The chief barked a bitter laugh. "In three days before they arrive? Impossible."
Adrian crouched in the dirt, snatching a stick to sketch again. Lines, barriers, trenches. His mind raced, pulling knowledge from a lifetime of construction sites, survival shows, and even his father's stories of old war defenses.
"We don't need full walls," Adrian explained. "We dig ditches here, here, and here. Fill them with stakes. Move the huts inward, block the entrances with sharpened logs. A funnel. If they attack, they'll choke themselves trying to get through."
The villagers gawked as the crude battlefield took shape in the dirt.
"Is… is this magic again?" one whispered.
Adrian smirked. "No. Just planning."
The chief's lips tightened. "Even if it works, we don't have the strength."
Adrian's voice rose with conviction. "You don't need strength. You need direction. And I'll give it."
Something in his tone silenced the doubt. The villagers exchanged looks, then one by one, began to nod.
By evening, the entire settlement moved like an army under Adrian's command. Men hacked logs into spikes. Women wove rope barriers. Children carried stones for slings. For the first time, the village wasn't merely waiting to be raided. They were preparing.
As night fell, Adrian stood at the edge of the half-built fortifications, staring into the dark forest beyond.
In the distance, a torch flickered. Then another. And another.