[Cass]
The system's words hovered above the shrine like a sentence carved into stone.
[System]:Lord Status attained. You may now shape the fate of your settlement. Beware—every choice weighs on the Dawn's scales.
For a long moment, Cass didn't move. The Warbles watched him in silence. They didn't cheer. They didn't kneel. They simply waited, as though this was something they had expected from the moment he first brought light into their dark.
He lowered his hand and felt the mark burn itself into his skin—no scar, no wound, but a pressure that seemed to root him in the cavern. As though the entire weight of the hamlet pressed down into his chest.
He had been a Lord before. In his past life. Just not here, not this soon, and not with this much at stake. Back then he had stumbled into the role when others were already strong, his choices buried beneath theirs. Now the table was empty, the dice in his hands, and no one else to blame when he rolled poorly.
"Lord," Karrek said. He tested the word like it was iron, uncertain if it would bend or hold. Then he bowed—not deep, but enough to acknowledge something had shifted between them.
Cass forced himself to nod once. He couldn't afford arrogance. The title wasn't glory. It was a debt.
The system view opened wide now. His awareness stretched, not just through walls and stone but into the shape of the community itself. It was like holding a map in his mind—alive, breathing.
[Propervy Bastion – Hamlet Overview]
Population: 243 (steady)
Food Days: 8 (low)
Housing: Cramped (risk of unrest)
Faith: Strong (rising)
Safety: Recovering (minor wounds untreated)
Stability: 58% (fragile)
Threats: Rotfang nests south. Tunnel instability near east spiral.
Options glowed faintly below.
[Build Queue]
[Policy Options]
[Citizen Management]
[Tribe Petition]
Each button was heavy with consequence. Cass had no illusions—the wrong press could ripple for years. He remembered the stories of Lords who had grown fast and collapsed even faster. Whole settlements erased because their leaders thought numbers were truth instead of people.
He closed the menu. "Later," he whispered. The Warbles blinked, not knowing what he meant. He smiled faintly. "We start with work, not with buttons."
He walked through the hamlet again, slower this time, feeling how the new title changed the air. Warbles straightened when he passed, some bowing heads, some simply watching. He caught the glances of children, wide-eyed, whispering "Propervy" in their stone-sung tongue.
He stopped at the healer's alcove. Three wounded lay there from the battle, tended with resin wraps and powdered glowshroom. The healer, a bent woman with hands cracked like dried riverbeds, met his eyes.
"We need clean water," she said. "More herbs. The wounds stink already."
Cass crouched beside one of the wounded, a guard with a bite torn across his leg. Infection would spread fast down here. He remembered the plague arcs in his last life—the way whole villages fell because Lords underestimated how quickly rot traveled underground.
"I'll see to it," he said. "Boiling stations. Larger pots. Filters. I'll find herbs, or buy them."
The healer studied him, then nodded once. That was enough.
[Forum – Morning Scroll]
[SteelRoot]: "Anyone else's trial harder this season? Three wave types in Highlands. Wtf."
[GreenwardGrrl]: "It's weighted. Prosperity too high, Waves hit harder. That's the balance."
[BloodPrinceTV]: "Lords crying about balance. Play Traveler, less paperwork, more glory."
[MapCrafter]: "Got a fragment that shows 'Underdark spiral'. Anyone want to trade at next Auction?"
[GhostRumor123]: "Light underground confirmed. Multiple witnesses."
[ModNote]: Thread locked for rumor-mongering.
Noise. Endless noise. Cass had lived inside it once, refreshing the forums for gossip while grinding. He knew how quickly truth drowned. That was a shield, but also a knife. If one player believed hard enough, they could chase him right into the caverns.
[Cass]
He spent the day walking, asking, listening. He refused to order without knowing.
At the food stores he counted every basket. He asked how many mouths a cap fed. He tasted the stew. It filled the stomach but left no joy.
At the guards' alcove he drilled with them, learning how the shields flexed, how the spears cracked. They laughed when he stumbled; they saluted when he corrected his stance.
At the farmers' ledges he touched soil, damp and sour. He asked about rot, about what grew well, about what failed. They told him of fungus blight, of fish runs in the river that sometimes vanished for months.
By evening he had more questions than answers. But questions meant he wasn't blind.
He sat by the shrine fire with Karrek and the elder.
"We need food security first," Cass said. "Then sanitation. Then housing."
Karrek grunted. "That order will keep bellies full but leave men sleeping in mud."
"Better than full bellies rotting from fever," Cass said.
The elder tapped his staff. "And faith?"
Cass looked at the shrine. The light pulsed softly, steady. "Faith we already have," he said. "But if we lose food, it will break. If we lose health, it will rot. We build walls on stone, not on mist."
The elder's eyes gleamed. "Spoken like one who knows collapse."
"I do," Cass whispered. He did not explain how.
[System Notification – Lord Policy Options Unlocked]
Select one Policy I slot for Propervy Bastion.
Open Granaries: Food distributed equally. Morale ↑. Risk of shortages.
Militia Stipend: Pay guards small share of stores. Defense ↑. Morale stable. Food drain ↑.
Artisan Patent Rights: Encourage craft specialization. Innovation ↑. Risk of inequality unrest.
Cass stared at the options. He hated them all. Each one gave with one hand and stole with the other. That was the game. That was life.
"Open Granaries," he said finally. "If we don't eat together, we starve alone."
[System]:Policy Enacted – Open Granaries.
Morale ↑. Food Days adjusted: 6.
Faith ↑ (tribal approval).
Cass's gut clenched. Less food. Stronger hearts. It was a gamble. But one he had to make. Fear broke faster than hunger.
That night, he lay awake listening to the breathing of the hamlet. He felt the weight of every choice. Three names on the stone. Two baskets less of food. Children singing a new tune. A shaft of sunlight that might one day become a road.
The Approval Sigil pulsed in his mind. The Warbles had given him trust. The system had given him a title. Now he had to prove he deserved either.
His mother's face rose in his thoughts. Weak, pale, still alive—five years left if he played this perfectly. He clenched his hands until his nails dug into his palms.
Ten million dollars. Sovereignty. Light in the dark.
The path had only just begun.
[Media – World's Dawn Chronicles, evening]
"Tonight's headlines: Rivermere suffers grain rot, farmers demand subsidies.
Greenward guilds debate deforestation policies.
Ashenfolk export glass to surface markets—prices soar.
And in Rumor Watch: another shaky claim of light underground. Our analysts remain skeptical, but clips circulate faster than deletions. Is there truly a hidden tribe below? Or just clever editing?"
The anchor smiled, all teeth, as if none of it mattered. But the thread had been woven. Somewhere, someone would tug.