The forge crackled again.
Even this far from the kingdom's borders, the night was cold. Wind blew through the thatched holes of the roof, and Emil stood alone in the old barn-turned-workshop, staring at the musket barrel cooling on the rack. His hands were stained with soot and blood — the hunt earlier that day had left him sore, tired, and yet… fulfilled.
Three of the five villagers he brought back with him now sat beside the workbench, their faces dimly lit by the oil lamp above. Orren, Henna, Thass — their sleeves rolled, their minds focused. They worked without full understanding, yet without question. This was not trust born of faith. This was trust born of need.
Emil exhaled. His body still ached, but the skill had triggered.
You have created a Workshop.You may now designate roles. Production rate: x0.5 until proper labor structure is assigned.
The system was oddly bureaucratic, even here.
But for Emil, it was familiar. Almost comforting.
"Union," He Said
Emil took a piece of charcoal and stepped toward the wall. The barn was empty besides old barrels and planks — no one would hear.
He scrawled the word in large letters:
UNION
They watched him from behind.
"Looks like 'onion' with a U," Thass joked, wiping sweat from his brow.
Orren chuckled. "Is it a name?"
"No," Emil said, serious now. "It's not a name. It's an idea."
The three looked up, confused.
"In your kingdoms, in this world, you have kings, dukes, temples. They rule because their fathers did. They take because you let them. A union is something else entirely."
They listened.
"In my world, it meant that men and women who worked — smiths, bakers, soldiers — came together. No crown, no holy book, no noble title. Just people, side by side, deciding that enough was enough. And if one was hurt, the rest stood with them."
Henna narrowed her eyes. "That sounds like a rebellion."
Emil didn't blink. "It's not. Not yet."
The First Cellar Meeting
Later that night, under the tavern in a half-collapsed wine cellar, Emil sat with six others. Kael — the ex-soldier. Garn — the joking guard. Alric — the soft-spoken priest. Vollan — the ever-serious patrol guard. Orren and Thass had come too.
Kael leaned on a crate and lit a pipe, nodding toward Emil. "So, you brought us here to talk politics?"
Emil stood in front of the brick wall, now cleaned and marked with chalk — a triangle of words. Production. People. Protection.
"I brought you here," Emil said, "to warn you. And to offer something in return."
He looked at Vollan, the most skeptical.
"Your kingdom is decaying. The lords beat peasants in the open. The baron sells your grain to fund his mistress's palace. And from what the village chief told me, the king purged half his own advisors two winters ago."
Garn laughed dryly. "Aye. And the priests pray louder to cover it."
Alric smiled faintly. "True enough."
Emil pointed to them. "You're good men. Tired men. But not broken."
Kael watched with an almost amused expression.
"So what, you'll give us swords? Guns?" he asked.
"No," Emil replied. "I'll teach you to build them yourselves."
The Fire Beneath the Skin
Vollan stepped forward.
"And when they find out? When a noble's scout sees this? They'll burn the village. You know that, right?"
Emil nodded.
"That's why we don't call it a rebellion. Not yet. We call it a workshop. A smith's guild. But in truth…"
He walked back to the chalk diagram.
"This will be the Union's first cell. Quiet. Careful. But never passive."
Kael leaned back. "A conspiracy, then."
"No," Alric said suddenly. "A shield. He's giving us a shield."
Even Vollan said nothing after that.
Outside the Fire
Later, in the dark field just beyond the village, Kael caught up with Emil.
The stars were clear overhead.
"You're different from most rebels," Kael said. "You're not angry. You're… strategic."
"I've seen what rage without thought does," Emil replied. "My world had enough of that. Yours will too, if we're not careful."
Kael looked at him sideways. "You think we can win?"
Emil didn't answer directly.
UNION – LEVEL 2 UNLOCKEDNew Role Available: OrganizerAssign trusted individuals to spread labor and ideas.
He stared at the floating window.
Then whispered to the night:
"We don't need to win yet. We just need to survive."