The heavy, moisture-laden air of the bathhouse clings to me, a second skin scented with herbal steam and a sweet, lingering perfume. When I step out, the thick humidity shatters, replaced by the cool, dry air of my quarters. The change is a physical shock, a sudden clarity.
Thump. Whoop-whoop!
The sounds of celebration bleed through the walls—a low, rolling drumbeat and a chaotic spray of cheers from the village square. It is the sound of survival. I move to the door, my bare feet silent on the floorboards, and crack it open.
Torchlight paints the scene in flickering shades of orange and black. Armenia and her Berserkers are the center of it all. They are a terrifyingly magnificent sight, a confluence of savage allure and lethal beauty. Looking at them, even in their moment of rest, you can feel a deep, resonant ache—a certainty that this war is far from over. They move with the loose-limbed grace of predators savoring a hard-won kill, their laughter as sharp as the edge of their axes. Lyssa and Juvia weave through them, offering food and drink, their gratitude a palpable, sweet perfume that mingles with the scent of woodsmoke.
My eyes snag on Armenia. She's mid-word, her face streaked with the grime of battle, but her head snaps up as if she felt the pressure of my gaze. Her fierce, golden eyes slice through the celebrating crowd, across the gap of the glass windows, and pin me where I stand.
He knows. He always knows what I'm thinking.
We are in sync. A connection between a master and his army forged in the very domain of this horny app. I remember her saying it to Selene, and the memory sends a shiver of groutisque, possessive satisfaction down my spine.
I let the door click shut and move to the bed, pulling on the ridiculous garments the villagers provided. A flower-printed T-shirt and matching boxer shorts, absurdly soft against hardened skin, topped with sturdy, medieval pants. Not for now, I think, my hand brushing over the jarring silkscreen of cartoon daisy shorts. I need rest.
My eyes flick to the Ephone on the table beside my bed.
It's glowing. A subtle, electronic shimmer that seems to hum with a silent power, drowning out the village's happy noise. I saw it the moment I left the bathhouse, the crisp blue logo of an i-Mail notification.
Then, I saw it. My mind, a relentless engine of calculation, processed the variables. Another unit. Just like I predicted?.
My finger taps the screen. The message opens with a soft, celebratory chime that feels utterly alien in this room.
Message:Congratulations:[System Notice]
You have leveled up!Level: 2 → 3
Ability Points Gained: +3
Unit Capacity Increased: 12 → 18
What? I level up? A humorless scoff escapes my lips. No. Levels are a pointless abstraction. This conquest won't succeed on just a few soldiers, waiting for me to fuck the whole village and level up at the same time. I need an army—an army that can crush those orcs, level their fortress, and conquer this entire damned world.
As if summoned, my head projected the cold, hard facts of the mission status.
[Mission Update – Bloodline of the Wolf]Condition of Completion:
✓ Kill the Worg Rider Scouts (5/5) – Completed
✓ Break the incoming expeditionary Orc Force (500/500) – Completed
× Capture Orc Fortress – (Brokeshield)
× Escort Selene and Mereia to Lunavark to reclaim the buried bloodline
Reminding me of what is lacking after everything. I tapped the War Dominion App. The interface materialized, filling the screen with cold, blue light that cast my shadow long against the wall.
[ War Dominion Menu]
► STATUS ........... View Commander Rank, Buffs, Bond Effects
► UNIT TAB ......... View Current Units [CLICK TO OPEN]
► MAP OVERLAY ......... Tactical View / Enemy Movement / BATTLEFIELD [NEW]
► RESOURCE COUNT ...... [LOCKED] (Requires Settlement Upgrade)
► COMMAND OPTIONS ........ [LOCKED] (Reach Village Level 6)
► TAVERN/MARKETPLACE ....... View to Purchase [CLICK TO OPEN]
► QUEST .......... Active Missions / Bond Events [CLICK TO OPEN]
► WAR DOMINION MANUAL .... Tactical Glossary / Terms of Service [CLICK TO OPEN]
A smile—a true, hungry smile—broke across my face as I focused my gaze on this menu.
► TAVERN/MARKETPLACE ....... View to Purchase [CLICK TO OPEN]
Command Coins: 6,750 Tapped i have a lot of coins what ever it is i could buy all
As my thumb pressed into the cold glass, the command executed. The screen flickered, shifting from the main menu to the storefront he had been so eager to access.
[TAVERN / MARKETPLACE]
A list of categories appeared, but his eyes went to one in particular, a tab that was as much a source of frustration as it was potential. [H-Lords]. He tapped it.
The screen refreshed, displaying a familiar, infuriating list.
