The ridge was bare, windswept, and sharp-edged. It offered no comfort, only visibility — and that's what Vera needed. She crouched just behind the rocky edge, scarf pulled up over the lower half of her face, eyes narrowed as they tracked the flickering orange below.
The goblin warcamp stretched like a bruise across the valley floor. Tents stitched from hide, cooking fires, latrine pits. A crude command post stood in the centre where hobgoblins barked orders and lesser goblins scrambled to obey. The whole thing stank of blood, smoke, and the kind of momentum they couldn't stop.
Vera didn't blink, though.
"Two more squads," Maggs muttered. "Maybe more."
"They're massing for the push," Dorrin added from behind a twisted pine. "We're five hours out from the city. If they move fast, four."
"We'll be lucky if we even slow 'em at this point," Tresh said, adjusting the short sword strapped to his thigh. "Lucky if they don't just charge through the trap and keep marching."
"They won't," Vera said flatly. "Not if we do this right."
Lyn flopped down on the ridge with a groan, bow clattering. "That's what you said about the spike pit. And the log swing. And the meat trap."
"They worked," Vera muttered.
"Worked great. I've still got bruises from hauling that log. And I still smell like boar guts."
Maggs gave her a dry glance. "You volunteered to stir it."
"Yeah, and I regret that decision deeply."
Tresh snorted, and even Dorrin cracked a smile.
Vera stayed rigid, gaze fixed, her hand tightening on the spear as she weighed every shift and sound below. She scanned for gaps, for weaknesses, for any sign the goblins might break.
They had been in this instance for almost a week now. The mission had been simple: Defend a border village from a goblin invasion until reinforcements arrived. Seven days, one town, five people. The army was marching — slowly — and their job had been to buy every hour they could.
They marched two and a half days from the town, gathering every piece of equipment, oil jar, rope, broken cart axle, and sack of flour they could carry. Then they got to work.
They built traps. Fire channels lined with pitch and pine resin. Tripwires and swinging spikes. They stole goblin rations and replaced them with tainted meat. Poisoned their water barrels. Picked off hobgoblin leaders at night from long range, just to scatter the command structure.
They found monsters and lured them. Set trails of blood and bait to steer them into goblin scouts. Vera's scarf still smelled faintly of rot from the last time.
It had worked. The goblin army had been forced to slow, regroup, and even divert forces for recovery. They had bought time.
But now it was five hours from the village. The army was regrouped, focused, and done with feints. Now it was warpath time—and Vera's team was out of time, tricks, and nearly energy.
Vera finally turned from the camp and sat back on her heels.
"We light the firetrap early," she said. "Catch them while they're mustering— if we hit them hard now, we can cut their numbers before they even start moving. The goal is to break their momentum and disrupt their charge before it hits the village."
"We only have the one fuse line," Dorrin pointed out. "If it doesn't work, we have no redundancy."
"Doesn't need to," Vera said. "We just need the lead elements to hesitate. Delay them at the start — then we strike the command again. Or the lead elements take off without the command team, and we hit the centre, pick off another hob commander. Maybe two."
Maggs looked down at her hands. "If we do that, we'll have goblins chasing us all the way back."
Tresh grinned, tightening the leather straps on his forearms. "Sounds like fun."
"Fire first. Then confusion. Then run and fight when we have to?"
"Pretty much," Vera said tiredly. She was exhausted. They all were. After almost 4 days of fighting and running nonstop, they were almost on fumes.
Dorrin ran a hand down the length of his cleaver. He had used it to great effect against the goblins they had fought. "And if they still reach the village?"
"They'll be moving in pieces," Vera replied. "Mostly broken groups with low morale. They'll hit the town walls uncoordinated, and the army will be waiting."
"Sure," Lyn said. "Let's count on the army being there on time. That sounds like a great plan. Like this dungeon has no other curve ball to throw at us."
Maggs gave a short and slow nod. She still didn't speak much, but she was more open around the team.
There was silence for a long moment.
Weapons braced, the five crouched low. Tresh wiped sweat from his brow and flexed tense fingers around his swords. Maggs adjusted her quiver. Lyn checked the string of her bow. Dorrin squinted into the dark, jaw set. Each prepared in silence, united by exhaustion and purpose.
Vera pulled the scarf tighter across her face, eyes cold as ice.
"We burn it in ten minutes," she said. "Easy mission."
Maggs and Lyn both turned to stare at her.
Lyn leaned in, eyes wide and mock-horror. "Was that a joke?" she gasped in a loud whisper. "Vera! You do have emotions! The beautiful ice queen is cracking!"
Vera didn't look away from the warcamp below. "One joke every campaign. That was it."
Maggs snorted. "Hope it was worth it."
Lyn grinned. "Oh, it was. I feel spiritually healed."
Dorrin and Tresh exchanged glances.
It was hard being the only guys on a team like this. Despite Lyn's "ice queen" joke, they were all ice queens when it came down to it. The moment anyone tried to get close, the women closed ranks like a fortress wall —they were silent, immovable, and vaguely terrifying.
Dorrin leaned in toward his cousin. "I still don't know if they like us."
Tresh shrugged. "We hunt, shoot, and sometimes we don't talk stupid. That's probably why we're still here."
Dorrin grunted. "Fair."
Vera swept her eyes over the group. "Everyone clear on the fallback point? We hold at the rock choke — make our stand there. Hit them hard, kill as many as we can, then we fall back to the town walls. This isn't worth dying for."
Lyn just looked thoughtful for a moment while Maggs, true to form, had the emotional response of a rock.
Dorrin slowly raised his hand.
Vera arched an eyebrow. "Yes?"
"Just curious," he said low. "Why double rewards? We gave up respawn protection."
Vera stared. "Want two perks from a goblin dungeon? Or do you not think you're better than an Uncommon quest?"
She shifted her grip on her spear. "If you don't believe you deserve more, maybe I should rethink your place on the team."
Tresh leaned over to whisper something to his cousin — but Vera didn't even look away.
"Do you also believe that, Tresh?"
Tresh snapped a sharp salute. "No ma'am!" he whisper-shouted, nearly toppling.
Vera rolled her eyes. Lyn giggled behind her scarf. Even Maggs looked slightly amused — which, for her, was practically a belly laugh.
"Let's go, we are wasting time," Vera muttered.
The fire trap went up in a flash.
Dry brush, tar-soaked logs, and pitch-soaked furs caught all at once in a roar of heat and smoke. Goblins shrieked as the front line stumbled into the wall of flame, the army behind them slowing in a chaotic ripple as the inferno bloomed.
Tresh and Dorrin were already firing—bows up, arrows striking green skin and leather armour. Vera was gone.
Maggs loosed arrow after arrow, shoulders tight, lips pressed in grim focus. Lyn flashed her teeth in a quick grin, drawing and releasing with smooth, practised gestures, body loose but eyes sharp on her targets.
