dancer)
• Location: Frozen Chapel, North Outskirts
• Requirement: Escort and Free Her
• Danger Level: Moderate
• Time Cost: 4 Hours
• Reward: 1 Hero Unit + +15 Morale + Trait Unlock
Jag hesitated.
The timeline was brutal. The wave came in eight hours. Spending half that time outside the Citadel might be suicide.
But…
"Tell me about Ashra," he asked Garron.
The old man's face hardened. "A mercenary. Half-elf. They caught her stealing runes from the old chapel five years ago. Chained her beneath the altar. Rumor is she's still alive… or something is."
Jag's mind whirred.
A normal militia would break. He needed something stronger. Someone to rally the others.
He nodded. "Prep a horse. We're going."
Garron blinked. "You? Out there?"
Jag narrowed his eyes. "I'm not leading from behind."
[Escort Side Quest Activated: Blade-Dancer in Chains]
Party Formed: Jag Arclight (Lv. 1), Captain Garron (Lv. 5, Temporary Unit)
Supplies: 1 Healing Salve, 0 Potions, No Mounts
Weather: Snowfall Imminent
Time Cost: 4 Hours (In + Out)
They rode hard past the Citadel's frost-cracked gates, torches lighting their way as snow began to fall. The north outskirts were quiet—eerily so. Wind whispered between trees like ghostly voices.
At last, they reached the Frozen Chapel—a ruined cathedral of white marble, half-buried in frost.
The main door groaned as Jag pushed it open.
And there—beneath the shattered altar—hung a woman by chains.
Her hair was white as snow, her eyes shut tight, breathing shallow. Tattoos ran along her arms, her muscles lean, body armored only by frost and stubborn life.
[Target Located: Ashra the Unbroken]
Vital Signs: Weak
Threat Level: Suppressed
Warning: Binding Rune Detected
Jag stepped closer.
Garron unsheathed his blade. "Careful. She wakes up swinging."
[Dispel Option: Use 1 Trait Point or Succeed INT Check]
He had no traits. No spells.
But he had one thing: his hands.
He stepped forward and touched the rune.
Nothing.
Then whispered, "I need your strength. We're dying. Stormwatch needs you."
The rune shimmered… then cracked.
Ashra gasped and fell forward into Jag's arms.
[Heroic Unit Recruited: Ashra the Unbroken]
Class: Blade-Dancer
Passive: +15 Morale to Nearby Allies
Active: Dance of Crimson (AOE Slash, CD: 60s)
Loyalty: Neutral (Pending Dialogue)
Trait Unlock Gained: +1 Leadership
They returned with two hours to spare.
The townsfolk watched in awe as Ashra limped into the square, blade drawn and eyes burning like wildfire. Children whispered her name. Old soldiers nodded in respect.
Jag didn't wait for praise.
He checked the System.
[Barracks Units: 3/3]
[Heroic Unit: 1 Assigned]
[Towers: 2/4 Active]
[Morale: 76% (INSPIRED)]
[Next Wave In: 01:57:45]
Wave Forecast:
• 40x Gnoll Marauders
• 5x Warbeasts
• 1x Shaman (Unknown Ability)
Jag stood over the map table.
He wasn't breathing fast anymore. He wasn't stammering.
He was calculating. Predicting. Positioning.
Not a gamer behind a screen.
Not a puppet prince.
But something far more dangerous.
A commander.