The dungeon loot was hardly itemized when Sharath retreated to his workshop and unrolled plans of Unnatirajya's fortifications. The spoils of three floors lay in tidy stacks outside the warehouse, yet his gaze shone only for glowing cores and hybrid tusks.
These," he stated, pounding his fist on the blueprints, "will be the backbone of our defensive network. Mana cannons on walls, rune-attuned sentry towers, and provision storage. If someone decides to sneeze at my land ten miles out, I want them to regret it."
Out of the corner, 🐧NeuroBoop snorted.
"Translation: You're transforming a modest farming colony into a proto-nuclear nation-state. This must, by all means, end peacefully and without geopolitical repercussions.
Sharath disregarded the sarcasm and started assigning positions. Before the next morning, the town square of Unnatirajya had turned into a madhouse recruitment center.
Training Day: Disaster Class
Sharath recruited volunteers for the First Defensive Guard Corps with promised training, shelter, and regular pay. Hundreds waited in line—farmers, artisans, even a couple of hunters. Sharath, clipboard at hand (handmade, naturally), looked over them with pride.
"Great turnout! Step one: learn how to hold a rifle."
Ten minutes in, pandemonium was in charge.
Half the recruits let their rune-rifles go flying because the kick almost dislocated their shoulders. Another group managed to create a firing line facing the opposite direction. One elderly farmer sneezed during the shot and vaporized the town's communal laundry line by accident.
Sharath pinched the bridge of his nose. "This is why we can't have nice things."
🐧NeuroBoop, on the other hand, offered unwanted commentary.
"Congratulations, Commander. You've successfully created the first army that is more dangerous to its own people than the enemy. Truly a military innovation."
The recruits tried again. And again. After three days of drills, they finally managed to fire in unison—although half the volley still missed the practice targets entirely and annihilated a chicken coop.
Villager Chaos
While Sharath trained the guards, the villagers themselves responded to the new ID card checkpoints and defense towers that were popping up all over town.
One of the bakers burst into the square, waving his flour-covered arms. "Why do I need a wooden card with runes that shine to sell bread? Bread doesn't besiege fortresses!"
One villager grumbled that the rune-sentries kept following him with glowing eyes whenever he went to the well. "I swear the tower winked at me!"
Sharath called an emergency town hall. On the dais, he held up his hands for quiet.
People of Unnatirajya, I know. The ID cards are to protect you. The towers aren't watching you—they're set to monitor hostility. If you're not conspiring to kill or burn, they won't wink at you."
A cat yowled from the crowd, Thermo, in a dramatic dispute. The villagers laughed, tension held at bay for the moment.
Nevertheless, Sharath stormed out of the meeting complaining, "Why does governance get tougher than slimes?"
Construction Comedy
The walls of the fortress rose next. Laborers hauled stone, masons carved runes, and Sharath directed it all like an ADHD foreman.
He actually demanded three concurrent walls at one point. The outcome: one wall cut straight through the future marketplace, shutting down the fish stalls. The merchants cried bloody murder.
"Okay, okay!" Sharath shouted, hands raised. "We'll call it… a defensive feature. Extra security for the market."
🐧NeuroBoop cackled.
"Yes, impenetrable fish. The cornerstone of any thriving economy."
Even the roadwork turned into farce. Sharath's first prototype road roller was so heavy it crushed not only the dirt path but also three carts parked nearby. The villagers began calling it the "House-Flattener" instead of the "Road-Maker."
But progress somehow persisted. Two months after, Unnatirajya's skyline shone with watchtowers, strengthened gates, and fresh cobblestone roads.
The Birth
Before Sharath could proclaim the next phase of defensive strategy, word came to him: Lady Ishvari was in labor.
The Darsha estate overnight became a different place. Midwives ran around, servants bore hot water and blankets, and Lord Varundar Darsha strode the corridor like a tiger pacing in its cage.
Sharath, this time, was fidgety. His hands trembled, his mind racing. "What if something goes wrong? What if…"
🐧NeuroBoop broke in gently this time, free of sarcasm.
"Chill, genius. There are things you can't shoot, blueprint, or outsmart. Trust your family."
There were hours, the tension hanging. Then, at last, a shout rang out down the hall—two shouts, actually.
The midwife came out, beaming. "Twins. A boy and a girl. Healthy and strong."
Lord Varundar sobbed outright, falling into a chair. Lady Ishvari, tired but shining, cradled the swaddled babies. One small fist clenched her finger, the other flailed wildly as if already accustomed to demanding attention.
Sharath moved nearer, wonder filling him. He had battled dungeons, creatures, and intrigue, but nothing equaled the look of his little siblings.
"They're perfect," he breathed.
Thermo padded into the room, smelled the babies, and instantly curled up at their feet as if staking them out. The whole family laughed.
Political Ripples
Naturally, even happiness couldn't remain free from politics. The twins' news raced like wildfire throughout the duchy. Nobles wrote congratulatory letters, merchants saw opportunity in celebration baubles, and the Emperor's court sent an envoy with golden rattles.
"Apparently," Sharath grumbled, cradling one of the rattles, "babies are now trade diplomacy now."
🐧NeuroBoop snickered.
"Don't sell baby goods short. You already created plushies, now you have a diaper empire waiting."
Sharath sighed. "Don't give Grandpa ideas."
Fortress Implementation
As much as the estate cheered, Sharath knew he couldn't let up. The defenses had to be done before politics or foes found new means to attack.
He began organizing the villagers based on their talents, assigning them roles: masons to the walls, hunters to the guard corps, healers to medical stations. His new Appraisal skill allowed him to pinpoint hidden abilities, much to the villagers' shock.
"You're assigning me to artillery?" one timid tailor asked.Sharath nodded. "You've got sharp reflexes and mana affinity. You'll do better with a cannon than a needle."
The tailor blinked, shrugged. "Alright."
Gradually, doubt gave way to pride. The villagers learned their lord wasn't merely pushing them around—he was discovering what they excelled at. The guard corps at last began to look like a real army.
Epilogue of the Month
At the end of the third month, Unnatirajya no longer resembled the quiet town it used to be. The roads were paved, the walls were strong, and runes glowed softly along the towers. The ID cards were standardized, the market flourished under guard, and the army marched in line rather than stumbling over their rifles.
Sharath perched atop the tallest tower, wind whipping his hair. Far beneath him, his domain teemed with activity—a orderly, guarded, prosperous settlement.
For once, he let himself catch his breath.
Then 🐧NeuroBoop muttered dryly:
"Don't get too cozy. Peace is merely the loading screen for the next chaos update."
Sharath smiled. He had twins to spoil, an army to command, and a fortress to enlarge. The chaos could arrive tomorrow. Today, Unnatirajya stood tall.