Chapter 55 - Meeting Lord Dalen (19 Jan 25)

It started with the sound of boots.The sound of boots marching cut through the stillness, a relentless tide of heavy footfalls against the brittle underbrush. This steady, rhythmic crunch was accompanied by the soft clink of shifting metal, resonating from dozens, perhaps more, soldiers. Had it been two days prior, this symphony of war would have thrown the Hold into a frenzy of panic.Now it just stirred a thin thread of hope... and a little fear.Dalen stood just inside the trench line, near the narrow gap they called the entrance — little more than a break in the dirt berm and some angled boards someone once called a gate. He gripped the haft of his makeshift spear, even though he knew he wouldn't use it.They came out of the forest in rows — three broad, heads high, walking like they had somewhere to be and didn't doubt they'd get there.Not guards or scavengers with secondhand blades. Not farmers with repurposed tools. Soldiers, marching like they'd done it before. And they looked... good. Tired, sure. Armor scuffed with lined faces. But they were talking and smiling. Some of them were even laughing. Gods, even their adventurers were armed and armored. Dalen hadn't seen people laugh in a while.Behind them rolled wagons — real ones, not handcarts or stretchers with wheels. Full-sized, reinforced, proper wagons, pulled by massive, broad-shouldered beasts that looked like someone had crossed a bison with a tank. He had no idea what they were. Their antlers looked like they could gore one of these massive trees.More soldiers walked alongside — some on stretchers, some limping, but they were alive.Dalen blinked. People were gathering behind him now — filtering up onto the berm, peering out over the trench. Murmuring broke out almost immediately. There was no way to contain it. One woman started crying and didn't stop.Then a wagon creaked as it shifted, and a small group emerged from beside it — a diamond-shaped formation around a single man in burned, tarnished armor and a half-torn cloak. He walked like his boots already knew every inch of the ground in front of him.Same gear as the others. Same armor. Same rough edges, but he was different.He didn't look around. His guards did — four of them in tight formation around him, his eyes constantly scanning. Not nervous or twitchy. Just… ready.Dalen had seen loyalty before. The fake corporate kind. The kind you faked when your job depended on it. It was the only kind he'd ever known. This wasn't that.Whoever this man was, his people actually cared about him and watched him as if his life mattered.Sarah stepped up beside him, arms crossed, watching with a kind of familiar exasperation.She jerked her chin toward the figure at the center. "There he is. Lord Harold of the Landing."Dalen didn't reply. He just kept staring at the lines. Their equipment and the calm, capable way even the wounded held formation. Then he glanced back at his own people — the man with a stone axe tied to a sturdy branch. The girl who hadn't eaten properly in two days. One of his "guards" was wearing half of his armor and none of his confidence.He swallowed hard. The contrast was embarrassing. Harold's people looked like a force...and He looked like survivors playing pretend.Then the whole line came to a stop — smooth and practiced. Not parade-ground perfect, but like it was nothing new. Harold stepped forward, cloak dragging faintly behind him, guards shadowing his flanks. He stopped a few paces from the trench gap and raised a hand in greeting.His armor was battered. One greave was held together with a leather strap. He looked like he'd been through hell.But he didn't look afraid. He looked used to the armor, and he wasn't bothered by the dents and blood that marred it.Harold stood steady, his tone measured, his voice cutting through the air with quiet confidence. "Good to see people surviving out here," he said, each word carrying the weight of experience. "You and your folks must've had it rough." His gaze swept over the battered shelters, assessing yet not lingering—each detail absorbed and stored."Those swarms in the forest were tough cookies to crack. It's impressive you held out this long."He smiled — and it wasn't forced. It was just honest."Hope my sister didn't scare you," he added casually. "I know she looks like a forest monster sometimes, but I promise she's not that bad. Kind of an acquired taste, honestly."Sarah held out her hand without looking away from him. "Give me that," she said to Mira. "I'm gonna shoot him."The hall for Dalen's Hold wasn't nearly