Harold had spent his last days on Earth memorizing lists. The stagnant air of his small area in the warehouse, filled with the scent of worn paper and ink, was a stark contrast to the new reality he was about to face. The constant low hum of Earth's distant traffic was a backdrop to his thoughts, soon to be replaced by the sounds of fresh construction.
Not lists of stories or theories, but records of what had gone right the first time humanity had been taken. Who earned the first perks? What actions quietly closed doors forever when no one noticed? First harvests. First kills. First structures. First mistakes.
He hadn't known everything. People had been careless on the forums last time, bragging without realizing what they were giving away. This time wouldn't be any different. The system didn't reward effort or intention. It rewarded decisive success, and only once. Harold remembered one Lord who got the World first clear on a Den then spent the next years bragging about his rewards. The perk he got from it was something he wanted ASAP.
Standing in the middle of the clearing, Harold watched the village breathe for the first time. Smoke rose from the hall. Caldwell was probably in there, cataloging everything. He had seen the man escort his family off. Tools struck wood. Voices overlapped in low, nervous tones. The shape of a settlement was forming, but it needed a lot of work.
"Everyone hold," he said, raising one hand.
The motion was small. The effect wasn't.
Noise softened, then stopped. People turned toward him, waiting.
Harold's voice cut through the air with the clarity of a well-honed blade. "The first perks are available," he declared. "Seize them now or never; you will never see these windows again." As his words settled over the crowd, their significance resonated deeply.
"I planned for this before we arrived," he continued, though a fleeting doubt brushed his mind. What if his preparations were not enough? Harold pushed the thought away, his assertions unwavering. "Assignments were already made. If you're on my list, you already know where you're going."
He turned his head slightly.
"Beth."
She stepped forward immediately, slate in hand. She must have gotten with Margret.
"Crafting firsts," Beth said, voice clear and practical. "Timber processing, leather curing, basic tool shaping. No refinement. No perfection. Speed and completion only!"
She glanced around the group.
"Rare-tier and above windows last a little longer. If our summoned recruits are better positioned to grab those, let them. I don't care who gets the perk as long as someone here does. Make it competitive."
A few crafters nodded, expressions sharpening. Some competitive edge was showing on people's faces. A whispered comment about whose craft was faster slipped through the group, met by a subtle glare. Rivalries brewed quietly, hinting at future tensions even as they focused on the task at hand.
"Josh." Harold said.
Josh grinned, but his posture straightened. "Support buildings first. The hall extension on the Lord's residence. You need to push that structure up fast. I want that perk."
"You'll have it," Josh said.
"Sarah." Harold commanded.
She was already adjusting the grip on her sharpened stick. "First monster kill, and first fifty monster kills," she said. "Commons up through uncommon only. Small targets and solo credit."
She rolled her eyes. "Which does not mean going alone. I know, brother."
Harold nodded once. "No chasing glory."
She smirked. "I know."
He looked back at the rest of the village.
"If you weren't assigned, you support someone who was," Harold said. "No freelancing. No inventing new goals. First windows close fast, and mistakes here don't get a second chance."
He paused.
"We stack advantages now, or we bleed for them later."
No one argued. That worried him less than it should have.
"Move," Harold commanded.
And the village snapped into motion.
Harold spotted Martin Hale near the edge of the clearing, already watching the village move with the quiet intensity of a man who measured chaos by how quickly it could be shaped.
He walked over and jerked his chin to the side. "Walk with me."
Hale didn't ask why. The former history teacher turned soldier fell in beside him, hands clasped behind his back as they moved away from the noise. He wasn't the only one who made the choice, either; he was just the only one he talked to about it.
Harold had spent hours with the man talking about the consequences of his choice. There was a fourth option that wasnt officially listed on the role choices.
Soldiers stood apart from everyone else. Crafters could choose to become soldiers if they gave up all their perks. They lost their respawn protection, too; soldiers didn't get the opportunity to respawn. In exchange, soldiers got access to a different perk and mana system. It was a powerful trade-off, and Harold was thankful that Hale had made the choice. Soldiers could also retire into a crafter, again losing all of their soldier perks and regaining their crafter ones.
For a few moments, they walked in silence, boots pressing fresh tracks into grass that hadn't known feet before today.
"I keep thinking there's a first I never saw," Harold said at last. "Something like a first successful military action. First secured perimeter. Just because it didn't show up on the forums last time doesn't mean it didn't exist."
Hale gave a low hum. "If the system favors outcomes, not titles, then soldiers acting like soldiers and succeeding should matter."
"That's my thinking," Harold said. "So let's test it."
He glanced over. "How many actual armed soldiers do we have right now. Not adventurers with sticks. Soldiers."
Hale didn't hesitate. "Eight. Not including the ones that came from Earth, but they don't have any equipment. Shields, discipline, basic formation training. Enough for a squad. Not enough for anything prolonged."
"That's enough," Harold said.
Hale raised an eyebrow. "For what?"
Harold listened intently to the stillness, noticing the irregular pauses between the chorus of nature. A distant roar disrupted the usual rhythm. Sarah was already out there hunting the goblins he knew would be there. The occasional crack of branches, louder than the usual sounds of wildlife, hinted at something large moving through the forest.
"A perimeter patrol," Harold replied. "Short range around us. Just get some eyes on the ground and a sense of what's close. A few kilometers at most."
Hale nodded slowly. "We can sketch terrain as we go."
"In a few minutes, I'm generating the quest board," Harold said. "One of the first tasks will be scouting monster dens. Locations only. No engagements unless it's trivial."
"And if they find something weak," Hale said, already ahead of him.
"I want to hit it fast," Harold replied.
Hale stopped walking and turned to face him. "You're trying to stack firsts without bleeding people."
"Yes," Harold said, smiling faintly.
"That's... gonna be hard," Hale said flatly.
"I know," Harold replied. "But every advantage we miss today costs lives later. Some of these perks can be powerful." Harold said, thinking about the Mana body he had gained. It wasnt something he was familiar with from his past life.
Hale studied him for a long moment, then nodded once. "Then here's my recommendation. Patrol goes out now—tight formation. No chasing. If they meet resistance, they disengage immediately. Their job is to come back alive with information."
He paused. "We keep them fresh. You told us back on Earth that a lot of people were taken at night during the first weeks, before protections were established. I won't risk that."
"You're right," Harold said. "And the den."
"If it's weak," Hale continued, "we anchor the line with soldiers and let the adventurers strike the flanks. Control the timing of the attack. I don't relish any kind of cave fighting. It's ugly work."
Harold let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. "Yes, it is, good thing I have you," he said with a smile.
Hale's mouth twitched, almost a smile. "You're pushing hard for a man who says he doesn't want to risk lives."
"I know we are going to lose people; it's inevitable. I don't want senseless deaths." Harold said.
Hale looked at him and nodded slowly, a decision settled. "I'll form the patrol. But Harold, after talking to these soldiers a little. These are real people. Not fake ones sent to populate the world. I know you warned us already, but it's just so hard to believe. I won't risk them for nothing."
Harold watched him go. He turned toward the soldiers gathering nearby, then muttered just loud enough to be heard, "Some retirement this is."
Harold just chuckled, satisfied with the man. "Adventurers! To me!"
The ones without assignments hurried over, boots scuffing dirt that hadn't yet decided whether it was road or field. Most carried little more than sharpened sticks or clubs wrapped in bark and cord. A few had stones stuffed into pockets. One man was knotting a strip of cloth into a crude sling, testing the weight of a pebble with a thoughtful look.
Harold noticed.
"That's smart," he said, pointing at the sling. "Keep doing that."
The man blinked, surprised, then nodded quickly and went back to work. Harold filed the face away. Ingenuity mattered more than muscle this early.
"Alright," Harold said, raising his voice just enough. "We're going to make this official."
He turned and walked toward the front of the lord's hall. The building still smelled like fresh-cut wood and sap, the great doors standing open to the clearing beyond. He stopped just outside, lifted a hand, and focused.
