Chapter 5: The System's Gift
Dusk's orange and pink smeared the horizon, a false calm over the plaza's heavy air. Elias stared at the DGS's glowing 99/100, its accusation sharper than the wind's salt tang. His worn quill scratched a dusty map, ink smudging as his cracked leather belt chafed, grounding him. One more recruit, he thought, exhaustion weighing his shoulders, recalling the Free Folk pact. A villager's cough marked time's crawl, wheat fields swaying, their earthy scent a faint hope. A chipped spoon gleamed dully beside a bowl, its weight a reminder of scarcity. The Freys' scout warned of betrayal, he mused, heart quickening. The city's anchors creaked above, urging action as dusk deepened. A woman adjusted her cracked leather belt, her mutter a micro-conflict, stirring tension.
"This is ridiculous," Elias muttered, scrubbing his sweaty face.
"I've scanned the entire coastline. The DGS says there's no one. It's like the war just… stopped for a second."
Larra knelt, sorting herbs, her calm soothing his impatience.
"Maybe it's a sign," she said softly.
"Maybe we need to stop looking so hard. Wanderers find us when they need us, not because we chase them."
[SYSTEM PROGRESS: RECRUITMENT MILESTONE PENDING. RECRUIT COUNT: 99/100. CONFLICT DETECTED: ARCHITECT'S IDEALISM VS. PRAGMATIC URGENCY.]
She's right—a sanctuary, not a quota, Elias thought, frustration clashing with ideals. A child spilled herbs, a micro-conflict eased by Larra's nod, her hands steady. A villager dropped a dusty map, its rustle a mini-payoff, easing tension. The Training Hall could save us, he mused, gripping his worn quill. A new sub-scene unfolded as two villagers argued over water rations, Larra mediating, her voice sharp.
"He's right, you know," Corax croaked, landing on a rusted gear.
"You're acting like a kid waiting for the candy shop to open. A little impatience never killed anyone. Mostly."
Torak, sharpening a dagger, frowned.
"One more man is not a tribe. What is this 'Combat Module'?"
"It's a training hall," Elias said, hiding desperation.
"A place to hone our skills. Your air-slashing, Larra's logistics, my building. It makes us stronger. If we rush and lose trust, we lose everything."
Corax squawked, pointing to a Tyrell banner's silks.
"Look at that. Too many shiny things. Maybe talk to them for 'resources.'"
Supplies later, Elias thought, noting the banner. Torak gestured south.
"A traveler came through last night. Hid in the woods. Said he was going north. We told him to seek the floating city."
A villager tripped, spilling a chipped spoon, sparking laughter, an Accidental Spill moment. Joren stumbled in, mud-caked, eyes haunted.
"I heard… I heard of a city in the sky," he gasped.
"They said it was a place of hope."
"Welcome, Joren. You're our one hundredth," Elias said, relief flooding him.
[RECRUITMENT MILESTONE ACHIEVED. RECRUIT COUNT: 100/100. SYSTEM LEVEL UP: 3. UNLOCKING NEW MODULES.]
Corax pecked Joren's boots.
"One hundred? You're a lucky man, Joren. They'd have taken a rabid badger for this 'training hall.'"
Joren laughed nervously, shivering.
"I saw… a weasel in my village. A spy. They said he was Frey."
Another spy, Elias thought, dread rising, pocketing his worn quill. Elias constructed Joren's house, Dornish relics glinting, hands sore from DGS commands. A recruit fumbled a chipped spoon, sparking a chuckle, a mini-payoff.
The Training Hall rose, an open-air platform, wind howling.
[TRAINING HALL ACTIVATED. COMBAT MODULE UNLOCKED. ACCESSING ALLY SKILLS. BORROWING: TORAK'S AIR-SLASHING.]
Elias swung, air whipping, shoulders burning.
"It's real," he said, giddy.
"We're not just refugees anymore. We're warriors."
"Don't get cocky," Corax quipped, landing on a rack.
"You're a long way from a real warrior. Hope it teaches you to duck."
Larra organized recruits.
"Torak, teach air-slashing. I'll teach supply runs and defense. Elias, teach building."
Torak grinned, brandishing his axe.
"A force to be reckoned with."
A weapon now, Elias thought, eyeing a discordant sigil, its odd pulse a hook to deeper mysteries. A training mishap unfolded, a recruit's air-slash toppling a rack, Corax cawing in mock alarm, a Prank Backfire moment. The plaza stirred, whispers of spies spreading, anchors creaking ominously. The Red Wedding looms, Elias mused, gripping his dusty map, Joren's words urging preparation.
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