The countdown read 2:58:19 when Allen activated his second skill, the system chime ringing clear as he tapped the [Emergency Procurement] icon. It was a common active skill, designed for exactly this scenario—resource scarcity, time pressure, immediate operational need.
[Skill Activated: Emergency Procurement (Common, Active)]Effect: Temporarily mobilize 50% additional local raw resources for critical construction/repair. Cooldown: 7 Days. Duration: 4 Hours.][Resource Bonus Applied: Lumber +6 Units (Total 18), Scrap Metal +2 Units (Total 5)]
Perfect. Just enough extra lumber to reinforce the palisade, just enough extra scrap to make basic stakes and repair a few tools. Allen didn't waste a second. He called the team together, his voice sharp with the urgency of a sprint master kicking off a critical iteration.
"SCRUM methodology. Two-hour sprints. First sprint: gather all lumber, sharpen stakes, dig post holes. Second sprint: erect palisade, secure posts, reinforce weak points. Move. Now."
The terms meant nothing to them, but the tone did—urgency, direction, unwavering purpose. Geralt grabbed a broken axe and headed for the treeline to drag the bonus lumber to the village center. Tilly dropped her cooking duties to pick up sharp rocks and help shape wooden stakes, her hands moving fast for the first time in months. Brok planted his good foot on a log, bracing it, and called out directions, his dwarf expertise cutting through the chaos: "Dig the holes three feet deep! Angle the posts outward! Nail the planks tight—goblins tear loose wood apart like paper!"
Allen acted as the scrum master, the coordinator, the problem solver. He didn't swing a hammer or dig a hole—his strength wasn't physical. It was logistics. He tracked progress, removed blockers, adjusted the plan on the fly. When Geralt's axe broke, he sent Tilly to grab a sharp stone as a replacement. When a post split while being hammered, he had Brok rework it with scrap metal brackets. He checked the system every five minutes, updating the construction progress bar, monitoring resource burn, ensuring no time was wasted.
The first sprint ended. Two hours flat. Holes dug, stakes sharpened, lumber sorted.
The second sprint began. The countdown read 0:57:44.
Bark and splinters flew as they hammered the palisade into place—a rough, uneven ring of logs surrounding the three huts, just tall enough to slow goblins, just strong enough to keep them from rushing in unchecked. It wasn't a castle wall. It wasn't even a proper village fence. It was an MVP defense: minimum viable, functional, built to buy them time.
They finished with sixteen minutes to spare. The palisade stood, wobbly but intact. A line of sharpened wooden stakes jutted outward from its base. The village had a perimeter. For the first time since Brok's arm was crushed, Fallen Stone Village had a line of defense.
Allen leaned against the palisade, breathing hard, his reincarnated body tired but alive. The countdown ticked down: 0:15:32.
He turned to the system, tapping the [Threat Assessment] skill—unlocked automatically when the goblin threat entered detection range.
[Skill Activated: Threat Assessment (Common, Active)]Effect: Identify enemy levels, priorities, and critical targets. Cooldown: 1 Hour.][Threat Profile: 9 Goblins (F-Rank)]
6x Goblin Grunt (Level 1)2x Goblin Scout (Level 2)1x Goblin Alpha (Level 3) – CRITICAL TARGET: Leader, Tactical Command, Highest Damage Output
There. The alpha. The project lead of the goblin raiding party. Take out the leader, and the rest would scatter—agile team disruption 101. Remove the scrum master, and the sprint falls apart.
Allen's tactical plan formed in an instant, clean and precise. No heroics. No direct combat. Just logistics, positioning, and focus fire.
"Listen to me," he said to Geralt, Tilly, and Brok, his voice quiet but deadly serious. "The goblins are coming. Nine of them. One leader, the alpha—Level 3. He's the one we kill first. Geralt, you stay behind the palisade, throw rocks at the grunts to distract them. Tilly, you stay back, keep watch, call out positions. Brok, you stand by the gate, use the hammer to bash any goblin that climbs over. Don't chase them. Don't take risks. Hold the line."
He didn't include himself in the fighting. He had no weapon, no combat skill, no strength. His role was commander, the project director, the one who called the shots.
The first goblin screech cut through the air ten minutes later.
High, piercing, hungry. They emerged from the treeline, small, green-skinned, ugly, wielding rusted knives and clubs, their eyes glinting with greed. They swarmed toward the palisade, hooting and snarling, completely unprepared for the flimsy wall blocking their path.
Allen's heart pounded, but his mind stayed cold. Threat assessment complete. Tactical directives locked.
"Grunts to the left!" he shouted. "Geralt, distract them! Scouts climbing the right—Brok, block them! Focus fire on the alpha—he's the big one in the back, directing them!"
The alpha goblin stood at the rear of the pack, snapping orders, its teeth bared, a jagged stone axe in its hand. It was smarter, faster, deadlier than the others. Allen used kiting tactics—classic aggro management, the same he'd used to guide teams through dungeon runs in late-night gaming sessions. He had Geralt throw rocks to draw the grunts away, had Brok bash the scouts back, keeping the alpha isolated, forcing it to move forward to take command.
The alpha charged the palisade gate, roaring, swinging its axe. Brok stepped forward, slamming his hammer into the goblin's knee. The alpha stumbled, and Allen seized the opening.
"Now! Hit it! All of you!"
Geralt threw a heavy rock. Tilly grabbed a sharp stake and jabbed it through the palisade slats. Brok brought his hammer down on the alpha's skull.
A sickening crack.
The alpha goblin collapsed, dead at their feet.
The remaining goblins froze. Their leader was dead. Their command structure broken. They screeched in panic and turned, fleeing into the treeline, vanishing as fast as they'd come.
Silence fell over the village.
Allen stared at the goblin corpse, his chest heaving, then looked at the system interface. A flood of notifications popped up, bright and celebratory, like a project completion alert.
[COMBAT VICTORY: DEFEND ASSET QUEST COMPLETED][Rewards Granted]
Class Change: Intern Lord → Junior AdministratorLevel Up: Level 1 → Level 2HP +20 (Current HP: 120/120)Skill Unlocked: Logistics Aura (Common, Passive)[Logistics Aura Effect: All allied resource gathering/construction speed +10%, All allied combat efficiency +5%]
Allen exhaled, a laugh bubbling out of him—shaky, relieved, disbelieving. He'd done it. He'd taken a failing village, a team of broken, starving villagers, three units of scrap metal, twelve lumber, eight food, and turned it into a victory. No sword. No magic. Just planning, allocation, agile execution.
Geralt leaned against the palisade, grinning, his eyes no longer hollow. Tilly wiped her hands on her apron, smiling softly. Brok stared at the dead alpha goblin, then at Allen, a grudging respect in his eyes.
They'd won. They'd survived.
The village was still poor. The food was still running out. The dungeon still leaked corruption. But for the first time, Fallen Stone Village had hope.
Allen looked at his new title—Junior Administrator—and the glowing Logistics Aura icon on his interface. He was no longer just a reincarnated project manager. He was a territorial administrator, a leader, a builder.
The sprint was over. The first crisis averted.
And the next project was already waiting.
He turned to his team, his voice steady, already thinking ahead. "Good work. But this is just the first sprint. We need more food. More resources. More defense. Daily Standup at first light. We've got a village to rebuild."
The red countdown was gone. In its place, a new progress bar glowed softly: Settlement Stability: 12% → 28%.
One step at a time. One sprint at a time. One OKR at a time.
In Aethelgard, the agile survival project had only just begun.