The interface slid into place.
VILLAGE STRUCTURE AVAILABLE
QUEST BOARD
DAILY CREATION LIMIT: ACTIVE
REWARD AVAILABLE: MINIMAL
"Figures," he muttered.
He confirmed the selection.
The ground in front of the hall shifted. Wood rose smoothly from the soil, thick planks locking together as iron bands formed along the edges. Pegs hammered themselves into place. A wide board settled upright, already scarred with use that hadn't happened yet.
The quest board stood solid and unmistakable.
Adventurers drifted closer instinctively, curiosity pulling them in. One young adventurer hesitated, eyes wide and hands trembling slightly as he reached for a quest. As his fingers brushed the parchment, a wave of relief washed over his face, mingling with determination. He whispered a quiet affirmation to himself, a reminder of new beginnings and a chance to make a mark.
Harold stepped aside so they could see as parchment unfurled across the surface, lines of text burning themselves into existence one by one.
He kept it simple by design.
• Scout the immediate perimeter (common)
• Map nearby water sources(common)
• Gather edible plants (Common)
• Hunt animals for food (Common)
• Deliver verified monster sightings(Common)
No heroic language and definitely not promises of glory.
The rewards were modest. Some food from the Lord's Hall. Minor recognition. Enough to trigger a first completion for some people without baiting anyone into dying for it. There was a limit to the number of quests he could make a day, and all the rewards had to come from the one making it. Which was him...and he had nothing. But they needed quests, and he wasn't gonna send them out without a quest. It was the only way they had respawn protection.
"This isn't about getting rich," Harold said, turning back to the group. "It's about momentum. First completed quests matter. First successful actions matter. If it looks easy, that's on purpose."
A few people exchanged glances. One laughed nervously.
"You'll notice there aren't many quests," Harold continued. "That's not a mistake. I can only generate so many a day, and the rewards are honestly crap. So we rotate, get with your section head to set up the schedule. Everyone gets a shot."
Someone raised a hand. "What about monster kills?"
"They'll come, and there's already a group out there hunting the weakest now. If you find some, feel free to fight them. You should all have studied the bestiary I made." Harold said. "You bring back information first, we need to secure this area as best we can."
That settled them more than any reassurance could have.
Harold watched as names began to glow faintly on the parchment, adventurers stepping forward to claim tasks. The first ones always went fastest. The cautious waited, watching how it worked before committing.
He stepped back, eyes flicking once more to the man with the sling, now joined by two others asking questions.
The system hummed softly around him, acknowledging progress without fanfare.
And he intended to pry every advantage out of them before they closed, now the hard part. It was time to open the village to more people coming from Earth.
Margret!
Harold didn't slow down when he found Margaret.
She was already moving, unwieldy slabs of slate tucked under one arm, listening to two people argue about storage space without interrupting either of them. Harold fell into step beside her, and the argument died on its own.
"Five minutes," he said. "Then I need you."
She glanced at him once. "That's generous of you."
"Stele," he added. "Not the hall."
That earned a longer look.
They walked together across the clearing, past a team of people digging a foundation with a single shovel and others moving with purpose instead of panic. The people had a rhythm now. Not smooth yet, but consistent.
The stele rose ahead of them, pale stone catching the light, its surface faintly alive with lines that shifted when no one looked directly at them. It would only grow more resplendent as the village ranked up.
Margaret stopped a few paces short of it.
"Alright," she said. "What are we doing wrong next?" she added, sounding exhausted.
"Hey now," Harold said, giving her a look. "Things have been pretty smooth so far—far fewer problems than my first time. Back then, no one listened to the Lord until he had soldiers to make them listen. Here, at least, people are working together from the start."
She snorted. "That's a low bar."
Harold just gave her a look..."It was chaos when Sarah and I got here the first time." The first night we lost almost twenty people."
Margret just looked at him calmly, and Harold had to move one. She was a tough woman.
"I'm opening the village," Harold said. "For the general population from Earth."
She exhaled slowly. "Our late arrivals."
"Yep," Harold said, with far more cheer than the situation deserved.
"And you want me handling intake."
"That's why I pay you the big bucks," Harold said, smiling.
She didn't ask him to explain. She followed his gaze to the stele and nodded once.
"You want intake here," she said. "Where they see your authority before opportunity or the open land."
"Exactly. We don't know who any of these people are. You were there for the briefing, but as a reminder, the prisons emptied too. A lot of people slipped through last time. They caused almost as much chaos as the monsters."
"And you don't want it chaotic," Margret concluded.
"No," Harold said. "I can't allow this settlement to fail. This needs to be orderly."
Margaret tapped the edge of her slate against her thumb. "I'll need people."
Harold turned and raised his voice just enough to carry. "Unassigned adventurers. I need six!"
No ceremony or explanation. He'd kept a small group back to respond to emergencies. Using them like this was a risk, but one he was willing to take.
Six people moved immediately.
"You're with Margaret," Harold said. "You're here to be seen. Only threaten if she tells you to. If she tells you to move someone, you move them. If she tells you to stand still, you stand still."
One of them nodded. "How long?" He asked.
"As long as it takes," Harold said. "Or until I tell you otherwise."
Margaret studied them, then repositioned them without comment. Two near the stele. One off to the side. One is watching the approach path from the village. Two stayed close to her.
"Alright," she said. "Let's get this over with." She hesitated, then looked back at Harold.
"Harold," she said, "I picked Crafter as my role. But when I checked my perk… it doesn't really fit."
Her eyes unfocused slightly, the look of someone reading something only they could see.
"It's called Discernment," she said quietly. "It lets me tell when someone is telling the truth."
She frowned. "How does that help with crafting? You said our starter perk would fit our role."
Harold went still.
For a moment, his hands shook as old memories surfaced. He gathered himself, then really looked at her.
Everyone got a little younger when they arrived in Gravesend. Margaret now looked like a woman in her early forties. Still sharp and certainly still direct. Still, the kind of person who saw straight through problems instead of circling them. She rubbed people the wrong way sometimes because of it, but she was easily one of the most valuable people in the village.
Her perk made her invaluable.
"Crafter is a bit of a misnomer," Harold said at last. "There's no administrator role. But someone has to build systems. Processes and conduct oversight."
He met her eyes. "That's crafting, too. In time, you'll get perks that help with administration."
She didn't interrupt.
"Everyone I ever knew with a perk like yours either died early," Harold continued, "or was protected constantly. Tell no one about it. Not ever. From now on, you don't move without protection."
Margaret was quiet for a moment.
"On Earth," she said slowly, "I was skeptical. Your potions convinced me that something strange was happening. But now…"
She looked at him. "I know you're telling the truth. Not that you believe you are. That you are."
She exhaled. "I'm not sure if that's a curse or a blessing."
Harold stepped forward and gave her a quick, awkward hug. "We'll call it useful."
She smiled faintly, then flipped to a fresh slate.
"Names and where they're from. Role. My initial impression. These aren't easy to write on. Then, which section head do they report to?"
"That'll work," Harold said. "Most starting settlements pull between three and seven hundred people based on the quality of stone they started with. With a legendary village, I'm expecting another five hundred. So the total starting population today will be around a thousand total."
She groaned. "Harold, what the hell?"
She looked up. "I'm going to need more people."
He just grinned. "Grab whoever you need."
Harold stepped up to the stele and focused.
The interface responded immediately.
VILLAGE SETTINGS
OPEN VILLAGE TO COLONISTS
SOURCE: EARTH
STATUS: AVAILABLE
A warning pulsed faintly at the bottom.
Harold ignored it.
"Everyone else arrived together," Margaret said quietly. "These won't."
"I figured out the settings late," Harold said. "That's the explanation. Or tell them legendary villages get a second pull. Tell them both."
She nodded. "People won't question systems they don't understand."
He confirmed the selection.