Down in the haze and smoke, Vera moved like a shadow. This was where she thrived.
The chaos had blown the goblin line wide open. Hobgoblins at the rear shouted orders, trying to reorganise the staggered warbands of goblins. Vera didn't give them the time.
Her first javelin flew clean, catching a hobgoblin commander in the side of the neck as he was pointing a curved sword toward the flanks. He went down hard.
The second javelin hit the next officer centre-mass — a hard blow that blew straight through his armour and punched out his back.
That was when the horn blew and was repeated by every other horn.
"Time to go!" Lyn called down the slope.
Vera ducked under flying arrows, feet quick on loose stones. She slid past burning brush, cloak flicking embers, and glanced back only once at the tumbling goblin shapes closing in. Her lungs burned, but she pushed harder, scrambling uphill toward her team.
She scrambled up the ridge to her team just as the first wave began to break through the smoke.
"Fall back to the rocks!" Vera shouted.
They moved together, tight and fast. The chokepoint was a natural cut — two large boulders narrowing the approach. They'd reinforced it with braced cover and narrow firing angles.
The team turned and opened fire.
Arrows rained into the press of goblins — slowing them, staggering the charge, even breaking the front ranks in a few places. But there were too many. Always too many.
The gap was filled with snarling goblins. Tresh hurled his bow aside, blades flashing as he leapt forward, boots sliding for traction. Dorrin pitched his bow down, drew his cleaver, and charged the front,kicking aside fallen bodies to swing.
Tresh's twin short swords flashed in tight arcs — fast, brutal cuts that danced through goblin armour like paper. Dorrin wielded his reclaimed berserker cleaver in heavy, deliberate sweeps, breaking bones and staggering enemies with every blow. Mere goblins couldn't stand up to the brutality of each swing.
They held the line — barely — but it was working.
Until the hobgoblins arrived.
They had heavy shields and stayed in formation.
They advanced in a line, shields locked, pushing through the goblin bodies like battering rams.
"Left!" Dorrin shouted, trying to peel off to flank them — but the formation was tight, and it didn't break.
Maggs and Lyn rained arrows down from above, but the hobgoblins lifted their shields and barely slowed. Vera moved to launch one of her remaining javelins, and it punched through one of the heavy shields, but it didn't injure the Hob behind it.
Tresh tried to move wide on the right — hoping to force them to split or turn — but a volley of black-fletched arrows whistled past him. One grazed his leg. He hissed in pain, stumbled.
"They're not breaking!" Vera growled. "Jäklar! Fall back!"
Dorrin and Tresh broke off just as the hobgoblins reached the rocks. The chokepoint wouldn't hold. They'd bought time — but not enough.
The team broke into a run, bounding from stone to brush to slope, covering each other in staggered retreat. Arrows snapped around them as the goblin army surged forward again.
The town walls waited ahead — still far — but closer than they'd been that morning.
"Don't stop!" Vera barked. "Keep moving!"
Behind them, the forest echoed with the roar of war drums.
The last half-mile was a blur of breath and motion.
Brush tore at their legs. Tresh was limping slightly. Dorrin had a shallow slice across his arm. Lyn and Maggs had gone quiet, saving their breath as they ran. Vera was already thinking past the pain — calculating angles, estimating time.
Then the trees thinned—and the town walls came into view. And with them… banners. They lined the wall, each one denoting a different unit. Rows of spears and archers on makeshift platforms. A command tent that you could see over the walls.
It was a fancy, proper army.
Vera slowed first, breathing hard. Her sharp eyes swept the formation. They looked professional, had clean gear, and looked well rested. She spotted the crest on one of the flags — an unfamiliar black-and-green design.
"Uh…" Lyn panted beside her. "That doesn't look like 'just arrived.'"
Maggs muttered, "That massive tent has been up for at least a day."
Dorrin stopped beside her, leaning on his axe. "So the mission wasn't about holding them off long enough to save the town…"
Tresh spat into the dirt. "The town already got saved."
Vera's jaw tightened. She walked forward, wary, her eyes locked on the line of soldiers, probably a picket line, now turning toward them as they emerged from the tree line.
One of them — a tall woman with a short cloak and a badge marked with the symbol of a mailed fist — stepped forward.
"You five the adventurers from the ridge?" The officer asked.
Vera gave a short nod. "Thornwalkers. Our task was to delay the goblin army for as long as we could."
The officer raised an eyebrow. "Well, consider it a rousing success. Our scouts tracked the army's slowed advance. By the time they were close enough to see the smoke from your fire traps, we'd already marched double-time from the north. Took the town from behind late yesterday and fortified it through the night. We weren't sure when they would arrive. You pulled most of the goblins off the road and cut their speed by days."
"Casualties?" Vera asked.
"To them? Hundreds of thanks to you. You hurt their leadership something bad. Saw the mess you made back there. Goblins rely on their hobgoblin leadership to tell them what to do. They won't be able to control that horde for long."
Lyn gave a wheezing laugh and collapsed onto the dirt. "So we win?"
The officer gave a thin smile. "Looks like."
Dorrin looked around at the well-supplied camp, then muttered to Vera, "Kind of anti-climactic, isn't it?"
"No," Vera said softly, eyes still scanning the horizon. "That can't be it? That was kinda...easy?"
Tresh dropped his gear and flopped onto the grass beside his cousin. "So... do we get the extra loot for doubling the difficulty now, or do we have to fill out a form or something?"
Maggs let out the faintest snort.
The officer tilted her head. "Command'll want a full report. But after that, report to the quartermaster for your reward."
Vera just nodded, but her eyes were still scanning the horizon, war instincts too deeply honed to settle down just yet.
Something told her this wasn't over until a flash of light took her and the team once again.
The Hall had become a makeshift potion hall. The air was thick with the scent of crushed herbs. Some of the burned ingredients lingered in the air, stubborn and acrid.
Harold stood at the front table, sleeves rolled to his elbows. A half-finished glass flask steamed gently in his hands. Around the room, his students—mostly young adults—hunched over their own crude mixtures. Each one focused intently, steadying the flow of mana through water, powder, and flame.
"Careful with the temperature, Tim," Harold warned, not looking up. "If your flame control waivers, the binding will—"
A soft pop sounded, followed by a startled yelp from Tim at his workstation.
"—separate," he finished, sighing.
Before he could say more, the door to the hall creaked open, and one of his personal guards stepped through — older, stocky, with deep scars up one forearm.
"My Lord," he said quietly, voice respectful. "The Thornwalkers are back."
Harold straightened at once, setting the flask aside with a hiss.
All around the room, the students froze.
"Aww, come on," one muttered. Another slumped in visible disappointment.
