Harold took the long way through the settlement.People noticed when he didn't, and he had the time, and it was expected of him.The new sleeping halls were going up faster than he expected. Frames already set, roofs half-laid, crews moving with practiced efficiency instead of frantic guessing. The scent of fresh-cut timber hung in the air, mixing with the earthy smell of turned soil, while fine dust settled softly over everything like a thin veil. He stopped once to watch a pair of workers argue about spacing, waited until they figured it out on their own, then nodded and moved on. Another crew was already digging the foundations for the next one.Near the blacksmith's building, the ring of metal was steady and controlled. Nails stacked neatly in shallow crates. A member of the construction crew was already headed over to grab them. A couple of apprentices hovered close, watching every motion like it might vanish if they blinked. He saw some of the goblin swords stacked for smelting."Afternoon, my lord," one of them said, straightening too fast."Afternoon…Chris, right?" Harold replied. The man smiled, "Yes, sir. I'm surprised you remember."Harold looked at the blacksmith who came from the summoned portal. "How many nails did the universe conspire to bend today, Master blacksmith?"The blacksmith gave a hearty chuckle, the sound resonating like a hammer striking an anvil, "Oh, not as many as yesterday. It's the cosmic order of things slowly lining up.""That's an improvement," Harold said. "Keep it up."He didn't linger. Lords who hovered made people nervous.Further down, Beth and Josh's crews were wrestling beams into place for the kitchen overhang. Josh was laughing about something, sleeves rolled up, dirt streaked across his face."We're still short two tables," Beth said when she spotted Harold. "But the frame's solid.""Tables can wait," Harold replied. "The shelter can't, and this place will make meal time a lot easier."She nodded, satisfied. "I'll have the plan for the town to you at the end of the week. I need to see a few of my colleagues to confirm a couple of things. We also really need to work on the cesspits. They're getting out of hand.""I'll leave it to you, Beth. We'll dig new ones if needed." Harold replied easily.At the edge of the clearing, people were already lining up the first batch of clay bricks to dry. The charcoal pits smoked gently nearby, watched by someone who had learned the hard way not to walk away from them too early.Harold felt it then. The shift in the air, the subtle tightening of shoulders, the way spines straightened ever so slightly as he passed by. It was not born of fear or awe; rather, it was a quiet recognition of his presence—a presence that seemed to carry its own weight, commanding attention without demand. Although he was one of the few not clad in the roughspun clothing of the settlement, there was something more than just his attire that set him apart. His eyes, steady and calm, scanned the workers with a slight, reassuring nod. His voice, whenever it carried through the air, held a timbre of warmth and quiet confidence, evoking a shared assurance among the people. In those small interactions, a sense of collective purpose seemed to ripple through the settlement."Lord."Margaret appeared at his side without ceremony, slate tucked under her arm."You're doing the circuit," she said.Yes, I am," Harold replied. "Anything on fire?""Not literally," she said. "Two minor disputes about sleeping assignments. I handled them.""Thank you, Margaret."She fell into step beside him without asking. They walked in companionable silence for a bit, watching the village move."You look steadier today," Margaret said eventually."You know…I feel it. I had a good conversation with Sarah," Harold replied.She nodded, accepting that for what it was.They reached the Lord's Hall together. The main space had been cleared and repurposed, benches arranged in a loose half-circle. A dozen people were already there, sitting quietly, hands folded, eyes alert—future potion makers.Harold stepped inside, and the low murmur died immediately."Good," he said. "You're early."A couple of people straightened, proud.He took his place near the front, closed his eyes briefly, and reached inward.The system answered.Two panels unfolded, clean and precise.WORLD FIRST: First Rare Potion+12% efficiency for all potions+20% effectiveness to all rare-tier potions brewed within the village borderWORLD FIRST: First Uncommon Potion+8% efficiency for all potions+20% effectiveness to all uncommon-tier potions brewed within the village borderMaking those potions for Sarah had been worth it for the settlement perks alone. The gains were tangible and immediate. If only other master artisans had regressed as he had, people who carried that kind of experience backward with them. He could have stacked production advantages until the system itself bent.Harold turned back to the group seated before him."Today," he said, "we're not brewing anything."A few shoulders slumped."We need you to get these mana exercises down before you touch a kettle," he continued. "We are going to work until it clicks for at least one of you. That's your task. All day. Every day. Until it does. Remember, your success isn't just for your own benefit. Every step forward you take strengthens our entire settlement. The skills you gain and the potions you eventually create will safeguard everyone here, ensuring our community thrives together."He didn't raise his voice. He didn't need to."There are multiple reasons we need to start potion production," Harold said. "Survival is one of them. But mainly because I have earned settlement potion production perks that make us completely overpowered when it comes to potions. We need to leverage that advantage."One of the trainees raised a hand cautiously, "My lord, these perks you mention... How exactly do they work? It sounds almost like something from a game."Harold nodded with understanding, "That's a fair question. The perks enhance our ability to brew more efficient and effective potions, almost like bonuses that improve production and quality. Imagine being given a tool that enhances your capability—like a craftsman's set of superior tools."He continued, "Just a reminder: the one who does it first will get the crafter perks for it, since I can't earn them. And that will make that lucky person a very powerful alchemist."He sat on the edge of the table, posture relaxed, but his attention sharp."Close your eyes," he said. "Breathe. Don't chase the mana. If you feel nothing, that's fine. If you feel too much, stop."Hands settled. Eyes closed.Margaret moved quietly to the back of the room, slate tucked