The air near the stele thickened. Light gathered. Like a doorway remembering it was supposed to exist.
The first figure stepped through. Then another. Then more.
They arrived close together but not all at once, blinking, disoriented. Most immediately started asking questions. Some went silent. A few just looked relieved to be standing somewhere solid.
Margaret stepped forward before Harold could speak.
"Everyone, stay where you are," she said calmly. "You're safe for now. If you can form a line, we'll get everyone moving."
That stopped the noise.
The adventurers shifted just enough to be noticed.
Harold watched Margaret work, her eyes already tracking posture, hesitation, reactions. Patterns forming.
The stele hummed softly behind him.
He turned away to gather more help and left intake to her. It was a new problem, but a good one.
And for once, it was already being handled; he just had to stand around and look like he was in charge.
Harold stationed himself at the entrance to the lord's hall.
Not inside. Just outside, where people naturally funneled past him without feeling like they were being summoned. The doors stayed open behind him, the hall looming more as a presence than a destination.
People came up in ones and twos.
Some asked where to go. Some asked who they should talk to. Some just needed to be pointed in a useful direction so they didn't stand still too long and get in the way.
Harold answered quickly and without ceremony.
"You're with timber. Talk to Beth."
"Storage overflow is being rerouted. Josh has a slate, find him, actually... never mind, he's busy with something. Find his aide."
"Adventurers are rotating off the board. Recheck it in an hour." Harold said.
They nodded, thanked him, and moved on.
The village churned around him.
Voices layered over one another. The tools rang. Wood cracked. Someone shouted a warning as a log shifted wrong, followed by laughter when no one got crushed. It wasn't exactly chaos, but it was close enough that it needed constant hand nudging to get it back into shape.
Every few minutes, the system chimed for someone.
A soft pulse. A brief flicker in the air as someone earned their first perk.
Most of them were exactly what he expected.
Minor strength increases. Faster wood chopping. Reduced fatigue while hauling. Slight improvements to tool handling and strength. Useful, but narrow. The kind of perks that made work smoother without changing anything fundamental.
A few caused murmurs.
Someone earned a stamina regeneration perk that let them work nearly twice as long before needing rest. Another got an improved yield while skinning animals, which immediately sent two people jogging toward the hunting teams.
Harold noted the names mentally and let it go.
Momentum mattered more than micromanagement right now.
Hours passed that way.
The sun shifted. Shadows lengthened. The noise never stopped, but it changed pitch as people settled into routines.
That was when he saw them.
The soldiers emerged from the treeline in a tight formation, armor scuffed, shields scratched, swords still sheathed but worn the way weapons were meant to be worn. Hale walked at the front, helmet tucked under one arm, posture relaxed but alert.
Harold stepped forward to meet them.
Hale didn't waste time. "Perimeter's clear for now. Lots of little monster signs north and east. Nothing coordinated, though. One den worth marking, I believe. I believe it was some goblin, but we didn't want to risk being swarmed."
"Good," Harold said. "No losses?"
"None," Hale replied.
Around them, people noticed. The newcomers, especially.
Some stiffened at the sight of real armor and steel blades. A few looked relieved. Most just glanced, clocked the fact that someone here was watching the edges, and went back to work.
That suited Harold just fine.
Beyond the hall, hunters were already returning with game. Carcasses were being hauled to a cleared area where people with knives and buckets worked carefully under Margaret's earlier instructions. Further out, small plots were being marked and turned over, the first lines scratched into the soil where planting would begin.
Beth and Josh were everywhere.
They moved fast, the still improperly cut slates flashing as they marked zones, redirected foot traffic, and shut down bad ideas before they turned into permanent problems. Someone tried to claim a patch of ground for a workshop that didn't belong there and was redirected within minutes.
Most of their attention, though, stayed on the structure. The one they needed for their perk.
Fifty people were already assigned to it. Cutting trees and dragging logs and stripping branches and processing wood at a pace that bordered on reckless but hadn't crossed it yet. The forest edge was retreating by inches, measured and deliberate. They were lucky the lord's hall came with a small stock of tools. It would have taken them forever if they truly started from scratch. Even more fortunate was the fact that the summoned recruits came fully equipped.
Harold watched it all from the hall entrance.
The fires came up. He put them out. The system chimed again for someone. Another common perk. Another slight advantage was stacked where it mattered.
Most people would be sleeping on the ground tonight with nothing but the clothes on their bodies. Groups gathered around a few fires, clustered close for warmth and a sense of safety. Each group assigned one person to watch while the others slept. It would be a long night for most of them, but it beat losing people in the dark.
Margaret got the newcomers moving after a short welcome speech.
A lot of them pushed back.
They were a mix of people who had never done physical labor and people who had only ever worked white-collar jobs. This was a very different world from the one they'd left. They'd probably cause more problems once the shock wore off, once they had time to think and complain. But for now, they were working.
That part went far more smoothly than Harold had expected.
A lot of people had already discovered the forums. For the moment, it was frantic, primarily posts and half-formed messages, people trying to find loved ones and confirm they hadn't arrived alone. It was unfortunate that it didn't let you direct message anyone, but it was a godsend for everything else. That and the ability to conduct trades over it. That function would be gone by the third year.
And just like that, the first day ended in a flurry of activity.
Watch rotations settled in, fires stoked higher as the light faded. The soldiers began a constant circuit through the camp, instructed to count heads as they passed each group, making sure the numbers stayed right and no one drifted off unnoticed.
Harold watched until the rhythm held.
"Hopefully it'll be a peaceful night," he murmured to himself.
Night settled unevenly over the village.
Fires burned low and wide, more for reassurance than warmth. People slept in clusters, backs to backs, weapons or tools within reach. In the oppressive silence, one person in each group stayed awake, staring into the dark until their eyes hurt. Shadows shifted; shapes began to move where nothing actually was, an unsettling dance that played tricks on the weary mind. The night dragged on, heavy with the weight of unspoken fears.
Harold didn't sleep.
He sat near the hall steps, cloak pulled tight, listening to the village breathe. What remained was the quiet, broken only by firewood shifting and the soft murmur of watch rotations calling out counts.
Then the signal came. A sharp birdcall echoed from the treeline to the north. Too deliberate and too late in the night. Harold's heart skipped a beat, a sudden rush of adrenaline coursing through him. It was as if time stood still for a heartbeat, and in that moment, he felt a metallic taste of iron in his mouth, signaling the gravity of the impending events.
Harold was already standing.
A second call followed, shorter this time—the confirmation.
"Contact," someone hissed nearby.
The hunter burst from the trees moments later, breath ragged, face streaked with dirt and sweat. It wasn't someone Harold recognized. He must have come from the second group, judging by the curses he was throwing out.
"Goblins," he yelled fast. "Twenty at least. More behind them. I slowed them, but they're moving now."
"How close?" Harold yelled.
"Two minutes. Probably less. They're sneaky little buggers." He said, smiling.
Harold didn't hesitate. "Alert the adventurers. Wake Sarah and the brothers."
The man nodded and was already moving before Harold finished speaking.
The village snapped awake. Shouts cut through the night. Fires flared higher as people kicked logs into them. Adventurers grabbed weapons and ran barefoot across packed dirt, forgetting to put their boots on, some still pulling on whatever makeshift armor they fashioned as they moved.
Sarah was already there, her looted goblin sword in hand, more dagger than sword, eyes sharp despite the hour. She had a couple more tucked into her clothing.
"Where?" she asked hurriedly.
"North tree line," Harold said. "They're coming in loose, fight them at the treeline, not in it."
She nodded once. "We'll intercept."
No speeches or rallying cry, but they ran willingly to the fight, and that was more of a win than people thought. So many people died last time because people were unwilling to fight.