[ ??? ] – Evaluation: 75%
[ ??? ] – Evaluation: 50%
[ ??? ] – Evaluation: 20%
Still locked. Aexl's jaw tightened. But his military mind immediately caught the change. The evaluation percentages. Before, the highest had been a paltry 20%. Now, one was at 75%. It was progress, a quantifiable result of his… recent conquests. A fleeting image of Mereia in the steam-filled bathhouse flashed through his mind, and a slow heat stirred in his veins. So, that was the key. Still, it yielded no immediate assets. "Nothing, huh?" he murmured to the empty room.
As he was about to exit the screen, a small icon caught his eye. At the very top of the Ephone's display, the i-Mail logo still pulsed with a soft, insistent light. There's more?
He tapped it, dismissing the level-up notification he'd already read. Beneath it was another message, unread.
[System Notice]
Congratulations, Commander.
A Specialist has evaluated your recent Conquest performance and has deemed you worthy of his command. He has pledged his service.
Proceed to the [Taverns] tab to view this unit.
Specialist? Deemed me worthy? The wording was different from the usual system prompts. This wasn't a random gacha pull. This was an evaluation. A pledge. This was new.
The morning sun cast a brilliant glare across the room, making him squint at the screen. For a moment, Aexl felt like some teenager from his old life, hunched over his phone, scrolling through social media to see what was new in the world. With a renewed sense of purpose, he navigated back to the Tavern menu. A new sub-category was now unlocked.
[Taverns]► [Specialist]
His eyes narrowed. He tapped on [Specialist].
The screen shifted, displaying a single, detailed profile where before there had been nothing.
[Unit: Engineer Corps – Vauban]
Description: Master of siege craft, fortification, and battlefield Structure.
Price: 1000 Command Coins
Aexl's breath caught in his throat. Vauban. The name hit him like a physical blow—a name synonymous with impenetrable fortresses and masterful siege warfare. This wasn't just another soldier. This was a strategic weapon.
He leaned back, the simple wooden chair creaking under his weight. His eyes narrowed, a phantom scent of gunpowder and old maps filling his senses as he dredged up the knowledge from his past life.
Sébastien Le Prestre de Vauban. 1633–1707. The name echoed with the weight of history. He was the Sun King's right hand, the man who forged the borders of France into an iron ring. The details flooded Aexl's mind like a tactical briefing: Designed over one hundred sixty fortresses, modernized thirty more. He perfected the art of the siege, introducing the relentless, crawling advance of zig-zag trenches that allowed cannons to inch forward under a shield of earth. He commanded sappers and engineers, the men who truly won wars not with the sword, but with the spade and the fuse, digging tunnels, laying mines, and raising the iconic, star-shaped fortifications that broke the back of assaulting armies.
Never lost a fortress he designed.
The enemies of France had feared him. His allies revered him. History remembered him as the man who had made a nation into a fortress.
Aexl let out a slow, controlled breath. A general like that… no, an engineer like that, could change everything. His gaze drifted towards the window, picturing the crumbling palisade walls and the flimsy main gate that faced the dark, overgrowth of the forest. As he remembers the looming Old fortress at the foot of the mountain in his mind's eye. Vauban was the key to both—the unbreakable shield and the unstoppable hammer.
"I don't have to worry about leaving Eldenthyr," he muttered, the thought solidifying into a concrete strategic advantage. "Not as long as this guy is here."
The thought sparked a chain reaction. His eyes flicked back to the Ephone, his mind recalling the locked menus.
► COMMAND OPTIONS ........ [LOCKED] (Reach Village Level 6)
Maybe acquiring a specialist of this caliber, a master of fortification, would contribute to the settlement's level. Perhaps this was the catalyst that would upgrade the village and finally unlock his command functions.
And the other lock:
► RESOURCE COUNT ...... [LOCKED] (Requires Settlement Upgrade)
That one, he suspected, was tied to the population. But a fortified, secure village would attract more people, more resources. It was all connected. A complex, interlocking puzzle of logistics and conquest.
"No time to think," Aexl grunted, dismissing the strategic rabbit hole for now. Action was required.
He tapped Purchase.
The screen flashed with a confirmation, and then a new display took its place.
[Summoning in Progress – 9 Hours Remaining]
He stared at the timer. "So no more promos, huh?" The instant gratification of his first summons was gone. The system was making him wait.
Aexl closed the Ephone, the screen going dark with a soft click. He slipped it onto the table and leaned back, a long sigh escaping his lips. Another wait. But this one… this one felt different. This was an investment in the very foundation of his future empire.
For now, he would sleep. The world could wait nine hours.