Chapter Nine
Warehouse
They filled the SUV until there was barely room to breathe.
Boxes of notebooks. Laptops. Tool kits. Bottled water. Folded tables. Whiteboards. Bags of clothes that leaned practical over sentimental. Harold drove, hands steady on the wheel, eyes scanning mirrors more often than necessary.
The city looked different now.
A gas station hummed with tension, its old neon sign sputtering to stay lit beneath the gathering night. Someone argued loudly with a clerk through a cracked window. A handwritten sign flapped on a grocery door: LIMITS ENFORCED. A police cruiser idled at an intersection that never needed one before.
Josh watched it all pass by. "People are already panicking."
"It'll only get worse," Beth said.
Harold didn't comment. He didn't need to. This part was familiar.
The warehouse sat near the river, a long stretch of reinforced concrete and steel set back from the road, its exterior lights casting pale cones across cracked asphalt. It looked empty, but not abandoned. It was maintained and waiting.
A man stood near the loading doors.
He was shorter than Harold remembered, compact and deliberate, dressed in a pressed jacket despite the hour. His hair was gray at the temples, his posture straight, and his expression unreadable. Two men stood a few steps behind him, hands clasped in front of them, eyes alert without being aggressive.
The SUV rolled to a stop. They stepped out together.
The man didn't move until Harold approached, then extended a hand.
"Harold," he said, his calm voice carrying a Southern drawl that lingered in the air. As he spoke, his thumb brushed subtly against the sleeve of his pressed jacket—a slight movement betraying a trace of tension beneath his polished exterior. "Been a while."
"Mr. Caldwell," Harold replied, shaking his hand firmly.
Caldwell's grip was solid. Assessing.
"You said you needed space," Caldwell continued. "Didn't say why, just that it mattered."
"It does," Harold said at once.
Caldwell nodded once, accepting that as a starting point. "You did right by me a few years back," he said. "That load you fixed would've sunk half my contracts if it'd gone public. I don't forget favors."
He glanced past Harold, taking in Beth and Josh, the boxes still stacked in the back of the SUV. "So I'm listening."
Harold didn't waste time.
"There's an asteroid," he started, hesitating slightly. The weight of the words seemed to tighten the air, make it feel alive and responsive. Caldwell leaned forward, sensing the gravity of what was left unsaid.
"You know that part already," Harold continued, selecting his words with the precision of a chess player. Then, he paused, as if considering whether to withhold the next critical move. Caldwell's eyes sharpened, probing for more.
"What I'm about to tell you goes beyond it," Harold finally added, trailing off, leaving Caldwell no choice but to fill the emerging silence with questions of his own, drawing the story out piece by piece.
Caldwell's eyebrow twitched. No offense. Amusement, reluctant, and brief. "You always did suck at explaining."
Harold nodded toward the building. "Let me explain inside."
Caldwell hesitated only a second, then turned and keyed in a code. The massive doors rolled open, metal groaning softly as the dark interior of the warehouse was revealed.
"Alright," he said. "You've got my attention."
Caldwell led Harold through a side door and into a smaller office tucked behind the main floor. It was sparse but functional. Steel desk. Old leather chair. A whiteboard that had seen better days. The warehouse hummed faintly around them; the lights were still turning on.
Josh and Beth peeled off toward another office down the hall, already on their phones. Their voices drifted back in fragments as they worked.
"…no, I'm serious…"
"… don't bring tools, money…"
"…tonight if you can…"
Caldwell's two bodyguards stayed put.
They hadn't spoken yet, but Harold felt their eyes on him. One of them shifted his weight, then frowned slightly.
"I know you," the guard on the left said after a moment. "You're the chemist."
Harold glanced at him. "Yeah."
"You fixed that shipment in Savannah," the other guard added. "The one everyone thought was contaminated."
Harold snorted. "It was a labeling error."
The first guard snorted quietly. "Saved us a lot of trouble."
Caldwell took his seat and gestured Harold toward the desk. "Alright," he said. "Explain."
Harold didn't start at the beginning. He hit the same points he'd already covered before. The asteroid. The timeline. The movement. The other world is waiting on the other side of it.
Gravesend.
While he talked, he worked.
He unpacked his bag carefully, laying out ingredients with practiced ease. Water. Salt. Honey. Crushed herbs. A small burner. A glass vial. His hands were steadier now, motions smoother and familiar. He started up the burner and began his demonstration.