The forest swallowed the light fast. Torches bobbed as the group pushed forward, breath fogging in the cold air. The ground was uneven and treacherous, with roots and rocks hidden beneath layers of undergrowth, demanding full attention and nimble footwork. Every step risked a twisted ankle or a fall, and the surrounding fog seemed to close in around them, muffling sounds and warping sight. Shapes moved ahead of them, small and hunched, chittering sounds carrying through the brush.
The first goblin broke cover, screaming.
Then everything happened at once.
Blades flashed in half-light—crude weapons clanged against wood and steel. Someone went down hard with a shout, and another cursed as teeth scraped armor. Goblins died messy and loud, bodies dropping into leaves and dirt as humans pressed forward.
Sarah was everywhere. Blocking, then cutting and shouting short commands that barely registered over the noise. She had already picked up a couple of standard perks that helped with sword play, and it showed. She wasn't an expert by any means, but you didn't need to be to kill goblins.
"Left—"
"Don't chase—"
"Hold the line—"
A voice cried out in pain. Then another.
But the line held.
The goblins weren't organized. They rushed, stabbed, fled, then ran again. Desperate and fast, but brittle once met head-on.
The fight turned the moment the soldiers arrived.
Steel rang differently when it was real.
Shields slammed forward. Swords punched through small bodies with practiced efficiency. The goblins broke almost immediately, some trying to flee, others dying where they stood.
It was over as quickly as it had begun.
The forest went quiet except for breathing and the crackle of torches.
Bodies lay scattered. Small and twisted.
"Count," someone said. Twenty-three goblins are dead. No survivors worth chasing.
Two humans lay still. Both adventurers. Harold arrived as the fires were brought closer.
They were already gone. Someone swallowed hard. "They took the watch quest."
A faint pulse shimmered in the air around the bodies, then faded. Harold's breath caught for a moment, reminded of the cost each revival carried. "They'll respawn at the stele," he said quietly, though the truth was that every resurrection left an echo of pain in its wake, a shadow of the life that once was. "Hope none of them got any of the firsts." The haunting memory loss that often followed could weaken morale and sow seeds of doubt and despair among those left to fight. But still, "They did their job."
No one cheered.
The soldiers spread out, securing the perimeter while others began dragging goblin bodies into a pile away from the camp. Sarah stood off to the side, blood on her blade, chest rising and falling hard.
"First night," she said finally.
Harold nodded. "It won't be the last."
He looked at her again. This was the first real moment they'd had alone since arriving. "How are you doing?" he asked. "I hope I'm not putting too much pressure on you. Too many expectations."
She looked at him and smiled.
"It's strange," she said. "I feel more alive here than I ever did on Earth. When you explained all this back in the warehouse, it sounded so… unreal. This great war you talked about. Monsters to hunt. Cities to build." She shook her head slightly. "But there's so much here that was never available back home, and I'm… excited."
She hesitated. "Should I be?"
Harold stopped and really looked at her.
Her hair was plastered to her forehead with sweat. There was blood on her clothes, not all of it hers. But the fire in her eyes was honest, steady, and unafraid.
"Don't grow up too fast, Sarah," he said quietly. "I know things were hard after Mom and Dad died, but don't forget to be a kid sometimes. Even with all of this going on."
He pulled her into a quick hug, then added lightly, "And don't think I haven't noticed those boys talking to you."
She laughed, short and surprised.
The rest of the night passed in fragments.
Not silence, but something close to it.
Margaret moved through the camp with her slate tucked under her arm, stopping at each cluster of fires. She checked names against counts, corrected numbers when people shifted, and made quiet notes when something didn't line up. Once or twice, she paused longer than necessary, eyes narrowing as she watched someone talk themselves into calm they didn't quite feel yet.
Everyone was accounted for, and there was no one missing, wandering, or trying to be clever in the dark.
She found Harold near the hall steps, where he'd been sitting since the fighting ended.
"Counts are clean," she said. "Everyone's where they should be."
He nodded. "Good."
"The two adventurers," she added. "Respawn timers are already running. I marked their names so they don't get lost in the shuffle when they come back."
"Thank you, Margaret," Harold murmured.
Margaret studied him for a moment. "You should sleep."
"I will," he said. "For a bit."
She didn't argue. She never did when she knew someone would do it anyway.
Harold made his way inside the lord's hall and up the narrow stairs toward the room that had been set aside for him. It wasn't much. A bed frame and a rough mattress. A table that wobbled if you leaned on it wrong. A shuttered window that let in a strip of pale pre-dawn light. The soft hoot of a distant owl punctuated the quiet, its rhythmic call weaving a gentle lullaby through the room, harmonizing with the faint pinging of cooling armor. These sounds wrapped around Harold like a comforting embrace, inviting the weariness of the night to give way to rest.
It was enough, though, and far more than the others had outside. He sat down first, boots still on, and let the tension drain out of his shoulders. Outside, the watch continued their rotations. Fires crackled. Somewhere, someone coughed, and another voice murmured reassurance.
The village held. Harold lay back and closed his eyes, not expecting real sleep or rest.
Even though that felt earned, things were moving roughly in the right direction; he just had to keep up the momentum. The first days last time were pure chaos ... This was much better.
Remove
A week later, Harold woke up to the smell of food.
Harold woke to the savory aroma of roasting meat, his stomach responding with a familiar pang of hunger. It wasn't just the smell of food that roused him; it was the promise of sustenance. Memories of past lean days when the air was empty lingered in his mind, a sharp reminder of their progress. A couple of hunters had brought down a bear, a significant victory in their ongoing struggle. The meat, though not much, was now a consistent presence, and the man still bragged about it each night, their shared triumph symbolizing more than just food but hope.
He swung his legs out of bed, pulled on his boots, and headed downstairs. Breakfast was already being handed out, simple bowls, more carved wood, passed along a line that actually moved. He took one, nodded his thanks, and ate standing up while people flowed around him.
No panic or shouting today. Usually, people were demanding an extra serving, and others had to step in to shut it down.
Bowl in hand, he moved toward the newest addition to the hall. The extension had gone up by the end of the second day. Too fast, honestly, but it held. This was the room Beth and Josh had insisted on finishing first. It was solid construction, though, and Josh earned a good perk from it.
His office/ council room. Harold was the first one there.
A rough map was spread across the central table, weighed down at the corners. It wasn't pretty. Charcoal lines, smudged notes, distances estimated rather than measured. But it covered about five kilometers in every direction, and that was five kilometers more than they'd had a week ago.
He leaned over it and traced the markings.
Creeks. Tree lines. A couple of elevation notes. One goblin den, circled and underlined twice.
Today was the day that the problem went away.
Hale's soldiers would handle it. They were all moving to the den, so all the adventurers had been told to stay close to the budding village. However, not everyone was content with the directive. Harold overheard an adventurer mutter his frustration about being held back, his voice thick with irritation. 'Could be out there making a real difference, but we're stuck here babysitting a village.' The words hung in the air, a subtle reminder of the tension simmering beneath the surface and the price they're all paying for maintaining security.
Harold took another bite and kept studying.
Beth and Josh came in first, both of them moving with the easy confidence of people who had been busy for days straight and were still winning.
Beth set her slate down immediately. "Framing crews are ahead of schedule. Your hall's extension perk paid off. We need to find a source of metal, though, not recycled goblin swords."
Josh grinned. "You look well rested, your highness, all comfy in your big fancy bed over there. Always gotta make sure the king has his cushion, eh?"
Harold looked up, smiling, in good humor this morning. "Well, thank you, peon, you will be well rewarded for your work."
Beth just shook her head, "You both don't need to make the same joke every morning."
Mr. Caldwell arrived next, carrying numbers instead of food.
"We're stable for now," he said without preamble. "Food intake is matching burn rate. Hunters are pulling more than expected. In my original estimates, I didn't account for perks; I didn't realize how much of a difference those small percentages would make. The Lord and crafter perks are stacking in a way I haven't figured out yet. Storage is holding though, but we need to formalize it."
"And money," Harold said.