Harold raised a hand. "Keep working. This isn't just brewing — it's training your control. Focus on healing and stamina potions. When you stabilize the flow through the process, we'll move on."
He looked around at the small sea of frustrated faces, then added, "And remember: someone has to make all the potions we burn through like water. Your potions are funding the Landing right now."
That earned a few reluctant grins.
As he turned to leave, his eyes met Elia's — she was sitting near the back, her half-finished flask trembling slightly on the burner. Her brow was furrowed, lips tight. Like she wanted to say something.
But she didn't.
She just gave a small nod and looked back down at her work.
Harold hesitated a heartbeat, then stepped through the door.
Outside, the evening air was crisp. It smelled of cut wood and dust. A faint wind carried the sound of hammers. They struck rhythmically against the skeleton frame of the new school building. Closer to the palisade, raised voices barked measurements. Someone guided a beam into place over the adventurer's guild hall frame.
They weren't going to make the deadline he'd set.
Not unless someone pulled a miracle in the next few hours.
He frowned slightly but didn't stop. The Thornwalkers were back. That meant Vera was back. He was eager to see how they had done. He picked up his pace. Boots struck the packed dirt of the pathway between buildings. He headed toward the Lord's Hall, where they would have popped back out again.
The sky was deep gold and purple, the last light bleeding through the western treetops.
It was going to be a long night.
Harold pushed open the door to his office, expecting a report.
Instead, he found chaos erupting the moment he entered.
Blood stained the rug. Dorrin and Tresh were on the floor, leaning against the far wall. Both were pale. Both had hastily rebound wounds, soaking through with fresh crimson. Vera crouched beside Tresh. Her hands were slick as she tried to reinforce a tourniquet. Lyn was with Dorrin, her face tight. Her breath was shallow as she worked.
Maggs stood silently by the door, bow slung and blood across one sleeve, watching everything with that unflinching, stone-faced calm.
Harold's heart kicked.
"Dammit," he muttered, stepping fully inside. "Has no one given them a healing potion?"
He turned sharply, calling over his shoulder. "Ellis!"
One of the two guards posted outside stepped in quickly. "Sir?"
Harold threw a hand toward the floor, exasperated. "They're bleeding out on the first rug made in the Landing. Really, guys? Not one of you thought to grab a healing potion?"
Ellis flushed, paling slightly. "I— I'll get them. Now, my Lord."
Ellis dashed out at once.
Harold crouched opposite Vera as she pressed a bandage against Tresh's side. "I'm sorry. You should have been treated the moment you got back."
Tresh shook his head, swearing. Portal spat us out, and the wounds just… opened back up."
"Figured it was part of the cost," Dorrin muttered from the side, voice rough. "Pretty on-brand, right?"
Harold gave him a look. "Don't joke when you're bleeding."
"Not bleeding bleeding," Dorrin said. "Just… leaking."
"You're an idiot," Lyn muttered fondly.
Harold looked to Vera, who gave him a small nod of acknowledgment.
"Thank you," she said simply. "For sending us. For trusting us."
Before Harold could respond, Ellis burst back in, jogging and clutching two glass bottles. Harold quickly stood, took one bottle, passed it to Vera, then crouched to press the other into Dorrin's hand.
"Here. It should be a proper batch from this morning. Elia's crew is finally getting the stabilizer right. Honey is surprisingly tricky when you start out."
Dorrin uncorked it with his teeth and downed the potion in two gulps. He grimaced, then blinked rapidly as color began to return to his face.
"Okay," he exhaled. "Yeah. That's the good stuff."
Tresh followed suit, coughing once as he swallowed. Then his head lolled back against the wall.
"Think I just felt my liver stitch itself together," he said.
"Don't push yourselves," Harold warned, standing again. "You made it back alive."
He looked around the room at the five of them — tired, bloodied, alive. Whatever they'd done, it had been hard.
Harold moved behind his desk, scanning the surface for something. His eyes narrowed slightly when he didn't find it.
Then he crouched, pulled open the bottom drawer, and retrieved a bundle wrapped in cloth. He set it on the table and carefully unwrapped it — revealing the hobgoblin totem.
It pulsed with a low glow, faint red veins shimmering like dying fire coals.
He stared at it for a moment, then nodded to himself.
"I see you succeeded," he said softly, almost to the totem. Then he looked up at Vera and her team. "You've done more for the Landing than you realize."
His gaze settled on Vera. "You and your team… you're proving to be very effective."
Vera gave a faint nod — her version of a proud smile.
Harold straightened. "Tell me how it went."
Vera took a breath and began. "We were pulled. We were met by the town's mayor, who entreated us to delay a goblin army." So we made sure the goblins had a very long, difficult walk." The goblins had a very long, difficult walk."
As she spoke, Harold listened closely. When she mentioned the "goblin army," his brow lifted slightly. When she described what they started to gather to delay them, his eyes narrowed, and a slow, knowing smile crept across his face.
He held up a hand.
"Wait. Stop right there."
Vera fell quiet, instantly alert.
Lyn glanced at Maggs. "He's doing the smile again," she whispered. "That's his 'oh this is useful' face."
Tresh just mumbled, "Uh oh," from the floor, mostly healed and not entirely sitting up yet.
Harold ignored the murmuring. He turned to the door and called out, "Ellis!"
The guard appeared almost immediately, still slightly flushed from his earlier mistake.
"Sir?"
"Find Margaret. Now. Bring her here immediately, please."
"Yes, Lord," Ellis said, turning sharply on his heel and heading out at a jog.
Harold turned back to the team, his fingers lightly resting on the totem.
He calmly assessed everyone in the office, the totem's glow reflecting in his eyes.
Vera still stood there—calm, composed. Dirt and soot streaked her arms. Her worn gear, her ash-stained scarf—none of it dulled her presence. If anything, it made her look more capable. Her long blonde hair was tied back in a braid. It was coming loose at the ends, frayed from days of fighting and marching.
Harold's gaze lingered, not out of attraction, but assessment. Sarah had earned the name Valkyrie in her last life, but this woman could have the same name. She looked like someone who belonged in this world. Vera met his eyes and nodded once, quiet and steady.
Harold smiled faintly, then glanced at the others. "Well," he said, clapping his hands lightly, "while we wait for Margaret… can I offer you something? Coffee? Perks of being the lord."
Lyn's head whipped around like a hawk spotting prey. "You have coffee? Real coffee?" she demanded.
Harold chuckled. "Somebody raided the last shipment from Caldwell. And by somebody, I mean me."
Dorrin, who was leaning back against the wall with one arm slung across his chest, perked up. "You know, I think the bleeding's stopped."
Thresh raised his hand without opening his eyes. "Coffee heals all wounds."
Maggs didn't move. She just gave the barest glance in Harold's direction and gave a grunt that might've meant "sure" or "die quietly."
Harold turned toward the sideboard and started setting out cups. "That's what I like. A motivated team."
