The warm food helped.
The tremors had stopped — mostly. Not completely, but enough for him to move normally.
Harold sat at the edge of the long table in the upstairs chamber, half a slice of bread still in one hand.
Beth sat beside him, quiet, nursing tea.
Margret leaned against the wall, arms crossed, watching without comment.
Josh was already there.
He sat sideways in his chair, one boot hooked on the rung, chewing thoughtfully on the piece of toast he'd stolen from Harold's plate like it had always been his.
After a moment, he said, "So."
No one looked at him.
Josh swallowed. "Good news is, you're eating. That usually means you're not about to walk into the woods and never come back."
Harold huffed quietly. "High bar."
Josh shrugged. "I set realistic expectations," he said, smiling.
Beth shook her head slightly but didn't hide her smile.
Josh tore off another bite. "Bad news is, if you sit here any longer staring at that wall, you're going to start inventing new ways this all ends badly. And I really don't feel like listening to those before noon. Honestly, it's insufferable."
Harold finally glanced over. A small smile tugged at his lips. "I'm so glad I can entertain you."
"You should be," Josh said with an exaggerated sigh. "It's really your only redeeming quality. It's not your looks."
Margret snorted once — barely audible.
Josh leaned back, eyes sharp now beneath the humor. "You spiral when you stop moving. You always have, especially lately. You sit still long enough and suddenly it's ten years ago and everyone you love is dead again."
The room went quiet.
Josh didn't apologize.
Instead, he nudged Harold's knee with his boot. "So. Eat. Then get up."
Harold frowned. "Get up and do what?"
Josh grinned — not kind, but familiar. "Come help us finish your damn Guild Hall."
"My what?"
"Your Guild Hall," Josh repeated, gesturing vaguely toward the window. "The one you've been micromanaging like it's the last thing holding the world together."
Beth murmured, "He's not wrong."
Josh continued, "You don't need to think right now. You need to lift something heavy, curse under your breath, and get sawdust in your clothes like a normal person."
He flashed a grin. "Work like one of us common men again."
Harold looked down at the bread in his hand.
Then, quietly, "You think that'll help?"
Josh met his eyes. "No. I think it'll stop you from tearing yourself apart while we wait."
Harold took another bite. Chewed. Swallowed.
"…Alright," he said. "Where do you want me? But I'm bringing my coffee. And I'm not sharing."
Josh stood, already pulling on his gloves. "That's the spirit."
He paused at the door, glancing back with a crooked smile.
"Well, come on, my lord," he said, half-sarcastic.
Beth exhaled a soft laugh.
Margret pushed off the wall.
Harold stood — slower than usual, but steady.
Harold stepped out into the morning light, the last of the bread still in his hand. The air was brisk and clean — cold enough to bite, but clear enough to remind him he was alive. Even in April this high up near the mountains the air was still cool.
And waiting just outside the Lord's Hall, arms crossed over his chest, was Centurion Carter.
The man straightened as Harold came into view, sharp eyes scanning him in a way that only a soldier could — looking not at posture or protocol, but for wounds that didn't bleed.
"Didn't think I'd see you up already," Carter said. "One of the boys came knockin'. Said you needed someone."
"I didn't send anyone."
"Didn't say it was you who asked," Carter replied. "Just figured if a lord locks himself in a room for half the night and three of his people go in without coming back out for a while — it's worth checking."
Harold stared at him for a second. Then: "Nosy."
"I prefer aware." he said, chuckling.
Harold exhaled, not quite a laugh. "I'm going to help finish the Guild Hall."
That made Carter blink. "You?"
"Yeah. Me." Harold started down the steps. "Come on. Come help. We'll finish the damn thing today."
Carter gave him a look like are you sure, but he followed without argument.
The morning unfolded in motion.
People were already up and working — and when Harold arrived, tools in hand, there was a brief moment of stunned silence before the rhythm resumed.
"Gods, somebody get a sketch of this," Mark called from the base of the scaffolding. "The lordis here to actually lift things."
"Apocalypse confirmed," Evan added, tossing up a hammer.
Harold barely caught it.
"Don't drop that," Carter muttered behind him. "I'm not sure you know how to actually use that."
They climbed to the roof, where slate shingles and pitch waited in neat piles. Cold wind whipped across the upper beams, but Harold felt steadier with each motion — arms burning, breath steady, work numbing the edges of everything else.