as grand as the one at the Landing, but then that was the difference between a legendary start and a bronze start. It was a half-sunken hall with a firm roof and solid foundations. It had a single long table inside, enough for perhaps 80 people, but it had no chairs. Harold could see the small storeroom it had in the back, but it was empty of the supplies it should have had. It smelled like boiled roots, smoke, and people too tired to care anymore.Harold stepped inside and ducked his head slightly out of habit. No real reason — just something about the place made him instinctively smaller, like he didn't want to take up too much space. He'd started in a hall just like this last time. It brought back bad memories of what he and Sarah had gone through last time.Dalen was already inside, trying to straighten something on the table as it mattered.Harold scanned the room — the low ceiling, the hand-scribbled maps on the wall, a bucket in the corner collecting drips from the broken thatch.Behind him, he could hear his people moving — not loudly, or like an invading force. They were setting things down, talking low, and dividing up tasks without being told.He turned, eyes catching on the group filtering through the hold: thin villagers, wide-eyed children, an older man with a stick, and maybe a dozen people who looked like they hadn't slept in two weeks. This place was...rough...His voice cut low."Vera," Harold called out.She was already close, her short spears still strapped, hair tied back with that old blue cloth she always wore when she meant business. Her scarf was lowered, revealing her face. She was a remarkably beautiful and capable woman. The thought crossed Harold's mind before he ruthlessly crushed it. Even he had a hard time accepting it."I hate to send you out again," Harold said. "But these people are hungry."Vera followed his gaze — to the boy by the wall, the one watching them with open curiosity and absolute stillness.Her face softened—just a little.Harold continued, "Think y'all can grab us something for the night? As much as you can manage."Vera smiled faintly — the kind that didn't reach her eyes, but meant something anyway. "They'll eat before sundown."She turned without another word and gave two sharp gestures. Her squad was already moving. A few other volunteers peeled off to follow her without being asked.Harold turned his head slightly. "Hale."The man stepped over, armor still dusty from the march. He looked tired but solid — the tired that had more to give.Harold didn't lower his voice. "No rest for the wicked."Hale gave him a look that said, " You're the wicked", but didn't argue."These people've had it rough," Harold said. "Think we can secure this place for them?"Then he looked at Dalen, still awkwardly hovering near the table."If you don't mind, of course. It's your Hold."He said it with the same flat tone he used when reporting supply counts.Dalen blinked. "Uh. Yes. I mean. Of course."Hale was already moving toward the entrance.He glanced at the towers, the ditch, the broken lines of the berm."We'll have it ready before nightfall, my lord."Soldiers began fanning out. Quiet and practiced, one dropped their pack near the entrance and started inspecting the tower joints. Another knelt beside the berm, running fingers through the dirt, checking for collapse points.Harold waited until the motion was fully underway before he stepped toward Dalen.He jerked his head toward the exit."C'mon," Harold said. "Let's see if we can help y'all out."Harold walked out and took a slow breath, eyes scanning the Hold again.Crude shelters. A fire pit was dug too shallowly—a half-constructed watchtower with three workers and no rope. Most of the villagers had gathered near the edges, watching the soldiers move — some whispering, others just... staring. They looked like refugees and moved like it, too.The place had the look of people trying and trying without the tools and time. No one had training for the world ending, but they're still trying.He spotted a group of kids by the far end of the yard, maybe ten or eleven years old, sitting on overturned logs, kicking at dust. One of them had a bit of string he was knotting aimlessly. No adult was near.Harold turned slightly. "Carter."Carter was already close, posture easy but alert. "Sir?""I know we packed some of those nets — in case we had to tangle anything big.""Two of them, yes, sir.""Grab both. Have one of the boys grab those kids and see if they can net any fish in that river over there. Careful, there should be some crocs in there; the tail is good eating if you can get