"Tea, if you have any," Vera said behind him. Her voice was still level, but there was the faintest trace of amusement at the corners.
Harold looked back with a smirk. "Tea for the Ice Queen. Noted."
"Oh my god, you heard it?" Lyn gasped. "She laughed! That counts! This is it — this is the emotional growth arc!"
Harold actually laughed, warm and genuine. "You know," he said as he scooped grounds into a small tin press, "I've read a lot of those arcs. They usually take a few more chapters."
Lyn beamed. "Oh, we're already in Act Two. The stoic veteran reveals a hidden heart of gold. I live for it."
Harold grinned as he set the kettle on a small spirit-burner. "How long have you two been working together?" he asked, glancing at Lyn and Vera.
Lyn stretched out on the edge of a nearby bench, arms behind her head. "Since we came through the portal, basically. I found her brooding dramatically over a cliff and decided she looked like she needed a friend."
Vera gave her a sideways glance. "I was hunting."
"Brooding while hunting," Lyn corrected. "It was very poetic."
Harold chuckled. "And you two?" he asked, looking at Dorrin and Thresh.
"We're cousins," Thresh said, lifting a hand without sitting up. "Grew up in the Smokies. Been hunting together since we could hold bows."
"Also been getting into trouble together since then," Dorrin added with a lopsided grin.
"They tried to pick a fight with a forest cat two weeks after landing," Lyn said cheerfully. "It didn't go well. But it did make for a good team origin story."
"I maintain we won that fight," Dorrin said, pointing at the scar near his temple. "It ran away, didn't it?"
"It had already eaten your leg and got bored," Maggs muttered from her corner.
Harold laughed again, pouring steaming water into the tea mug first and handing it to Vera with a polite nod. She accepted it, fingers wrapping around the cup like it was the first warmth she'd had in days.
He passed a coffee to Lyn next, who took a dramatic sip and sighed in mock ecstasy.
Dorrin and Thresh each took theirs with a quiet word of thanks. Maggs accepted her mug wordlessly and gave a faint nod.
Before the conversation could drift further, the door opened again — brisk steps, confident pacing.
Margaret entered in full stride, rough notebook in hand and expression already sharp — though she slowed slightly upon seeing the group assembled, still battle-marked and sipping drinks like a worn-down mercenary squad from some war story.
"They made it back half an hour ago," Harold said before she could speak. "And they brought something worth a conversation."
Margaret nodded once. "Then I assume you're all going to ruin my night."
Thresh raised his mug in salute. "I live to serve, ma'am."
Harold smirked and gestured toward the table. "Take a seat, Margaret. You're going to want to hear this."
He reached into his drawer, pulled out the softly glowing totem, and set it on the desk.
Margaret's eyes narrowed. She didn't sit — just circled toward Harold's side of the desk, arms folded, gaze locked on the totem.
"Alright," Harold said, eyes on Vera. "Tell the story again. From the beginning, please."
Vera gave a slow nod, her tone even but precise.
"We were assigned to defend a town with minimal supplies. The mayor tasked us with holding the line and delaying the horde until reinforcements arrive. They didn't tell us how long to delay, just as long as you can."
"That's a long time to hold out alone in unfamiliar territory," Margaret said.
Vera nodded. " We marched out two and a half days from the village. Took everything we could carry — tools, traps, anything useful — and started preparing traps and fallback points. We scouted the goblin warcamp, marked their advance routes, and used the terrain to ambush whom we could."
"We slowed them with everything," Lyn cut in brightly. "Crude trip mines, spike pits, rolling log traps. Poisoned supplies. Lured a forest troll into their rear."
"Ambushed scout groups," Maggs added. "Sniped hobgoblin officers. Sabataged supply wagons."
"Tresh got a bottle of gutrot into their water reserves," Dorrin said proudly. "At least two of their squads dropped out, puking blood. Which was surprising, actually…you'd think goblins would be able to handle it better."
Margaret's eyebrows rose slowly.
Harold leaned back in his chair, trying to keep his face neutral, but he was failing.
Vera continued, calm and steady. "By the time they were within 5 hours of the village, we'd reduced their forces by at least about a fifth. We confused them, made them think we were a larger force. Then, when they formed up to move onto the town, we set the largest firetrap we could make on top of their formation. Took out two more of their officers there before we were forced to retreat."
'We moved back to a choke point where we held until the Hob regulars moved onto us, and we had to fall back. That's where we took all the injuries."
Harold's lips twitched, but he stayed quiet. Lyn wasn't as composed.
"He smiled," she said loudly, pointing an accusing finger. "Vera, he's smiling. That's our win condition."
"I'm not smiling," Harold said flatly. "I'm evaluating."
"You're glowing like the totem," Dorrin muttered.
Margaret finally moved, stepping up beside Vera, her eyes scanning over the Thornwalkers with a slightly different intensity now. Less critical. More… weighing.
"You delayed an organized superior force, sowed confusion, and targeted command structures," she said. "With no outside support," Margaret said slowly.
"And only minor wounds," Vera added. "Nothing permanent."
Margaret's eyes lingered a moment longer on the group before they finally settled on Vera — sharp and measuring.
Then she turned toward Harold, voice casual but with a steel thread running through it. "Coffee for me too."
Harold didn't look up from the totem. "Come on, that stuff is valuable. I'm not running a café in here."
Margaret said nothing, just staring at him.
Harold sighed loudly, muttered something under his breath, and got up with exaggerated reluctance. "Unbelievable. One day I'm going to run out of beans, and then you'll all know true suffering."
"You'll manage," Margaret replied, still focused on Vera. She waited a moment longer before speaking again.
"What's your background, Vera?"
The room went still. Not tense — but alert.
Vera stood a little straighter, her expression as calm as ever. She looked Margaret in the eye, then answered without hesitation.
"I was a scout in the Swedish Army. Light reconnaissance and forward infiltration. Six years of active service. One tour in Afghanistan."
Lyn let out a low whistle. Even Maggs blinked once.
Margaret didn't react — not immediately — but there was a flicker of something behind her eyes. Interest or approval, maybe.
"Explains a lot," Margaret murmured. "Your unit?"
"I was in the scout platoon for the 311th Airborne squadron," Vera said quietly.
Harold returned then, setting a mug in front of Margaret with the weary dignity of a man forced to share something precious. "Here. But now we're even for that mess with the stone chits."
Margaret ignored him entirely. Her focus was still on Vera.
"You're disciplined," she said. "You think ahead. You don't flinch from hard choices."
Vera gave a small shrug. "You pick up what you need to survive."
Harold leaned against the edge of the desk, sipping from his own mug. "And you've made yourself useful. More than useful."
Margaret didn't look away from Vera — not even when she started speaking again.