Down below, Mark and Evan wrestled a load of timber toward the half-built interior walls, laughing about how their blueprint was absolutely not crooked, no matter what anyone said.
Caldwell arrived next — sleeves rolled up, grease already on his shirt. He wheeled out the locking mechanism in a padded crate, clapped hands with one of the blacksmiths, and got to work bolting the vault's hinges into the stone.
Even Lira showed — her thick gloves dusted with gravel and eyes shadowed from lack of sleep. She had two of her miners with her, all of them inspecting the foundation beneath the Hall and bracing parts of the support with fresh reinforcements from the quarry.
Jokes flew. Hammers rang. Someone passed around hot tea and cold bread. The forge clanged in the distance. A group of children ran through at one point, tossing handfuls of straw at each other before being shouted away by their exhausted parents.
By the time his Guild Hall was finished it would be the largest building in the village by far. Able to accommodate every single adventurer in it, plus half again as many. It included a bar on the bottom level and the vault below that. Then two floors of rooms above it. It was a testament to how far the village had come.
Harold worked through all of it — sweating, grimacing, catching his breath every so often, and then going again. It wasn't easy nailing in a series of slate shingles and he found himself more than once using his mana to refresh himself.
At one point, Beth showed up with more nails and a smirk.
"Look at you," she said, "being useful."
He gave her a flat look. "Careful. I outrank you."
"Not up here you don't," she said, and tossed him a sack of tools at him harder than she needed to.
Someone must have nailed the last slate roofing tile in, because suddenly—
The system light burst across Harold's vision like sunlight off steel. For half a breath, the world went quiet.
[VILLAGE INFRASTRUCTURE COMPLETE]
[FOOD RESERVES: SUFFICIENT]
[POPULATION: SUFFICIENT]
[UPGRADE VILLAGE → TOWN?]
[CONFIRM?]
Harold read the notification as fast as he could, heart pounding in his chest. He hit confirm as fast as he could — and suddenly, the notifications rolled across his vision.
[WORLD FIRST: UPGRADE VILLAGE TO TOWN]
[PERK GAINED: COUNT (EPIC)]
Inhabitants are 12% more loyal and productive
Soldiers inflict 10% more damage and take 10% less damage
Crafters are able to unlock perks with 10% less of the requirement
The cheer started almost immediately. He could hear it ripple across the courtyard, first a few voices, then dozens more. The workers dropped what they were doing and turned toward him. Beth straightened. Mark let out a shout. Josh just blinked and muttered something under his breath.
The world first was amazing.
Harold knew that when people unlocked the perk after him, they would only be a Baron. They wouldn't get the settlement bonus. The other bonuses would be less than 12%. Probably 8%.
For a world first, it was probably the most impactful one he had gotten. Except maybe the one allowing his soldiers to learn mana skills easier.
There were a couple more notifications detailing some other differences.
The biggest one upgraded the recruitment portal. Instead of 30 a day he would get 60. It doubled how many recruits he would get a day.
When the other villages were built and their portals going, he would be recruiting 185 a day. About 25 a day from each village since they were epic-level villages.
Of that 185, a little less than 50 a day would be soldiers.
It was a massive upgrade and would allow him to expand his control significantly — if he could keep up with the expansion.
Josh stepped beside him, looking out over the celebration and chaos as people gathered around the newly finished Guild Hall.
"So…" he said, half-grinning. "What's it like being nobility? You feel fancier yet?"
Harold just exhaled slowly, eyes still on the glowing message as it faded.
"I feel tired," he said.
Josh snorted. "Good. Wouldn't want the title to ruin you."
Beth came up behind them, nudged his shoulder. "Still think you should've gone with a cape. Really lean into the 'Count' thing."
Harold didn't smile — but his eyes flicked to hers with something just shy of amusement. "You want me in a cape?"
"I want you in whatever makes people take you seriously."
"Tragically," Josh added, "we already passed the 'leather pants' phase."
Margret gave a theatrical groan from nearby. "You're all insufferable."
Caldwell leaned in…"I actually like the leather pants…theyre durable."
Harold just facepalmed and turned to face the crowd.
The cheering. The pride. The future forming itself, brick by brick, in the town square they'd all raised with their own hands.
It felt real now. More real than it ever had before.
He let out a long breath and turned back to the others.
"Alright," he said. "Let's sweep up."
"The Count doesn't like dust."
Josh clutched his chest dramatically. "Gods, it hasgone to his head—"