The night deepened.
The bonfire in the new camp burned brightly, but it couldn't dispel the chill in people's hearts.
Old Walker, his body stooped, tremblingly handed a piece of warmed jerky to a woman—she had just injured her foot while moving things.
The woman took it with difficulty, grimacing in pain.
He sighed and, leaning on his wooden staff, walked to the other side of the bonfire where several village elders and hunters were gathered.
The flickering firelight cast shifting shadows on their worried faces.
An old Hunter with a missing finger lowered his voice and began, "That lord... he's been in the cellar all day... seems to be messing with some swamp vines."
His tone was filled with unconcealed disappointment.
"I thought he was going to perform some kind of Magic, but from the looks of it..."
"As if a few vines can stop the beast tide of the Weeping Moon? In your dreams!"
Old Walker listened without a word.
He just stared blankly at the dancing flames. Velin's question, "How long did they live?" was like a poisoned thorn still stuck in his mind, pricking him with sharp pain from time to time.
More than anyone, he yearned to believe, yearned for this young lord to truly bring about change.
But he also couldn't forget fifteen years ago, when another spirited lord had pointed to the distant mountains and promised them sturdy stone houses.
The result? That winter, the Weeping Moon arrived early. The lord fled in the dead of night with his guards, and thirty-seven people in Gray Mist Village starved or died from illness, including his youngest brother.
Hope was the most extravagant, and also the most lethal, thing in the swamp.
He saw the familiar fear in the eyes of the villagers around him and heard their whispered complaints and doubts about the future.
He knew things couldn't go on like this.
He cleared his throat, his voice heavy. "I know everyone is panicking, afraid that Lord Velin is just indulging in fantasies."
"We can't bet more than a hundred lives on him alone... If there isn't a usable wall here when the Weeping Moon arrives, then we'll run back to Gray Mist Village under the cover of night."
He looked around at everyone, his every word landing with the weight of a stone hitting the ground.
"But, until then, no one is allowed to slack off. We do whatever the lord tells us to do!"
In the darkness, several pairs of eyes instantly lit up.
It was an escape route, a real, tangible path to survival.
...
「The next morning, in the cellar.」
When the magic apprentice Ryo walked in with a basin of fresh water, he was so stunned by the sight before him that he froze on the spot. The wooden basin fell from his hands with a CLANG, splashing water onto his pant legs, but he didn't even notice.
What lay coiled in the earthenware pot was no plant at all.
It was a work of art sculpted from Obsidian, its surface covered in fine black crystals. In the faint glow of the Magic Array, it pulsed with vigorous Ether Energy.
Ryo's voice trembled. "Lord Velin... is... is this really what we..."
Velin hadn't slept all night and his face was a bit pale, but his wine-red eyes were startlingly bright.
He didn't answer. On his retina, a new panel of information had an effect more invigorating than any potion.
[Stone Skin Soft Vine]
[Level: Level 2 Magic Plant]
[Bloodline: Resilience of Flexible Steel (Golden Tier) 30%, Mixed Bloodline 70%]
[Abilities: Rapid Growth (Under conditions of sufficient water, nutrients, and Ether concentration, growth speed can increase by up to 500%), Rock Hardening (Newly grown Stone Skin Soft Vine will gradually harden from the toughness of leather to the level of lapis lazuli within 24 hours)]
[Overall Evaluation: A plant that has evolved through special means. Continued directional cultivation may lead to further evolution.]
Perhaps because it was constantly being catalyzed by the Spring Messenger, the Stone Skin Soft Vine had actually acquired the Rapid Growth trait.
But that wasn't the most important part. What surprised Velin the most was that it still had the potential for further evolution!
This was like painstakingly writing your thesis, only for your advisor to look at it and tell you with a serious expression to polish it up and shoot for a publication in *Nature*!
Velin reached out and gently stroked the vine, which had now condensed to less than a meter in length.
It felt cool and supple to the touch, like a high-quality steel wire that could be effortlessly bent to any angle without springing back after being shaped.
Now the building materials were ready. Next up was construction.
Velin thought for a moment, jotted down numerous notes on a piece of paper, then gave Ryo some instructions before sending him out of the camp with two Mercenaries.
Afterward, he went to the center of the camp. Under the curious gazes of the villagers, he picked up a fire poker and began to draw in the dirt of the central clearing.
His movements were fluid and graceful, without a hint of hesitation.
First, he drew the outline of a star with multiple acute angles. This was followed by internal lines radiating from the center like a snowflake's crystal structure, dividing the entire area into several regular, fan-shaped sections.
The villagers gradually gathered around, completely baffled as they watched their lord's actions.
"What... what is he doing? Is he just drawing for fun?"
"Looks like some kind of Magic ritual?"
"He hasn't gone mad, has he...?"
Murmurs spread through the crowd. Old Walker couldn't help but shake his head. 'Lord Velin really is just lost in his fantasies,' he thought.
Velin paid no mind to the discussions. He stood up, pointed at the lines on the ground, and ordered Barrett, who was standing nearby, "Dig trenches half a meter deep and half a meter wide along these lines."
Though equally perplexed, Barrett and his Mercenaries faithfully carried out the order.
He was about to call his men over when he suddenly let out a sound of surprise, "Huh?" He crouched down to examine the drawing on the ground more closely.
He couldn't understand the whole thing, but his years in the military gave him an instinctive feeling of... military aesthetics.
"Sir, these angles... are they so defenders can attack enemies at the base of the walls?" he asked hesitantly.
Velin gave him an appreciative look. "Correct. It's called a star fort. Eliminating defensive blind spots is just its most basic function."
Recalling the battles he had fought, Barrett drew in a sharp breath. He imagined trying to attack such a fortress... it would be a nightmare for any infantry.
His awe for Velin renewed, Barrett began to carry out the order with even greater diligence.
Under his leadership, the pioneers were quickly organized.
Soon, in this future homeland, a series of trenches—neatly arranged, in their eyes, but for an unknown purpose—began to take shape.
He laid the soft vines along the bottom of the trenches, as if laying down circuitry.
After finishing, he dusted the dirt from his hands. He looked at the construction site, which resembled a giant sacrificial altar, his eyes twinkling with anticipation for the future.
In his mind, this was no messy scribble.
The exterior was a star fort, the culmination of European defensive architecture, enough to stop any attacker at its walls.
The interior held a public square, drainage channels, residential areas, public baths... the blueprint of a small town was already contained within these basic lines.
But the onlooking villagers couldn't understand any of it. They only saw their young lord leading people to dig trenches all day, then burying two dark vines inside them. It all seemed like an absurd farce.
A child carrying a wooden bucket tugged on his father's pant leg in confusion.
"Papa, what is Lord Velin doing?"
His father, dripping with sweat from exhaustion, glanced at the trenches and vines and answered distractedly.
"Playing in the mud."