Harold broke into a jog the moment the panels faded.He cut back toward the hall, boots kicking up dirt as he crossed the clearing."Margaret!" he shouted when he spotted her near the intake area. "Soldiers are on their way back."She didn't ask questions. She just nodded and turned, already redirecting people with sharp gestures and quieter words.Harold veered toward the quest board without slowing.The interface slid open as he focused, fingers already moving.UURGENT QUEST – Issued by: Lord HaroldPriority: ImmediateGather basic supplies required for the production of minor healing draughts.Required Items:Filtered Water– Drawn from clean, flowing sources only.– Boil or pass through cloth before turning in.Silverleaf Sprigs– Low, broad leaves with pale veins that shimmer faintly in moonlight.– Common near shaded forest edges and creek banks.– Harvest by cutting the stem, not pulling the root. Root damage ruins potency.Heartroot Bulbs– Thick red-veined roots found beneath soft soil near old tree growth.– Often mistaken for bitter tubers.– Dig carefully. Bruising the bulb reduces effectiveness.Bitter Moss– Dark green moss with a sharp, almost peppery scent when crushed.– Grows on the north side of rocks and fallen logs.– Scrape gently. Do not wash. Moisture kills the active properties.Honey– Any natural honey is accepted.– Wild hive or preserved stores. No substitutes.Charcoal Ash– From hardwood only.– Fully burned. No soot or half-charred wood.DELIVERY LOCATION: Lord's Hall Kitchen AreaTURN-IN: Directly to Lord Harold or designated assistantsREWARD:UNCOMMON (SURPRISE)Additional rewards may be available based on quantity and quality.That would get attention.He confirmed the posting and didn't wait to see who took it; any number of people could take it, and he would just give them some of the potion he made with it as a reward.Inside the lord's hall, the kitchen area was quiet for once. A pot sat unused near a low fire, embers glowing beneath it. No one had claimed it yet. Perfect, he was worried about how he would control the heat.Harold rolled up his sleeves and set the pot in place, adjusting the fire until the heat was steady but not aggressive.He was halfway through checking whether any of the water was usable when a woman from the kitchen staff approached, wiping her hands on her apron."Do you need something, my lord?""Honey," Harold said immediately. "If you have it."She blinked. "We've got a little. Been saving it.""I'll take it, I won't waste it," Harold replied easily.That seemed to satisfy her. She turned and hurried off.Another worker hovered nearby. "Anything else?""Clean cloth," Harold said. "And something to stir with that won't splinter, it needs to be cleaned metal. Nothing made of wood."They scattered to fetch it.Left alone for a moment, Harold closed his eyes and breathed.He ran through the mana drills again. Slow circulation. Even flow. No forcing. No compression yet. Just letting the energy move where it wanted to. Mana coursed through him like river water freed from winter ice, fluid and potent in his unique body. He had far more mana now than he did this early in his first life. The perk helped him control it, perhaps because he used less—or maybe because this Mana body was special.Mana didn't resist the way it had on Earth. It didn't snag or slip. It flowed cleanly, like the world expected him to use it. On Earth, it was a struggle to feel and move it. By the time he died, he had lived more of his life in Gravesend than he had on Earth. He was more used to feeling it than not, and it was a comfort to have it back.Supplies began arriving before he opened his eyes. Margret somehow knew she was needed, and she was recording everything that was brought in and promising rewards to the teams that had brought it back.He barely heard one team saying they would take any more quests like this, as half of them had earned a Perk for gathering and finding herbs.A bundle of herbs. Honey gathered in a hollowed-out piece of wood. Someone set down a sack of charcoal ash as if it were treasure.Harold nodded his thanks and got to work.This was early and vastly inefficient. The absence of essential alchemical instruments, like a glass still, highlighted the scarcity of resources and the need for future upgrades. He didn't have the right tools or the right setting to make these potions, but they might save lives. That alone made it worth the mess. Harold set his resolve, whispering to himself as he worked, "Never again without potions." He vowed to ensure they were better prepared, carrying supplies essential for healing whenever they ventured out.And, more importantly, it worked to fix a mistake he'd already made. That alone was enough reason to do it again. It was almost reassuring, in a grim way, that even with all his knowledge, he could still make mistakes. It meant he wasn't lying to himself about how hard this would be. He should have known people would come back hurt and would need healing.He was still missing a few of the herbs he needed, but he didn't wait. He would have to improvise.Harold took a moment to steady his hands. The shaking had gotten worse during the run over here. He'd ignored it then, but now, when he needed control, it refused to come.He clenched his fists. It didn't help, so he closed his eyes.He sank into the mana drill, breathing slowly, letting the flow settle, filtering through memories he usually kept buried under motion and work. The bad choices. The things the cutters had done to him, the consequences when he failed. The knives they worked over him, and he, in turn, worked over other people.Memories didn't shout. They pulled, and pulled, and for a moment the shaking got worse.They tugged at the edges of his focus, at the threads of sanity he kept tightly wound. Staying busy usually drowned them out. He couldn't do that now. He needed stillness, and stillness meant they had room to surface. Suddenly, the clatter of pots and pans in the kitchen broke through the quiet, a sharp contrast to the stillness he craved. It was as if the noise pierced his meditation, bringing with it a flood of memories. His breath caught in his throat, the echoes of distant screams