under her arm, watching for the things Harold had taught her to notice. Tremors. Shallow breaths. The tension that came from forcing instead of allowing.Harold guided them gently—no pressure or rush.Outside, hammers rang. Smoke drifted. Voices carried as the settlement continued to take shape.The fresh air that swept in from the open door contrasted with the smell of the fire within the hall. Margaret stood near the back and watched as Harold taught his potion students.Most of the people sitting on the benches had their eyes closed, brows furrowed in concentration. A few shifted uncomfortably. One breathed too fast. Another kept clenching and unclenching their hands, chasing something that refused to be caught.At the front, Harold spoke softly, correcting posture, slowing breaths, reminding them not to force what wasn't ready.She'd heard that tone before. Not here or like this. But in quieter rooms, in another life.When she'd first met him, Harold had been young. Early twenties at most. Too young to be making the claims he'd made with that calm certainty. She'd been deeply skeptical.She'd only agreed to meet him because a friend she trusted had insisted. Someone who didn't waste favors or panic easily. He was now involved in training the soldiers; it was amazing how easily he fell into his role here.Just listen, he'd said.So she had listened.What stood out wasn't the confidence. It was the look behind his eyes. The kind that didn't belong to someone his age. She'd seen it too many times in her previous line of work. Trauma layered over trauma. Loss that hadn't been processed, just carried. The way his hands wouldn't stop shaking.He'd looked like someone who'd survived something he shouldn't have.Then he'd taken a few basic ingredients. Things she recognized and could have repurchased at a market home. He'd worked them carefully, methodically, without flourish.And he'd healed a shallow cut almost instantly. That had changed everything.Since then, her world had expanded at an uncomfortable pace. Monsters were real. Death was constant and real. Organization mattered more than ideology or race. They all needed to pull together to survive here. She'd watched people fall into roles with surprising ease.However, the chaos was apparent elsewhere. In another settlement, tales of disarray painted a stark contrast. There was a meeting held where the air was thick with frustration, the shouts of leaders replacing clear planning. Supplies dwindled as arguments over authority escalated. One morning, a distraught scout recounted how a hastily decided fortification had collapsed, putting everyone at risk. These stories underscored Harold's measured competence and the dire need for structured leadership.Part of that was fear. The threat of death was a very effective motivator. A few people had already gone missing. But it wasn't the whole story.Margaret had spent enough time on the forum to know how bad things could get. Other settlements were barely holding together. Arguments over authority. Hoarded supplies. Leaders are shouting instead of planning. People are still trying to pretend this was temporary. The politicians were the worst ones. Too many Lords exercising authority with no idea that there were consequences to things.She could easily believe the stories about Harold's past life, how humanity had fallen to incompetence and infighting instead of the other races.Most of the other settlements were only just getting started.Here, people worked.She looked back toward Harold.He still looked young. That hadn't changed. But the way he moved through the room, the way he corrected gently instead of commanding, the way people trusted him without being told to—it was in the details. A slight nod here, a relaxed posture there, each subtle gesture conveyed an approachable authority. These micro-movements spoke of emotional intelligence in motion. That was new. There was almost an aura about him that made people want to listen. Or maybe it had always been there, buried under grief and necessity.Margaret adjusted her slate and made a quiet note as one of the students' breathing finally evened out.This wasn't magic. It was structured. And watching it take root, she understood why so many other settlements were already falling behind.They were trying to survive. Harold was building something with a purpose; he was a man driven because he knew what would happen if he didn't.She felt Hale before she saw him.Not the sound. The shift in space. He stopped just close enough to be noticed, not near enough to interrupt. When she didn't look over immediately, his hand brushed lightly against her wrist, brief enough to be accidental to anyone watching."You always stand where you can see everyone," he murmured.Margaret kept her eyes forward. "Old habits die hard.""Dangerous habit," Hale said. "People will notice, assume you're in charge."She allowed herself a small smile. "I am in charge. Of paperwork. Which is infinitely more terrifying."His fingers brushed hers again as he leaned a little closer, this time unmistakable and still subtle. The warmth of his touch lingered, creating a comforting tension that seemed to echo both their heartbeats. "Are you picking up these mana exercises he has them doing?" he said softly. "Or should I be worried about competition?""Only if you plan on doing something foolish," Margaret replied.He chuckled under his breath.They stood in silence for a moment, watching Harold guide the group. Hale's shoulder pressed lightly against hers, a steady presence."He's different from what I expected," Hale said eventually.Margaret hummed. "Most people are different from expectations.. He's changed since coming here, though."Hale tilted his head. "You trust him.""I trust what he's building," she said. "And I trust that he's already paid for his mistakes. And maybe I do trust him. You've read the forums, it's chaos out there."Hale studied Harold for a long second. "He carries authority easily.""Yes," Margaret said. "And somehow still finds time to worry about everyone else."Hale's hand settled briefly at the small of her back, protective rather than possessive. "You've been falling into old habits."Margaret glanced sideways at him then. "And does that bother you?""No," Hale said quietly. "You're right that someone needs to move in his shadow to keep everything running."She didn't answer. She didn't move away either.At the front of the room, one of the students finally gasped softly, eyes snapping open in surprise.Harold smiled, just a little.Margaret felt Hale's thumb trace a slow circle against her spine, hidden by the angle of his body."Looks like it's starting," he said."Yes," she replied. "It is."