"To be clear," she said, voice calm, "the Thornwalkers came in the second wave of refugees. They weren't a unit. They came together by happenstance — hunting, during the chaos of those first weeks."
Harold tilted his head, listening.
"Thresh," Margaret continued, "was the one who warned us of the goblins that first night. He and Dorrin delayed the initial wave long enough for the adventurers to scramble, and for the original soldiers to finish the rest."
Thresh blinked at that, mug halfway to his lips.
"Vera," Margaret went on, "has asked more questions around the Landing than anyone else. She's pulled at every loose thread she could find. She's triggered the oath on at least a dozen people who came straight to me afterward."
Now the Thornwalkers were really paying attention. Lyn's expression had turned openly confused. Maggs was watching Margaret as if she were tracking prey. Dorrin and Thresh shared a glance.
Harold exhaled slowly with a small smile. "You were assessing her as a threat."
"I was," Margaret said. "And I don't think I was wrong to be cautious. She's good, I originally thought she was an agent for someone else."
She turned slightly now — not facing Harold entirely, but enough to shift the conversation directly to him.
"But now I believe she's noticed something else. "
Harold frowned slightly, thinking it through. "The divide between our waves."
Margaret nodded once. "There's a growing distinction between the two groups that came through. The first wave — your wave — who've had a month to learn and expected what was going to happen. And the second, who dropped into a world already half-spoken for. The first group was eager to work immediately. It took about a week for the second group to settle in. There was a lot of crying and hysteria that first week."
Her eyes flicked back to Vera.
"I think it's time we read her in. Oath her, and tell her everything."
There was a pause in the room — a subtle shift in air pressure, like the walls had leaned in to listen.
Vera didn't speak. But her brow furrowed just slightly — not in fear or resistance, but in recognition. She quietly looked on as dots began to connect in her head. "Jäklar, how could you know…"
Lyn blinked. "Wait, read in? What does that mean?"
Maggs said nothing. Just stared at Harold with faint suspicion.
Thresh whispered to Dorrin, "I think this is that moment in spy movies where we get the envelope."
Harold glanced at each of them, then finally back at Vera.
"You've done good work," Harold said. "And more importantly — you're asking the right questions."
He reached into his desk and pulled out a small slate — different from the others. It was older; it bore the emblem of his authority etched into the surface by the system itself: a sprig of new growth laid across a single upright blade.
The Sprig and the Blade. Harold placed it gently on the table between them.
"I'm sorry," he said quietly, looking at Vera. "But take the oath. And we'll tell you what's really going on."
He held her gaze.
"If you refuse… then you won't be allowed to leave this room without taking a different oath. You already know too much."
There was a long silence. The only sounds were the faint crackle of a lantern and the muted noises of construction continuing outside.
Maggs tensed slightly. Lyn was frozen. Dorrin's hand tightened on his mug while Thresh looked like he was about to say something and thought better of it.
Vera, for her part, didn't flinch. She just looked at the slate, then at Harold, then back again. Her voice was steady when she finally spoke.
"What's the oath bind me to?"
Margaret stepped forward now, voice calm. "You swear to hold confidential what is said in this room and what will be revealed to you after. You swear not to betray the Landing — not just Harold, but the people who live and work under his protection. And you swear to serve the truth of this domain's purpose, even if you don't always agree with its direction."
Vera gave the slate another glance, thinking it over. She took her time deciding and looked at each of her team members before finally nodding once.
"Fine. I'll take it." She said.
She reached forward, picked it up, and Harold held the other end while he coached her through the words of the oath. When she was done, Harold repeated his oath back to her. To serve and protect the people of Landing.
Harold exhaled slowly. Margaret looked faintly relieved.
Lyn blinked rapidly. "Okay. So… are we in trouble? Because that felt like we might be in trouble."
Margaret turned toward her, expression unreadable. "You're about to learn the stakes. If you want in, you can take the same oath."
Harold nodded to the others. "You've all earned the right to know. But the door closes behind you. This isn't a story you can walk away from."
Lyn raised both hands. "No take-backsies. I'm in."
Thresh looked at Dorrin. "What do you think?"
"I think we already fell down the rabbit hole," Dorrin muttered. "Might as well find out where it leads."
All four followed Vera's lead and took the oath in turn — one by one, each slate flare confirming their agreement.
Harold waited until the last light faded, then slowly walked to the map on the wall.
The door to Harold's office creaked open as the Thornwalkers stepped out into the hall, the muffled sounds of construction still echoing from down the road. The group moved in quiet at first, until they were past the guards and halfway out of the Lords hall before beginning to speak.
"Okay," Lyn whispered. "So… we're in it now, right?"
"We've been in it," Maggs muttered.
"I knew there was more going on," Dorrin said. "Secret oaths, shadow councils, whole 'first wave from Earth' thing? Other races and humanity losing the first time this happened? Of course there's more. Always felt like we missed a step somewhere."
"I mean, we kinda did," Thresh said. "They had what? Weeks? Teams formed, everything lined up before they even got here. We just got dragged in, tossed out of a portal, and pointed at goblins."
"Which we handled," Vera said, quiet but firm.
They all glanced at her.
"And now we know why it felt like we were always catching up," she added. "Because we were."
Lyn kicked a loose stone off the path, watching it bounce into the darkness. "You think they told us because we're useful?"
Maggs snorted. "No. They told us because we're dangerous and useful. Can't have dangerous people without giving them a stake."
"Well," Dorrin said with a grim smile, "now we've got one."
Back in the office, the door closed with a soft thud. Margaret remained by the table, arms folded, watching it for a few seconds before finally speaking.
"I'm going to pull them into my section."
Harold didn't look up from where he was rearranging the totem on his shelf. "Take them. They're perfect for it."
Margaret nodded once, decisive.
"Good initiative. Steady under pressure. And adaptable in the field. I've already got a few jobs I have for them."
Harold leaned back against the edge of the desk, arms folded.
"Interesting note about the goblin dungeon, by the way. All five of them picked awareness-related perks. Something that helps them notice important things related to weak points. Some kind of Goblin Saboteur had it."
Margaret's brow arched.
"And the second perk?"
"Stealth," Harold said, smirking faintly. "All of them. Turns out that dungeon had Goblin Scouts with a really annoying knack for vanishing mid-fight. I remember the report on them from Sarah, musta gotten it from them."
Margaret's lips twitched. "I'll make good use of that."
Then she turned, eyes sharpening.
"Centurion Parker reported in," she said. "He's made contact with the refugees. It looks like he was barely in time. He arrived just as they were in a fight."
Harold's face sobered instantly. He nodded once, then pushed off the desk.
"Keep me updated on them, I need them for the next phase." Harold said seriously.
The brush parted ahead of him, and Parker nearly stumbled down the last slope. His legs burned, his breath came in shallow gulps, and his eyes stung with sweat. Behind him, his force of forty-two legionnaires — every last one of them capable of mana use — looked the same. Hollow-eyed. Filthy. Drained.