Caldwell smiled thinly. "Already thinking about it. I'm working on a treasury. Hard to make coin when no one has coin, but that'll change. There's been some interesting forum posts about trades, but everyone is struggling to just survive right now."
The brothers entered together after that.
It had taken him a week, but Harold finally learned their names. They were doing solid work organizing the adventurers, keeping rotations fair and tempers from flaring. Sarah wanted nothing to do with it. She'd made that clear and stuck to exploring and fighting, which suited her.
Margaret came in last, followed by Hale.
They stopped talking when they noticed Harold watching them, which answered exactly none of his questions and raised a few new ones.
He let it go. Harold set his bowl aside and straightened.
"Alright," he said. "Let's go around the table. What are the updates for today?"
The map sat between them, rough but real. The village was no longer reacting, and they were starting to make moves.
Beth went first, because she always did.
"We're putting up two more sleeping halls," she said, already finding the correct image on a slate. "Same design as the first. Big, ugly and efficient."
Josh leaned back in his chair, boots hooked around the rung. "Each one sleeps about a hundred and fifty if people don't spread out like they're at a resort."
"They're not permanent housing," Beth continued. "They're warmth, cover, and a wall between people and whatever wanders too close at night. But they're also a glimpse of our future. Last night, some kids were chalking their names on the beams, imagining rooms that belong to them when all this is over."She tapped the map with the corner of her slate. "We're placing them here and here on purpose. Down the line, these can be converted into administration buildings. Records, logistics, storage, that kind of thing."
Josh nodded. "Foundations are set with that in mind. We're not boxing ourselves in."
"How fast?" Harold asked.
"Frames are already up," Beth said. "Roofing by tomorrow if nothing goes wrong."
Josh smirked. "And if it does, we'll yell louder."
Harold nodded. That was about as good as it got.
Caldwell cleared his throat next.
"Food's stable," he said. "Not comfortable. Stable. We've got reserves for a few weeks if nothing spikes."
He slid a page across the table. "Hunters are pulling their weight. Farming's started, but won't matter for a while yet. Biggest improvement is that the crafters are actually crafting."
Harold raised an eyebrow.
"All the summoned recruits come with tools," Caldwell explained. "They just need space and raw materials. Tools were never the biggest bottleneck. It was places to work and something to work with for them."
He grimaced slightly. "Raw material's still thin. Adventurers can't push out and secure new areas yet. Not without proper weapons. It's a vicious cycle."
"Which we're breaking slowly with all the crap goblin weapons." Harold said.
"Exactly," Caldwell replied. "For now, we ration expansion and avoid waste."
Hale leaned forward when it was his turn.
"We're averaging six to ten soldiers a day from recruitment," he said. "All arrive with basic kit. Swords, shields, armor. Nothing fancy, but usable."
He glanced at Harold. "I've kept them drilling Roman-style for now. Shields, formation discipline, rotation under pressure. No pikes or spears yet."
"That was intentional," Harold said.
Hale nodded. "Figured building the settlement mattered more than experimenting. Barracks are halfway done. The tower will be finished today. Full structure another week."
"And the goblin den," Harold asked.
Hale's expression hardened just a fraction. "Today."
Margaret waited until the others finished. When she spoke, everyone listened.
"For someone listed as a crafter," she said mildly, "I seem to be doing a lot of watching people."
She slid two names onto the table.
"These two lied during intake. About skills and their intent. I had adventurers shadow them. Both watchers rolled stealth perks early."
Josh blinked. "Lucky."
"Useful," Margaret corrected.
She didn't soften her voice when she continued. "One tried to steal food. The other attempted to rape a woman."
The room went very still. Eyes averted while others held someone's gaze a touch too long, silent judgments and acknowledgments passed among them. There was a palpable understanding that even in this harsh world, some lines should never be crossed.
"The thief was dealt with," Margaret said. "The second was put to death immediately. No delay. No discussion."
No one argued.
"There's no patience for that," Harold said quietly.
Margaret nodded once. "I'll keep filtering. Patterns are emerging already."
Harold leaned back and looked around the table. He let the room settle before speaking.
"We did good work this week. Margaret confirmed that one of the hunters got the first kill with a trap, then one of the adventurers heard about it and repeated that effect. Some kid named Jace. We've gotten perks for cooking, construction, labor, stamina, strength, tool strength, water filtering, and, somehow, because of that cesspit we dug, we got a rare one for how quickly it deteriorates. None of the big world first, though, we need to get industries going so that we can get those. Which, by the way, one of the older ladies got a perk for sewing after weaving some grass together. Might be something to run down Margaret."
"Alright. My priorities today." Harold moved on.
He rested one hand on the table, the other tapping the edge of the map.
"First, I'm going to walk the work crews. Check morale, check bottlenecks, make sure no one's improvising something that'll bite us later." He glanced at Beth and Josh. "If I find anything stupid, I'll send it back to you."
Josh smirked. "Please do."
"Second," Harold continued, "I want eyes on our water source. I know a couple of people have pulled fish from it, which is promising. And frankly…" He paused, then added dryly, "I'd like a bath."
That got a couple of faint smiles around the table.
"Hale," Harold said, turning slightly, "let me know when you step off for the goblin den. I want to be there."
Hale nodded. "You'll have notice."
"I'm also creating a new mission for the adventurers today," Harold went on. "Priority target is iron. Find a source. I don't care if it's a vein, bog iron, or something ugly and inconvenient. We need metal."
He shifted his attention to Caldwell.
"We need a surplus item we can sell on the forum while that function is still available. It only lasts three years, and we're not wasting it." Harold tapped the table once. "Any food surplus gets sold as long as we maintain at least a week's reserve. We'll need money eventually, but you can take barter for that, as I know everyone is hurting for money. Barter for things that will fix our bottlenecks. Nails, tools, that kind of thing."
Caldwell nodded, already writing.
"I also want you to start designing a pay system," Harold continued. "It won't be much at first. Just enough to get money moving hand to hand. I've got a plan for something we can sell that won't be available anywhere else for a few months, but it'll take about a week, maybe more, to spin up."
Caldwell looked up. "I'll have drafts by tomorrow."
"Margaret," Harold said, turning to her, "you're with me today. I've got a task for you."
She didn't ask what. She just nodded.
Finally, Harold looked at the brothers.
"I need you two to focus on team composition," he said. "Group adventurers into teams of 4-5 who actually work well together. No lone wolves unless their perks lean into that. No egos, but honestly, don't restrict them too much. Adventurers are meant to go out and actually adventure; they will do more by doing that than if they are stuck here. Tell them they need to stick close for at least a month before they leave, if they even want to. That will give us the time to stabilize. Then I'm moving a guild hall for you up on the schedule. But it'll be a while."
"That'll be on you, Beth and Josh."
He paused. "Until they have real arms, no one moves alone."
Both brothers nodded at the same time.
"That's it," Harold said. "Let's get to work."
Chairs scraped back. Slates were gathered. The council broke apart smoothly, each person already moving toward their next problem.
Harold lingered a moment longer, eyes on the map.
Then he stepped away from the table and went to see how his village was holding together.
Harold pulled Margaret aside before she had a chance to get too far ahead. "Thank you for dealing with those two criminals and thank you even more for keeping it quiet."
She already had a slate in hand and a look that suggested she'd been awake longer than she should have been. "I have no patience for that type of behavior here," she said.
"I need a favor," he said quietly.
Her eyebrow twitched. "That's never just a favor."
"I want to start producing healing potions," Harold said. "Not just for me but for the village."
That got her full attention. Margaret didn't answer right away. She was already thinking.
"Last time," Harold continued, "potions didn't go mainstream until over six months in. A couple of adventurers bought a recipe out of a natural-species city, and everyone scrambled to catch up. By then, too many people were already dead."
"But," Harold said, "I already know a lot of the recipes", Harold said with a wolf-like smile.
"You want to break that curve," Margaret said.
"Yep," Harold said.
