The messenger's footsteps faded into the forest, leaving Ridgebrook trapped in a crushing silence. Villagers stood frozen, staring at Baron Vantor's decree as if the ink itself might leap from the parchment and strangle them.
Rebellion.
Execution.
War.
The words hung in the morning air like a curse.
Lira stepped closer to me, her voice shaking. "Liam… what do we do now?"
I didn't have an answer.
But Vlad did.
"We prepare," he said. "And we sharpen."
His voice was calm. Almost eager. As if this wasn't the beginning of our destruction, but the opening move of a game he had waited years to play.
Borrik swallowed hard. "Chief… if the baron comes himself, we won't last a day."
"That's why we're not waiting," I said, forcing strength into my voice. "We reinforce immediately. Walls. Trenches. Weapons. No hesitation."
The villagers looked at me with wide, desperate eyes. They wanted certainty. A plan. A miracle.
Vlad stepped forward and placed a heavy hand on my shoulder.
"This boy is your chief," he said. "Listen to him. Follow his orders. You will live."
No one argued.
After the bodies on the stakes, the terror in the soldiers' eyes, and the weight of Vlad's presence, no one dared.
We worked until dusk.
Then we worked again the next morning.
And the next.
Three days passed, each one heavy with tension.
Under Borrik's direction, villagers dug trenches and reinforced the gate. Wooden stakes were sharpened. Barricades thickened. Lira treated exhaustion, blisters, and strained muscles.
And Vlad trained them.
Relentlessly.
"Stand straight."
"Stop flinching."
"You hold a spear like a frightened goat."
"If you hesitate, you die. If you die, you waste my time."
He corrected posture with brutal precision. Forced them to run until their lungs burned. Made them spar with blunted spears again and again.
"Again."
"Again."
"Again."
Some cried.
Some vomited.
Some nearly quit.
None walked away.
Even Lira joined the training, using her early Rank 1 qi to endure longer than most. Vlad showed her no mercy.
"You are slower than a horse," he told her.
"I'm a healer!" she snapped.
"Then heal faster."
She almost hit him.
On the fifth day, Lira found me at the well, wiping sweat from her brow.
"Liam… we can't survive a full assault," she said quietly. "Even with training. Even with Vlad. Vantor has too many men."
"I know."
"We need help."
"From who?" I asked bitterly. "Every nearby village is terrified of Vantor."
She lowered her gaze. "Then we need… another miracle."
The Summoner's Ledger pulsed faintly in my vision.
[25 DAYS UNTIL NEXT SUMMON AVAILABLE]
I sighed. "Not happening anytime soon."
Lira touched my arm gently. "Then we survive with what we have."
A week passed.
Seven days of sweat, fear, and sleepless nights.
Ridgebrook began to change.
Children practiced with short sticks.
Women sharpened knives and learned basic defense.
Men drilled formations under Vlad's harsh commands.
The gate gained a second layer of planks.
Trenches cut across the fields.
Food was rationed.
Patrols ran day and night in pairs.
Fear didn't disappear.
It hardened.
Even those who once called me "that useless chief" now looked at me differently—not with trust, but with hope. And fear. Mostly fear.
On the ninth day, Vlad found me by the barricade.
"You are improving," he said.
"I've barely done anything."
"You endure," he replied. "Most leaders break before battle begins."
"I'm not a leader," I muttered.
"You will be," he said. "Or you will die loudly."
"Comforting.
He smirked.
Then his gaze snapped toward the distant trees, sharp and focused.
"They are moving," he murmured.
My heart tightened. "Vantor's men?"
"No," he said. "Scouts."
"How many?"
"Three. Light steps. Poor coordination. Likely villagers from the east."
"Spies?"
"Counting your stakes," he said. "Deciding whether to report."
I exhaled slowly. "Then we're running out of time."
"War approaches," Vlad agreed.
On the twelfth day, a villager came sprinting from the fields, breathless.
"Chief! Chief Liam! Riders—west road! Armored! Maybe twenty!"
Twenty.
Not scouts.
Not enforcers.
Something bigger.
Lira gripped her staff, face pale. "Is this Vantor's army?"
"No," Vlad said. "Too few."
That didn't help.
Twenty armed men were far more than Ridgebrook could defeat head-on.
Borrik rushed to us. "Chief! They're moving fast! What do we do?"
My heart hammered.
Walls.
Trenches.
Spears.
A half-trained militia.
One terrifying Rank 1 ally.
No summons for twenty more days.
We weren't ready.
But running wasn't an option.
Ridgebrook would stand—or fall—today.
I tightened my grip on my spear.
"Prepare the defenses," I said. "Get everyone inside the walls."
Lira swallowed. "Liam… are we fighting?"
"No," I said.
They stared at me.
"We're negotiating."
Vlad smiled faintly. "Good. Negotiations are entertaining."
"For who?" I muttered.
"For me," he said.
Then he stepped forward, eyes gleaming like a wolf scenting prey.
"Let them come."