layering over the present sounds, and for a moment, he was trapped between the past and what lay before him. The mixed stimuli pulled his mind in different directions, a constant reminder of the internal war he fought to stay focused.He couldn't stand the idea that some of those people might come back here and die because he made a bad decision, then froze. Because he failed to think far enough ahead.He was so focused on breathing that he almost missed the warmth. Arms wrapped around him from behind, steady and familiar.Beth leaned in close and whispered, quiet enough that only he could hear,"You don't owe the past anything. You're needed here. Right now."The words didn't fix anything. But they anchored him. Beth kept her arms wrapped around him until Harold breathed again—slower this time. The shaking eased, not gone, but manageable.He opened his eyes, adjusted the fire a little, and reached for the herbs.The potion finished just as the sound outside shifted.He dismissed the notification as soon as it popped up, not worrying about the Perk he knew he would gain.Someone shouted to open the door, and boots shuffled in—too many of them and slower than they should have been.Harold lifted the pot from the fire as Hale's voice carried through the hall. "Clear the table. Now."They'd sent out fifty-six soldiers. Not including Hale and the sergeants he selected from his old army buddies.Forty-nine came back walking. Seven didn't come back at all. Fourteen were wounded.The long table was cleared in moments. Bowls scraped aside, benches dragged back hard enough to screech. Soldiers moved without orders, lowering the wounded onto the wood, hands steady even when their faces weren't. Some of the soldiers went to get the healing supplies they had set aside.Blood hit the floor in uneven drops.Harold grabbed a wooden cup and dipped it straight into the pot, steam rolling up around his hands. He shoved another cup at Margaret."Keep me supplied with the potion," he said. "Don't touch it if you can help it."She nodded once.Harold leaned over the first body and didn't waste time on words.Internal damage. Pale. Shallow breathing. No obvious bleeding.He tipped the cup and poured the potion directly into the man's mouth, keeping his jaw steady until he swallowed. As he did, a faint, iridescent glow shimmered on the man's lips, and a cool, tingling sensation spread across Harold's fingertips. The sound of it working subtly filled the air. The air around them filled with a subtle, sweet aroma as the potion worked its magic. Though the potion's light shimmer indicated its weakened potency, it might still stop whatever was tearing him up inside.Next.Deep cut along the forearm, bleeding badly but clean.Harold didn't bother making him drink. He poured the potion straight onto the wound, watching the flesh knit slowly, imperfectly. The bleeding slowed, then stopped.Good enough. He moved down the line fast.External bleeding was treated immediately. Potion poured directly onto torn skin, crushed cloth pressed down after. Internal injuries got forced doses, careful not to drown anyone in the process.Broken bones and pain waited.Breathing and bleeding didn't.Margaret mirrored him step for step. Cups moving. Empty cups tossed aside. No questions or commentary. Slowly, he had gathered a crowd around him he barely noticed.A soldier groaned when the potion hit an open wound. Harold ignored it and moved on.Another started coughing after swallowing too fast. He slapped the man between the shoulders once, hard, and kept going.By the time the pot ran low, the wounded had stabilised.Wounds weren't healed cleanly. Bones were still wrong. Everyone hurt. But no one else was dying.Harold moved back to the soldiers with broken bones, crouching beside them, voice low and steady. He told each one what he was about to do. He always did.The memories pushed forward anyway. Different faces. Same screams. He crushed them down.Before anyone could stop him, he set the bone.The soldier screamed, sharp and furious, then sucked in a breath as Harold shoved the cup to his mouth and made him drink. The potion dulled the pain enough to breathe—enough to stay conscious."Gods, you suck, my Lord," the soldier rasped.Harold nodded. "That's fair."He straightened slowly and finally looked up.Hale stood off to the side, armour nicked and smeared, face tight."Seven," Hale said quietly.Harold nodded. He already knew.They stepped a few paces away from the table, far enough that the groans faded into background noise."World First triggered," Hale added. "Perk called Quick Start. Epic."Harold exhaled. "I saw, I'm surprised you saw it though.""Ten per cent faster training. Ten per cent lower perk thresholds," Hale continued. "Regional bonus stacked too. Five per cent discipline."Harold leaned back against the table, eyes on the wounded. "It's a game changer when we start stacking personal and commander buffs," he explained. "Think of ten percent faster training like gaining an extra hour of practice for every ten hours you put in." One of the soldiers on the table snorted. "Hey," he called weakly, "does Quick Start mean I get to skip the part where I almost die next time?"Another voice chimed in, "I read the description. Says training efficiency. Doesn't say anything about common sense.""Shame," someone else muttered. "Could've used that one."A wounded soldier flexed his hand experimentally. "Not gonna lie," he said, "it feels like my legs recovered faster than they should've.""Yeah," another replied. "I checked my perk list. I earned a perk I wasn't near yesterday."A pause."…Worth it?" someone asked.Hale didn't answer.Harold did, without looking away. "Not at seven, we could have waited a day."Silence settled for a moment.Then one of the wounded laughed quietly. "Still," he said, "beats dying without getting anything for it."Another groaned. "Next time I want a perk that says 'bone-setting optional.'"That got a few weak laughs.Hale glanced at Harold. "They'll drill harder now.""I know," Harold said. Harold wiped his hands on the ruined cloth and let himself breathe.Seven dead. It would be far, far more in the future, but he would reduce that as much as possible.