She nodded slowly. "I'll put out feelers. People who will listen and won't talk too much, it would be better if it were from the people who have already taken the oath. If they haven't, then I will make them take another one."
"And people who don't panic when something goes wrong," Harold added. Then shrugged, "Sometimes they explode."
Margaret gave him a look. "That narrows it nicely."
They split there, each moving toward their own list of problems.
Harold spent the rest of the morning walking.
Not inspecting. Not supervising in any formal sense. Just being seen.
He stopped by the tree line where crews were working in steady rhythm. Trees fell cleanly, hauled out by teams who already knew where each log was going. Some were being stripped and split on the spot, planks stacked neatly instead of tossed aside. They were still short on axes and saws, but the work was being done. One ingenious soul had set up a stone to sharpen tools right at the site.
Someone wiped sweat from their brow and waved when they noticed him.
"Morning, my lord," they said, then went right back to work. They were working industriously. Everyone is eager to not sleep in the open. There were raids every night, none of which was as bad as the first night.
Near the forge, the blacksmith was already busy. Nails were laid out in neat rows, still warm, while a pile of damaged tools waited nearby. Two other crafters stood close, watching his hands, asking questions when they thought they could get away with it.
He caught Harold looking and grunted. "Goblin metal doesn't go far. Better once we get real ore."
"You'll have it. Let me know if you need more help. We are all relying on you." Harold said.
The blacksmith snorted. "I hear that a lot."
Further down, a handful of adventurers lingered near the quest board, pretending they weren't hovering.
"We're adding more today," Harold said as he passed.
One of them perked up. "Really?"
"Yes, and new ones," He replied. They tried to look casual but failed. Most of the adventurers were made up of military or former military people, or all younger people.
Harold smiled and kept moving.
Near the edge of the clearing, Hale caught him by the elbow.
"Come see the soldiers," he said. Not a request.
They walked together toward the barracks. Drills were already underway. Shields locked. Lines rotating. Footwork steady and unglamorous.
"We got the same recruitment today," Hale said. "More soldiers we're able to fold in instantly. For a total of 56 soldiers. They all have common soldier perks, nothing fancy, but they listen, and they understand the drills, even if they are rough."
They watched in silence for a moment. "Alright, Hale, eliminate the Den. We need the first Den clearance for the village. The perk for that is very substantial."
"Yes, my lord," Hale said before he stepped off. Gathering his sergeants around him and getting the soldiers moving in the right direction.
Harold just rolled his eyes at the respect. He had told him not to say that every time. He just said something about the chain of command needing to be respected.
A runner passed by, breathless, shouting something about forum posts. Harold caught just enough to know it wasn't his problem.
Other settlements were already spiraling. Arguments. Power grabs. People were selling half-formed advice like it was gospel. He'd seen it before, and he had no intention of stepping into that mess. Someone called his name.
He turned and found a woman standing awkwardly near a work crew stripping branches from trees, hands clasped tight. Her roughspun tunic already had a hole in it from the labor, and Harold just added another thing to his mental load of things needing to be done.
"I just wanted to say… thank you," she said. "For this. For keeping things… steady and safe."
Harold blinked, then nodded. "You're welcome."
She smiled and hurried off, embarrassed.
He stood there for a second longer than necessary, then exhaled and moved on.
The village was loud. Messy and incomplete. But it was working, and he would take every win he could get.
This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.
Harold found the glassmaker near the edge of the settlement, standing where someone had already cleared a space and marked it with stakes.
The man was older, lean, hands scarred in the specific way that came from heat rather than blades. He had a small bundle of tools laid out on a cloth and was staring at the ground, as if he were already imagining what would sit there.
"Morning," Harold said. "How long until you can be producing vials?"
The glassmaker looked up, surprised, then squinted at him. "Vials," he repeated.
The man studied him for a moment longer than polite.
Harold remained still, unfazed by the scrutiny.
"I thought this was a new settlement," the glassmaker said finally.""How can any of you already be talking about potions"
Harold smiled, just a little. "We're starting early."
"That much is obvious," the glassmaker muttered.
He crouched and ran a hand over the dirt. "A couple of days," he said after a moment. "Maybe three. I'll need to get a furnace up and running first. There are far more people here than I expected."
"That's fine," Harold said. "We got organized early. It helps that a few of us came here together. What do you need to get up and running?"
"Fuel," the glassmaker replied immediately. "Charcoal, preferably. Wood'll work short-term, but it's messy. Sand we can source locally if the stream's clean enough. Ash for flux. People to help get the building thrown up."
Harold nodded. "Fuel's already being worked. I'll make sure you're prioritized for help getting the furnace going, but your building might have to wait a little longer. I'll talk to Beth and Josh."
The man looked up again, curiosity sharpening. "You're planning to go through a lot of glass."
Harold studied him for a moment. He could see the marks of a hard life etched into the man's hands. Fingers that didn't quite straighten. Burn scars peeking out from under his sleeves—old damage, poorly healed.
Harold paused, his expression serious. "I'm planning to go through a lot of potions," Harold said. "Which means a lot of vials. The ingredients aren't easy to come by, and the process to perfect them cost more than a few failures," he added, a shadow of past struggles crossing his face. "Turn out good work for me, and I'll make potions to fix those fingers. The scars, too, if you want."
The glassmaker scoffed, eyes glazing slightly. "Bah. Promises like that have been made before. Lords use crafters until they're worn out. You're all the same."
Harold didn't argue; he reached down and pulled a strand of grass out of the ground to hide the shake in his hands. The old glassmakers hit a deep chord in Harold.
Instead, he said, "For healing draughts, I'll need borosilicate blends, not soda-lime. Think of borosilicate as the armor that shields the potion. Standard glass leaches when exposed to active reagents, especially anything with regenerative properties. If it clouds, the potion's already degrading."
The man stilled.
"I'll need narrow-neck vials," Harold continued, "fire-polished lips, no microfractures. Any stress points, and the mana circulation destabilizes during cooling. Flat bottoms won't do either. Slight convex. Keeps sediment from settling unevenly."
The glassmaker stared at him now.
"For higher-tier work," Harold added, "I'll need layered glass. Inner vial treated with ash flux and trace copper, outer shell thicker for insulation. If you don't anneal long enough, the potion fractures itself before it ever gets used." Rimi shifted slightly, his fingers brushing over his tools with a newfound ease, signifying his growing trust. His shoulders, which had been tense, gradually relaxed, suggesting that Harold's knowledge resonated with him.
Silence stretched.
The glassmaker broke it first. "You've brewed before," he said slowly.
"A couple times." Harold chuckled.
"And you've lost batches," the man pressed.
"Many times, yes," Harold said.
That earned a quiet, humorless laugh.
"No Lord ever talked to me about glass like that," the glassmaker said. "They just said 'make it stronger' and blamed me when it broke."
Harold shrugged. "Then they didn't understand the process."
The glassmaker looked down at his hands, flexing his stiff fingers without realizing it.
"Get me my furnace," he said after a moment. "Get me clean sand and real charcoal. I'll give you vials that won't fail you."
Harold nodded. "That's all I'm asking. My name is Harold." He said, holding his hand out to shake. "I'll do my best not to abuse you, but you know how it goes sometimes. We Lords only know how to send demands to the crafters." Harold said with a smile.
The glassmaker spoke again, quieter this time.
"My name is Rimi. If you can really fix this," he said, shaking his hand, "then maybe you're not all the same."
Harold paused. "We'll find out in a few days."
And for the first time since arriving, the glassmaker smiled like he believed it might actually be true.
As he turned to leave, the glassmaker called after him. "You planning on selling those potions?"
Harold looked at him, deciding how much to tell the man. "Some of them, yes, after our needs here are satisfied. And I'm looking to teach others how to make them."
The man shook his head, half amused, half impressed. "The world hasn't even settled yet, and you're already cornering markets. I'm your man, my Lord."
Harold paused just long enough to reply. "Someone will. Might as well be us, thank you, Rimi. I'll be counting on you."