They'd run too far.
They'd overshot the trail entirely in their desperation to make time and had been forced to double back across rough terrain once they finally picked up a broken boot track in the dust. That had been hours ago. They hadn't stopped.
Now, as Parker skidded to a stop on a rocky ledge just above the basin, he saw it — the cave.
It was pressed up against the ridgeline like a scar, mouth gaping, narrow but defensible. A crude barricade had been thrown up around the entrance — stones, broken wood, what looked like stripped branches and torn packs. Inside, Parker could just make out flickers of movement — civilians, hunched and desperate, crammed in shoulder-to-shoulder.
And outside…
A herd of centaurs.
At least two dozen, probably more — lean, fast, brutal-looking. They had spears and short bows. A few of them were trying to batter the barricade down with the flat sides of heavy clubs while others loosed arrows over the makeshift wall. Screams echoed from the cave.
A ragged handful of adventurers stood right behind the barricade — bruised, bleeding, outnumbered — doing everything they could to hold the centaurs back. One had a cracked shield. Another was limping, sword swinging in uneven arcs. What looked like a crafter, was crouched low, and manipulated fire to shoot at the centaurs. It didn't do much but it snapped the string on the bow he was trying to use.
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The centaurs surged again, smashing against the barrier. Wood splintered.
Parker didn't wait.
"Line up! Now!" he bellowed, voice raw from days of shouting, from mana-scorched lungs and grit-filled air.
The legionaries responded through instinct more than will — staggering into a rough firing line at the ridgeline's edge, pulling their last fire-hardened javelins from the bundles on their backs.
"Mana up," Parker growled. "One last push. Throw hard. Kill!."
A faint hum filled the air as the soldiers pooled what little strength they had left, wrapping their weapons in barely-there traces of force. The javelins glowed faintly at the tips, mana enhancing the killing power of the javelins.
"Release!" Parker shouted.
The volley arced forward — forty spears of fury launched with all the weight and desperation they could muster. One centaur tried to shout a warning but a javelin punched threw his torso before he could speak.
The clustered formation near the cave mouth was packed in tight, focused on tearing through the barricade. The javelins punched through them like missiles through cloth — ripping into chests, shoulders, necks. They fell in screaming heaps, blood spraying, panic blooming in the herd's rear ranks as half their number dropped in seconds.
"Shields!" Parker roared.
They ripped their shields off their backs, drew swords from tired hips, and didn't wait for an order. There was no discipline left — only the need to end this.
"CHARGE!"
They thundered down the ridge screaming — a wall of battered steel and furious will.
It wasn't clean or clever. But it was brutal.
Parker's shoulder hit a centaur's flank so hard it knocked the beast sideways, and he brought his sword down in a arc that split flesh and bone. To his left, another legionnaire slammed his shield into a staggered rider, pinned it against the rock, and ran his blade straight through its throat.
The survivors scattered — the organized pressure at the cave mouth collapsed.
That was when the refugees inside saw them.
A ragged cheer went up — wild and half-choked — and a handful of civilians and adventurers surged forward through the wreckage of the barricade. Some carried spears, others rocks. One woman, face streaked with soot, was holding a pickaxe.
Together, they broke the centaur line — the herd finally routed, galloping away into the dusk.
Parker stood amidst the bodies, chest heaving, blood running down his forearm from a long slice near the elbow. He looked back over his shoulder — the ridge littered with the spent unit, some collapsed to one knee, others leaning on their shields, too tired to cheer.
But they'd made it, barely in time.
From the cave entrance, a woman stepped out slowly — soot-streaked, spear in hand. Her armor was a mismatched patchwork of salvaged gear and scavenged cloth, and her expression was wary but hopeful.
"Are you—" she paused, swallowing hard, voice hoarse. "Are you from Harold's Landing? Are you the force that was supposed to save us? We haven't seen anything on the forum since someone said you were coming. "
Parker exhaled, letting the weight of the last few days sag off his shoulders. He wiped blood from his temple with the back of his wrist, then managed a crooked grin.
"We," he said, raising a hand theatrically and letting his sword drag behind him, "are the valiant Knights of the Landing."
There was a beat of silence before he added, a little less dramatically, "Advance force, at least. The rest of the legion's two days out. We just ran three and a half days to make sure you weren't a memory."
His eyes flicked toward the cave. "Don't suppose there's any food in there? We haven't eaten since yesterday."
The woman blinked, and then the exhaustion in her face broke — a quick laugh, then a tight nod. "We'll find something."
Behind her, other survivors stepped forward, blinking into the light. Dirty faces, thin and tired. A handful of adventurers. A couple older people, which was impressive. Since everyone got alittle younger when they came to Gravesend. A scattering of children. Some cheering now — but mostly just quiet relief.
Parker raised a hand to his Optios. "Get them sorted. Prioritize the wounded. Rotate our people in for food and sleep where they can. I think we have a few more potions. Use them on the worst wounded, see if they have anyone that needs it more."
Most of the unit didn't need to be told twice. Shields clattered to the dirt, swords were sheathed, and one by one the legionaries sank down to the ground with groans and muttered curses. A few barely made it to the rocks before sleep claimed them.
Jenkins dropped down next to Elroy, pulling off one boot and rubbing his foot with a grimace. "I swear," he muttered, "that was the worst three and a half days of my entire life. My legs don't even feel like they're mine anymore."
Elroy didn't even look at him. He just flopped onto his back and stared at the sky with a grin. "Yeah, yeah. But think of the reward. Whole cave full of civilians. Bet you anything there's at least a few hot, grateful babes in there. We're heroes, Jenkins."
Jenkins blinked at the cave entrance, brow furrowing. "…You think so?"
"Brother," his friend said, barely suppressing a grin. "We just saved their lives. I'm telling you — tonight, we sleep. Tomorrow, we bask."
Jenkins sighed and leaned back in the dirt. "I'm too tired to bask."
Parker found a spot just outside the cave entrance and dropped to one knee, rolling his shoulders and stretching his legs.
The woman from before — the one with the spear — brought him a half-loaf of something dense and dark. "It's not much," she said. "But thank you."
He nodded and took the bread without ceremony. "We're glad you're alive," he said simply.
Behind him, the others were already organizing. A few legionaries stood, stretching, adjusting straps. They'd form the first watch. The first rotation was only an hour per but the next complete rotation was longer. They were all exhausted. Quiet voices passed down the line as shields were placed near sleeping forms and a couple fires started.
As night deepened, the glow of the fire cast flickering shadows against the cave walls. Outside, the makeshift camp settled into silence, the soft clink of armor and murmured orders giving way to stillness.
Parker tried to keep things organized but he was too tired too, eventually he fell in exhaustion near a fire after a forum post and fell asleep.