it. Those nets should hold it."Carter nodded once. "I got it, sir."He turned and called out. "Optio Bren.""Sir!" came the immediate response."Fish detail with the nets. Take those kids with you. They look bored, and you know how the legion doesn't like that."The Optio smiled and peeled off before the sentence finished. Within seconds, one of his soldiers had broken into a jog, already moving. The guy was muttering something about Elroy while running away.Harold watched it unfold, then turned his attention to Dalen, who looked like someone had just poured a bucket of cold water on him."Don't worry, they'll catch some fish, and the Optio will make sure most of it goes to those kids," Harold said."You just—" Dalen blinked. "That was... fast.""We've had practice," Harold chuckled.Before Dalen could say more, Tribune Tran and two of his aides appeared, carrying a simple burned and busted crate now dubbed the command crate.Tran gave a short bow of the head. "My lord.""Set it down, Tran. Thank you." Harold said, voice easy. "Right here's fine."Dalen stared at it, as it might bite him."It's just a simple crate; it got beat up a little in our first fight. Goblins kinda got the drop on us. This crate survived. We don't have a table, so we've been using this.Harold didn't sit, but rested a hand on the crate. "You can relax, Lord Dalen. Really. I'm here to help."Dalen laughed, dry and uncertain. "That's the part I keep having trouble with."Harold gave him a look. "It's a hell of a thing you've built here."Dalen rubbed the back of his neck. "I mean... It's standing. That's something.""It is," Harold said. "That's more than a lot of people managed. You've seen how many settlements have failed because of the raids from various monsters. I was lucky to pick somewhere we wouldn't be bothered."Dalen hesitated. Then said, "When I came to Gravesend, I didn't know anything about perks. Didn't even know what that screen meant. I didn't know what picking 'Lord' would entail. I picked it because I was tired of having bosses."Harold smiled faintly. "You wanted to be in charge.""I wanted to make decisions without getting someone's approval first," Dalen said.Harold nodded. "Makes sense.""I didn't know there'd be soldiers. Formations. Whole supply lines and production chains to create. I thought maybe I'd keep people together and all of that would come together."Harold glanced around again — at the half-built tower, the shelters, the fire pits."How many did you start with?""Five hundred.""Just under four hundred," Dalen answered, glancing at a nearby board where names were listed. Several names were crossed out, hastily scratched through as each loss was realized. Every strike was a reminder of faces missing from mealtimes, benches left empty, and voices now silent. "We've lost people — mostly early. The second week was rough. Monsters, panic, bad decisions. It settled after that once we got the trench and towers up. But we haven't had contact with anyone. No other Lords, no messages. It's just been us. People don't reply to forum messages. I don't know what I would have done if you hadn't shown up."Harold nodded slowly. "Sounds lonely.""It was," Dalen muttered.They stood there for a moment, both watching Carter speak to a new group of soldiers gathering near the berm. They were pointing at the entry — the uneven gap in the earth — and already laying out thick-cut logs and digging post holes for them.Dalen followed his gaze. "They're reinforcing the entrance?""That's a whole project," Harold said. "Not just posts — you want pressure-bearing walls, proper gateway housing. Maybe even a kill channel if things get ugly. But we'll start the process."Dalen gave a helpless shrug. "We didn't know where to begin."Harold studied him again — not harshly, just long enough to get the measure."You're not what I expected," Dalen said."What'd you expect?""I don't know. A chosen one. A tyrant. Maybe someone who talked more."Harold gave a half-smile. "Tried all that. It didn't work."Dalen exhaled. "You've seen worse?"Harold looked at him for a long second, deciding how much to say. "I have."Harold paused. His voice was calm and neutral."And this? It's not great. But you've kept four hundred people alive in the wild. That's nothing."Dalen looked down at the ground. "Feels like nothing most days.""It's not. I promise. These are 400 more members of humanity you've kept alive.Harold tapped the crate once, then turned to look back at the hold."You're not a bad man. You're just not a great lord." Harold said.Dalen didn't argue. Harold didn't push."But we can work with that."