He left the glassmaker to his measurements and stepped back into the noise of the village, already ticking off the next task.
Harold followed the sound of water before he saw it.
The creek cut cleanly through the trees, shallow but steady, its banks already worn down by traffic. Harold noted with satisfaction how someone had done efficient work clearing brush and setting stones where the footing was worst. He mentally ranked the sturdiness of the banks and the flow of water, assessing their suitability for future projects. The water was exceptionally clear, enough to see small fish darting near the bottom, an ideal resource for the settlement. It reminded him of pristine mountain streams from before, rare and precious. To Harold, this was not just a source of water but a foundation for more sustainable infrastructure, a potential for gravity-fed systems ran through his mind, weighing the feasibility of each observation.
A work crew had claimed one side of the bank. Clothes were laid out on flat rocks, scrubbed clean with ash, and rinsed downstream. Someone had figured out to stagger the washing so soap and grime didn't foul the intake area.
Better.
On the opposite bank, a line of kids stretched back toward the settlement, each carrying whatever could hold water—mostly hollowed out tree trunks that needed a couple of kids to move. Harold had seen someone managing a line of tree trunks being hollowed out by fire. They moved carefully, splashing more than they should, laughing when someone lost their footing and soaked themselves anyway.
Harold stood there longer than he meant to. This was working, but it was fragile. Every trip was time. Every spill was a wasted effort. Every kid hauling water was a kid not doing something safer, and Harold didn't see anyone patrolling this far from the settlement. These kids would be the future of the settlement when they came of age at 16. At least they were laughing for now, though, instead of panicking. Kids are resilient.
He added it to the list in his head.
Aqueduct.
Piping.
Gravity-fed if possible.
Doesn't have to be pretty. Just reliable.
One of the kids noticed him and froze, sloshing water dangerously close to the rim.
"Careful," Harold said. "You're almost there."
The kid nodded vigorously and hurried off, pride written all over his face.
Harold walked closer to the water and crouched, letting it run over his hands. Cold and clean. Someone nearby cleared their throat. "My lord?"
He looked up to see a woman from the washing crew, sleeves rolled up, hands red from the water.
"You're keeping the wash downstream," Harold said. "Good thinking."
She smiled, surprised. "Didn't want anyone getting sick."
"Keep it up," he said. "And if anyone starts washing higher up, send them my way. These roughspun clothes you are all wearing. How many washes do you think they can handle before they fall apart?
She snorted softly. "Two, maybe three if we're lucky."
She wrung out a shirt with practiced hands. "They weren't made to last. They were made to exist. After that, they fray, then they tear. Wash them too hard, and they won't even make it that far."
Harold nodded. "So we need replacements."
"We need looms," she said immediately. "And time. And people who know how to mend instead of throwing things away. If we could weave herringbone or twill, those would be strong enough to last beyond just a few washes."
She glanced back at the creek. "Until then, we wash gently, and we don't waste soap."
"That's fair," Harold said.
She looked back at him, eyes steady. "You get me cloth and needles, my lord, and I'll make sure nobody's walking around naked in a month."
Harold smiled faintly. "I'll add it to the list."
She smirked. "That list must be something else."
Harold straightened and looked back toward the settlement. Smoke rose in thin lines. Hammers rang faintly. The line of kids kept moving.
It worked for now, but it wasn't long-term.
He turned away from the creek, already thinking through stone channels, hollowed logs, and how much labor it would take to stop carrying water by hand.
Another item on the list.
Harold had just opened his mouth to ask where a decent place to wash up might be when he felt his heart stutter and a cold sweat break out across his skin. A familiar pressure settled in behind his eyes as a panel slid into view.
WORLD FIRST ACHIEVEMENT
MONSTER DEN CLEARED
PERK GAINED: QUICK START (Epic)
Accelerated Training Doctrine
All soldiers under your command gain +10% training efficiency. Drill time, formation practice, and skill acquisition require less repetition.
Lowered Perk Threshold
All soldiers under your command have a 10% reduced perk requirement threshold.
A second panel followed immediately.
REGIONAL FIRST ACHIEVEMENT
MONSTER DEN CLEARED
Perk Gained: Disciplined Soldiers (Rare)
All soldiers under your command gain +5% Discipline.
The panels hovered, waiting.
Harold exhaled slowly.
Hale had been successful. Now it just depended on the cost.
The thought came unbidden. Even with some losses, these perks would be worth it.
He stopped himself immediately.
That was a dangerous line of thinking. The kind that led people to start counting bodies as acceptable losses rather than trusting him to make better choices.
He dismissed the panels and straightened. He needed to be there when they got back.
The bath could wait. Tonight, the soldiers would get double portions. They had earned that much, at least. "Wish we had some beer….dam, maybe I should move that up the schedule, we could all use a beer after this," Harold murmured.
And tomorrow, he'd make sure earning perks never became the reason people died.
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Harold broke into a jog the moment the panels faded.
He cut back toward the hall, boots kicking up dirt as he crossed the clearing.
"Margaret!" he shouted when he spotted her near the intake area. "Soldiers are on their way back."
She didn't ask questions. She just nodded and turned, already redirecting people with sharp gestures and quieter words.
Harold veered toward the quest board without slowing.
The interface slid open as he focused, fingers already moving.
URGENT QUEST –
Issued by: Lord Harold
Priority: Immediate
Gather basic supplies required for the production of minor healing draughts.
Required Items:
Filtered Water
– Drawn from clean, flowing sources only.
– Boil or pass through cloth before turning in.
Silverleaf Sprigs
– Low, broad leaves with pale veins that shimmer faintly in moonlight.
– Common near shaded forest edges and creek banks.
– Harvest by cutting the stem, not pulling the root. Root damage ruins potency.
Heartroot Bulbs
– Thick red-veined roots found beneath soft soil near old tree growth.
– Often mistaken for bitter tubers.
– Dig carefully. Bruising the bulb reduces effectiveness.
Bitter Moss
– Dark green moss with a sharp, almost peppery scent when crushed.
– Grows on the north side of rocks and fallen logs.
– Scrape gently. Do not wash. Moisture kills the active properties.
Honey
– Any natural honey is accepted.
– Wild hive or preserved stores. No substitutes.
Charcoal Ash
– From hardwood only.
– Fully burned. No soot or half-charred wood.
DELIVERY LOCATION: Lord's Hall Kitchen Area
TURN-IN: Directly to Lord Harold or designated assistants
REWARD:
UNCOMMON (SURPRISE)
Additional rewards may be available based on quantity and quality.
That would get attention.
He confirmed the posting and didn't wait to see who took it; any number of people could take it, and he would just give them some of the potion he made with it as a reward.
Inside the lord's hall, the kitchen area was quiet for once. A pot sat unused near a low fire, embers glowing beneath it. No one had claimed it yet. Perfect, he was worried about how he would control the heat.
Harold rolled up his sleeves and set the pot in place, adjusting the fire until the heat was steady but not aggressive.
He was halfway through checking whether any of the water was usable when a woman from the kitchen staff approached, wiping her hands on her apron.
"Do you need something, my lord?"
"Honey," Harold said immediately. "If you have it."
She blinked. "We've got a little. Been saving it."
"I'll take it, I won't waste it," Harold replied easily.
That seemed to satisfy her. She turned and hurried off.
Another worker hovered nearby. "Anything else?"
"Clean cloth," Harold said. "And something to stir with that won't splinter, it needs to be cleaned metal. Nothing made of wood."
They scattered to fetch it.
Left alone for a moment, Harold closed his eyes and breathed.
He ran through the mana drills again. Slow circulation. Even flow. No forcing. No compression yet. Just letting the energy move where it wanted to. Mana coursed through him like river water freed from winter ice, fluid and potent in his unique body. He had far more mana now than he did this early in his first life. The perk helped him control it, perhaps because he used less—or maybe because this Mana body was special.