To the west, nestled beneath a dark canopy of twisted branches and moss-covered stone, Sarah crouched near a dwindling campfire. The flickering light danced across her face, highlighting the tired set of her jaw and the gleam of focus in her eyes.
The system interface casting a faint glow as she tapped through layers and filters. She found the message — encoded, and only visible through a cipher she'd been given three weeks ago by Margaret.
Sarah adjusted how her sword rested, then drew the small cipher-slate from her pouch. She glanced around the camp — the rest of her team slept nearby, gear packed light and within arm's reach. She worked the code in silence, eyes narrowing as the meaning slowly unfolded in front of her:
Operation Specterfall
Target: Thresher King. Objective: Provocation
Phase One: Confirm visual
Phase Two: Draw Thresher King into southern river delta.
Objective: Do not allow support from west side of river to join the east side.
Do not engage.
Exercise Extreme caution
Support contingent en route
Your actions will shape the basin.
Sarah let the final line hang in the air for a long moment. Then she slowly exhaled and closed the forum.
"Time to wake the others," she muttered. "We've got something to piss off."
The four of them sat in a rough circle, barely visible beneath the cover of old pines and the shadow of a broken cliff wall. The fire was low — just enough to warm hands and boil water — but Sarah had made sure they were well away from any trail, shielded from casual eyes.
Theo leaned back on his elbows, sharpening one of his short blades with practiced movements. Jace nursed a cup of bitter tea, watching Sarah closely. Mira had already cleaned and repacked her bow twice and was halfway through checking her quiver again.
Sarah unrolled a small cloth and placed a ciphered slate at the center of the circle.
"Harold stopped trying to get us to turn around and instead…we've got orders," she said quietly.
Three pairs of eyes shifted to her instantly.
"Direct from Harold," she added. "He posted it in the open, addressed to me using an old nickname only my parents used."
Jace raised an eyebrow smiling, his eyes glazed over as he shot to the forum to try to find the thread.
Mira looked sideways at him and groaned, "It's too early for you to be ragebaiting us so early."
Sarah prodded the fire with her boots and nodded. "It's about the Thresher King."
Theo froze mid-stroke with his whetstone. "What about the refugees?" he asked. "Aren't we helping with that?"
"They're fine," Sarah said. "Hale's advance force found them yesterday. Parkers' crew. Hale is just over a day out, and they're already moving to secure them. Our job is something else."
Mira frowned. "Wait, they ran down there in time?"
Sarah nodded again. "Ran, yeah. Three and a half days. Barely slept. They musta been using mana in short bursts the whole way."
Theo let out a low whistle. "That's… yeah, okay, I can't do that."
Jace leaned forward, interested now. "But it makes sense. Soldiers with the right perks and tight mana control? They can force their bodies into constant motion without burning out immediately. Still, that had to be a hard run."
Mira nodded thoughtfully. "Adventurers can't keep that up. Not without perks built specifically for movement efficiency and recovery."
"So what is our job?" Theo asked again, sheathing his blade.
Sarah paused for a moment, then tapped the slate.
"We're going to poke the bear."
Jace raised both brows. "What does that mean"
"Something Harold explained to me a couple weeks after we got here when he was teaching me about perks to go for. It's a massive river delta monster. Think giant crocodile, something that isn't known yet is that every region has a Named boss monster. The one in the basin is the Thresher King."
"In order to kill it last time" Sarah said, sitting straighter. "It took multiple Lords working together and they set up siege equipment to launch harpoons."
Theo's hand hovered near his pack. "And Harold wants us to… kill that?"
Sarah gave him a look. "No. He wants us to wake it up."
Silence fell.
"You're kidding," Jace said eventually.
"I'm not. Sarah replied. He wants to wake it up early. I think… I think he wants to split the lower basin. The only reason to rouse it would be to scare people right? He doesn't want us to lure anywhere so I can't think of another reason."
Mira crossed her arms and began to think along that line of reasoning... "You think someone's trying to interfere? Come from the other side?"
Sarah nodded. "Forum's been a mess lately. Rumors flying, Lords posturing. Margaret must've seen something. Maybe someone is talking to Henri and talking about supporting him."
"So we're bait," Theo said flatly.
"We're saboteurs," Sarah corrected. "We just have to wake him up. How hard can that be?"
Jace and Theo groaned at the same time. Mira just turned around. "I'm going back to bed," she said flatly.
"What?" Sarah asked, confused
Mira just waved over her shoulder without turning around. "You said it, Sarah. You actually said it."
Theo flopped back onto his bedroll with a groan. "Can't believe I survived running away from dinosaur calvary just to die to a swamp god because my team leader jinxed the whole op."
Jace rolled his eyes and stood up, brushing off his hands. "Great. Now we're all gonna get eaten by a six-ton murder lizard because someone doesn't know the rules."
Sarah blinked. "Wait—what rules?"
Jace pointed at her like she was a rogue ingredient in a potion about to explode. "You never say 'how hard can it be.' That's like… Rule One of adventuring. Might as well summon a meteor while you're at it."
Theo groaned again. "We're gonna step into the delta and the Thresher King's gonna be waiting with a bib and silverware."
Mira pulled her bedroll tighter around her. "Wake me when we get assigned a mission that doesn't involve suicidal wildlife."
Sarah opened her mouth. Closed it. Looked around at the three of them.
"…You're all ridiculous," she muttered.
The low crack of shifting logs in a fire pit marked the beginning of another day in the camp. A breeze stirred the smoke, carried the smell of pine and ash out across the treeline. Most of the legionnaires were still asleep or sitting in loose groups, quietly sharing what little food the refugees had offered.
Parker sat with his back against a stone outcropping, his armor loosened, hands wrapped around a steaming tin cup. His body still ached from the forced march, but the stiffness was fading.
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A voice called out quietly from the mouth of the cave.
"He's up."
Movement followed. A woman stepped cautiously out from the shadows of the cave wall. A few others came with her — not aggressive, not desperate. Just wary. Survivors.
Parker stood and brushed dust from his armor, then stepped forward a few paces and raised a hand. "You can come over. It's alright."
That seemed to loosen something. The three made their way closer.
They stopped a few feet away. There was a woman who had short brown hair and a tired but steady expression. Her hair was tied up in a small bun. She would never be called beautiful but she looked honest. She had a child on her hip that was smiling up at Parker. He made sure to shake his hand as well, making the woman smile.
The second was a burly man with hands like rough tools, and the third leaned heavily on a walking stick that looked more practical than medical. He was one of the adventurers that was helping hold off the Centaurs.
Parker took another step and offered a small nod and his hand to shake. "Centurion Parker. Harold's Landing."
The woman exchanged a quick glance with the others, then stepped forward. "Tamra. I've been helping organize food and shelter. What little of it there is."