Mana didn't resist the way it had on Earth. It didn't snag or slip. It flowed cleanly, like the world expected him to use it. On Earth, it was a struggle to feel and move it. By the time he died, he had lived more of his life in Gravesend than he had on Earth. He was more used to feeling it than not, and it was a comfort to have it back.
Supplies began arriving before he opened his eyes. Margret somehow knew she was needed, and she was recording everything that was brought in and promising rewards to the teams that had brought it back.
He barely heard one team saying they would take any more quests like this, as half of them had earned a Perk for gathering and finding herbs.
A bundle of herbs. Honey gathered in a hollowed-out piece of wood. Someone set down a sack of charcoal ash as if it were treasure.
Harold nodded his thanks and got to work.
This was early and vastly inefficient. The absence of essential alchemical instruments, like a glass still, highlighted the scarcity of resources and the need for future upgrades. He didn't have the right tools or the right setting to make these potions, but they might save lives. That alone made it worth the mess. Harold set his resolve, whispering to himself as he worked, "Never again without potions." He vowed to ensure they were better prepared, carrying supplies essential for healing whenever they ventured out.
And, more importantly, it worked to fix a mistake he'd already made. It was almost reassuring, in a grim way, that even with all his knowledge, he could still make mistakes. It meant he wasn't lying to himself about how hard this would be. He should have gotten on this earlier, he thought they wouldn't get back till later. Should have made that quest earlier. A lot of should haves.
He was still missing a few of the herbs he needed, but he didn't wait. He would have to improvise.
Harold took a moment to steady his hands. The shaking had gotten worse during the run over here. He'd ignored it then, but now, when he needed control, it refused to come.
He clenched his fists. It didn't help, so he closed his eyes.
He sank into the mana drill, breathing slowly, letting the flow settle, filtering through memories he usually kept buried under motion and work. The bad choices. The things the cutters had done to him, the consequences when he failed. The knives they worked over him, and he, in turn, worked over other people.
Memories didn't shout. They pulled, and pulled, and for a moment the shaking got worse.
They tugged at the edges of his focus, at the threads of sanity he kept tightly wound. Staying busy usually drowned them out. He couldn't do that now. He needed stillness, and stillness meant they had room to surface. Suddenly, the clatter of pots and pans in the kitchen broke through the quiet, a sharp contrast to the stillness he craved. It was as if the noise pierced his meditation, bringing with it a flood of memories. His breath caught in his throat, the echoes of distant screams layering over the present sounds, and for a moment, he was trapped between the past and what lay before him. The mixed stimuli pulled his mind in different directions, a constant reminder of the internal war he fought to stay focused.
He couldn't stand the idea that some of those people might come back here and die because he made a bad decision, then froze. Because he failed to think far enough ahead.
He was so focused on breathing that he almost missed the warmth. Arms wrapped around him from behind, steady and familiar.
Beth leaned in close and whispered, quiet enough that only he could hear,
"You don't owe the past anything. You're needed here. Right now."
The words didn't fix anything. But they anchored him. Beth kept her arms wrapped around him until Harold breathed again—slower this time. The shaking eased, not gone, but manageable.
He opened his eyes, adjusted the fire a little, and reached for the herbs.
The potion finished just as the sound outside shifted.
He dismissed the notification as soon as it popped up, not worrying about the Perk he knew he would gain.
Someone shouted to open the door, and boots shuffled in—too many of them and slower than they should have been.
Harold lifted the pot from the fire as Hale's voice carried through the hall. "Clear the table. Now."
They'd sent out fifty-six soldiers. Not including Hale and the sergeants he selected from his old army buddies.
Forty-nine came back walking. Seven didn't come back at all. Fourteen were wounded.
The long table was cleared in moments. Bowls scraped aside, benches dragged back hard enough to screech. Soldiers moved without orders, lowering the wounded onto the wood, hands steady even when their faces weren't. Some of the soldiers went to get the healing supplies they had set aside.
Blood hit the floor in uneven drops.
Harold grabbed a wooden cup and dipped it straight into the pot, steam rolling up around his hands. He shoved another cup at Margaret.
"Keep me supplied with the potion," he said. "Don't touch it if you can help it."
She nodded once.
Harold leaned over the first body and didn't waste time on words. He had internal damage and he was pale with shallow breathing but no obvious bleeding.
He tipped the cup and poured the potion directly into the man's mouth, keeping his jaw steady until he swallowed. As he did, a faint, iridescent glow shimmered on the man's lips, and a cool, tingling sensation spread across Harold's fingertips. The sound of it working subtly filled the air. The air around them filled with a subtle, sweet aroma as the potion worked its magic. Though the potion's light shimmer indicated its weakened potency, it should still stop whatever was tearing him up inside.
Next was a deep cut along the forearm, bleeding badly but clean.
Harold didn't bother making him drink. He poured the potion straight onto the wound, watching the flesh knit slowly, imperfectly. The bleeding slowed, then stopped.
Good enough. He moved down the line fast. External bleeding was treated immediately, the potion poured directly onto torn skin and crushed cloth pressed down after. Internal injuries got forced doses, careful not to drown anyone in the process.
Broken bones and pain could wait but breathing and bleeding couldn't.
Margaret mirrored him step for step. Cups moving. Empty cups tossed aside. No questions or commentary. Slowly, he had gathered a crowd around him he barely noticed.
A soldier groaned when the potion hit an open wound. Harold ignored it and moved on.
Another started coughing after swallowing too fast. He slapped the man between the shoulders once, hard, and kept going.
By the time the pot ran low, the wounded had stabilised.
Wounds weren't healed cleanly. Bones were still wrong. Everyone hurt. But no one else was dying.
Harold moved back to the soldiers with broken bones, crouching beside them, voice low and steady. He told each one what he was about to do. He always did.
The memories pushed forward anyway. Different faces. Same screams. He crushed them down.
Before anyone could stop him, he set the bone.
The soldier screamed, sharp and furious, then sucked in a breath as Harold shoved the cup to his mouth and made him drink. The potion dulled the pain enough to breathe—enough to stay conscious.
"Gods, you suck, my Lord," the soldier rasped.
Harold nodded. "That's fair."
He straightened slowly and finally looked up.
Hale stood off to the side, armour nicked and smeared, face tight.
"Seven," Hale said quietly.
Harold nodded. He already knew.
They stepped a few paces away from the table, far enough that the groans faded into background noise.
"World First triggered," Hale added. "Perk called Quick Start. Epic."
Harold exhaled. "I saw, I'm surprised you saw it though."
"Ten per cent faster training. Ten per cent lower perk thresholds," Hale continued. "Regional bonus stacked too. Five per cent discipline."
Harold leaned back against the table, eyes on the wounded. "It's a game changer when we start stacking personal and commander buffs," he explained. "Think of ten percent faster training like gaining an extra hour of practice for every ten hours you put in." One of the soldiers on the table snorted. "Hey," he called weakly, "does Quick Start mean I get to skip the part where I almost die next time?"
Another voice chimed in, "I read the description. Says training efficiency. Doesn't say anything about common sense."
"Shame," someone else muttered. "Could've used that one."
A wounded soldier flexed his hand experimentally. "Not gonna lie," he said, "it feels like my legs recovered faster than they should've."
"Yeah," another replied. "I checked my perk list. I earned a perk I wasn't near yesterday."
A pause.
"…Worth it?" someone asked.
Hale didn't answer.
Harold did, without looking away. "Not at seven, we could have waited a day."
Silence settled for a moment.
Then one of the wounded laughed quietly. "Still," he said, "beats dying without getting anything for it."
Another groaned. "Next time I want a perk that says 'bone-setting optional.'"
That got a few weak laughs.
Hale glanced at Harold. "They'll drill harder now."
"I know," Harold said. Harold wiped his hands on the ruined cloth and let himself breathe.
Seven dead. It would be far, far more in the future, but he would reduce that as much as possible.
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