"Jeron," the man said. "Builder. Carpenter. Fixed a lot more than that, these past few weeks."
The third gave a short nod. "Marshal. Just… Marshal."
Tamra spoke again…"sorry, you are not a summoned soldier are you?"
Parker looked at her with a smile, "You've got a good eye, I'm from North Carolina. When we got here I decided to join the Legion Harold was forming. Dropped my crafting perks and switched at the Stele. Soldiered all my life, this is where I can serve best."
Marshal looked interested and spoke up, "I didn't know you could do that. But can you respawn as a soldier?"
Parker chuckled, then shook his head. "No respawn for soldiers. We don't get that safety net. But that's the trade."
Marshal still looked interested but Parker looked them over. They were thin, exhausted, and still half-waiting for the next disaster. He kept his voice steady.
"You're safe now. We'll hold this camp until Captain Hale arrives. He's fast-marching the rest of the Legion down to reinforce us. Should be here by tomorrow."
That drew another glance between the three, but this one carried a little relief.
Tamara spoke up again hesitantly "We were hoping you could tell us what you planned to do with us, when we asked for asylum on the forum it was a last ditch effort."
Parker looked her in the eyes and replied, "When Harold heard what happened," Parker replied. "He issued orders to recover you immediately. Captain Hale organized us to run down here as fast as possible. We were already clearing out an area from Landing for one of the new villages. I don't know the full plan for what comes after, once we get you back… but I can tell you this."
He straightened, placing one hand over his chest.
"I'd be willing to make an oath to all of you. On Gravensend. Harold will not treat you like Henri did. He is an honorable man doing his best in a messed up new world — he will not mistreat you."
Tamra's expression didn't soften, but her voice was quieter. "You speak for him, then?"
Parker shrugged. "I follow him willingly and would choose to do so again, Harold may have ulterior motives for wanting to recover you and add to his population but I would bet my life savings he would recover you just to save some of humanity."
Silence stretched out between them for a moment before Marshal gave a faint grunt. "Well. Better than being dead in a ditch. We'll take what you're offering."
"Parker looked them over again, nodding. "Stay inside the perimeter for now. I'm sending a few of our more energetic troublemakers to hunt us something decent."
"We'll keep you safe for now, one thing I would ask for you all is to bring any loose rock you have in there out so we can make some makeshift barricades in case they come at us again."
Tamra looked hardened and spoke up, "We'll do it, Centurion. Thank you."
Parker smiled at her, "Thank you, ma'am."
She opened her mouth like she might say something more — maybe about what it meant to have someone show up at all — but she just gave a sharp nod instead, pressing her lips together. Whatever kindness she'd almost offered, it wasn't ready to come out.
That was fine. Parker understood.
He sighed as Elroy's voice drifted over, already complaining about being sent to hunt. Jenkins chimed in half a breath later. Of course.
The office was quiet, lit only by a pair of the new lanterns and the low glow from the hearth along the wall. Margaret stood beside the map table with her arms folded, while Caldwell sorted his stack of slate, occasionally muttering numbers under his breath. Harold had told him to just get a notebook, but Caldwell insisted it was a waste — he could still make do with slate for now.
Harold leaned back in his chair, mug half-full and cooling in his hand. He looked tired, but not worn — the kind of tired that came from too many things moving at once and no good place to stop.
Caldwell glanced up finally. "Update from Raul came through. He's made better time than expected — should be hitting the village site tomorrow afternoon."
Margaret raised an eyebrow. "Already? Thought he had another day at least."
"He pushed harder than we thought," Caldwell said. "Guess a lot of the work was already done when Hale moved down into that area originally. The adventurers down there confirmed the last nearby den was cleared a day ago."
Harold nodded slowly. "They think it's clean within ten klicks?"
"That's what they're reporting. No sightings since the last cleanup. They've already started chopping timber with the tools the Legion left behind. Some of them are prepping the ground and framing basic staging shelters. I told them to start stacking lumber for the construction crews — just that will speed things up a lot."
Margaret spoke next, eyes on the map. "We'll still need full construction-trained crews — but if the ground's flat enough and Raul's boys are on pace, we can start laying foundations the moment they arrive."
Harold set his mug down. "Tell them to prioritize the depot and shelter first. I want that site livable and secure before we even think about civic buildings. When the refugees arrive, I want them to see the difference between us and Henri."
Caldwell nodded. "Already in the plans. Four construction teams from Beth and Josh's sections. They'll pull from the cut wood and start framing quickly, then stack the rest for expansion."
Margaret's fingers traced a path across the basin map. "There's still risk. Something might be nesting farther out. But I think we've pushed the spawn range far enough."
She shifted her hand slightly and tapped a point halfway between the Landing and the river village site.
"We've also started surveying a relay station here," she continued. "Small footprint. Watch post, signal fires, storage for emergency supplies. It'll cut response time in half and give caravans somewhere secure to stage if they have to stop overnight."
Harold's posture eased a fraction. "Good. That should also help with message lag."
Caldwell nodded. "It will. And speaking of caravans — the first supply run is already being assembled. Leaves the day after tomorrow."
He flipped a slate toward Harold. "Tools, preserved food, construction materials, rope, nails, fishing gear. Enough to keep the site independent if things go sideways for a few days."
"And the second run?" Harold asked.
"One week after," Caldwell replied. "Livestock. Breeding stock, not slaughter. Goats, a few pigs, chickens. We want that village producing for itself as soon as possible."
Margaret added, "We're spacing them deliberately. If something goes wrong, we don't lose everything at once."
Harold nodded, eyes still on the map. "Good. Keep the relay station quiet. I don't want it advertised until it's defended."
"Already planned," Margaret said. "Low profile and practical."
Harold looked between them. "Keep me posted. I want a full status report by end of day tomorrow — once Raul confirms they're working."
Caldwell tucked the slate under his arm. "You'll have it."
Margaret nodded. "Village is coming together, Harold. Might actually be on schedule."
Harold snorted. "If only they'd finish those two buildings. I still don't understand what's taking so long with the adventurers guild."
Margaret said, "It's not on the workers. They're out there before sunrise and stay until the last light's gone. Even Josh is pulling double shifts."
Harold glanced over as she scrolled the forum, always multitasking. "We didn't upgrade when the school was built, so it has to be the guild that's holding us back. If that isn't what triggers it, then… I'm out of guesses. I need this to work."
Margaret closed the forum and met his eyes. "Faith, Harold," she said calmly. "If this isn't it, we'll figure it out."
Harold exhaled slowly, rubbing a hand across his jaw. "I don't want to figure it out later, Margaret. We need the upgrade now."
She just looked at him over her glasses. "Then I guess you should have planned better, hm."
Harold choked on the coffee he'd been trying to sip — coughed, then laughed. "I guess you're right."