Caldwell watched without interrupting. The guards watched his hands. They watched Harold continue his unfamiliar actions in silence for a while, until Caldwell could no longer contain himself.
"You're saying this happens whether we like it or not," Caldwell said finally.
"Yes, I am," Harold said, his eyes on his task.
"And you're here to keep preparing."
"Yes," Harold said. He looked up..."I need the space."
Caldwell leaned back, studying him. "That's a hell of a claim."
"I know," Harold said, chuckling. "Luckily...I have proof."
Harold finished sealing the vial and set it down gently. "I told the others the same thing," he said. "I know you'll need proof."
He reached under his jacket.
The movement was subtle, but not nuanced enough.
The nearest guard stepped forward immediately. "Hey—"
Harold drew the knife free and dragged it across his forearm in one clean motion. A sharp sting flared at the edge of the blade, followed by the hot, metallic scent of iron as the blood welled dark and heavy.
"Dammit," he muttered as blood welled fast and dark. "There has to be a better way to do this."
The guards moved at once, hands coming up, but Caldwell raised one sharp finger.
"Wait." He commanded.
Harold uncorked the vial and poured the contents directly onto the cut.
The bleeding slowed, then held—a pause that extended a heartbeat longer, as if the world itself took a breath. Finally, it stopped entirely. The wound pulled itself closed, skin knitting together in front of them until only a faint pink line remained.
Clean pink skin was all that was left.
The room went dead silent.
One of the guards swore under his breath.
The other stared openly. "That ain't possible."
"No," Harold agreed calmly. "It isn't."
He wiped his arm with a cloth and looked at Caldwell. "I made that right now in front of you."
Caldwell didn't speak for a long moment, then he leaned forward his elbows on the desk. "Alright," he said quietly. "You have my attention. But I'm still not completely convinced."
Harold nodded. He'd expected that.
"That's fair," he said. "What I'm asking you for isn't belief. It's positioning."
Caldwell's eyes narrowed slightly. "Explain."
Harold rested his hands on the desk, palms flat. "Think of this like a trade. Let's start with the downside." He met Caldwell's gaze with intention. "If you back me and I'm wrong, you lose some warehouse space, a few weeks of logistics, and some goodwill with people who panic anyway. In three weeks, the world ends regardless."
"Upside," Harold continued, "if I'm right, you're not scrambling or reacting. You're already organized when the transition happens. You'll be surrounded by people who know how to build, plan, and execute. You're weeks ahead of everyone else."
He paused. "And I already have a role in mind for you."
Caldwell leaned back slightly. "That's convenient, son."
"It is," Harold agreed. "That's the point of preparation," Harold said with a slight smirk.
Silence stretched. Caldwell tapped one finger against the desk, thoughtful.
Then he looked up. "Why wouldn't I just choose to be a Lord myself?"
The guards shifted. Curious themselves.
Harold didn't answer immediately. He studied Caldwell's face, weighing the amount of honesty the moment required.
Then he said it.
"Because I'd beat you." Harold stated.
Caldwell's eyebrows lifted a fraction.
"Humanity lost last time because of exactly this," Harold continued. "Capable men splitting effort instead of consolidating it. Competing instead of coordinating. Everyone convinced they were the exception."
He leaned in slightly. "And if you try to go it alone, you'll die the same way you did before."
The room went very still.
Caldwell's voice was quiet. "You're awfully sure of that."
Harold held his gaze. "I am."
"Why?" Caldwell drawled out.
"Because I know how you lost last time." Strangely, the shaking was gone in his hands. His voice was more solid than it had ever been since he returned.
That landed harder than anything else he'd said.
Caldwell sat back slowly, eyes searching Harold's face for bluff, for bravado, for anything that made this sound like a play.
He didn't find it.
Outside the office, a phone rang again, sharp in the quiet. Inside, a decision awaited.
The guards by the door shifted, unease creeping in despite themselves.
Caldwell exhaled slowly through his nose, then leaned back in his chair. He didn't look at Harold at first. He stared at the far wall, thinking in numbers instead of fears.
"Alright," he said finally. "Here's how I see it."
He turned his gaze back to Harold. "I've mitigated worse odds than this, and I've thrown away more money than that on bad forecasts."
One corner of his mouth twitched. "And if you're right, I'm not scrambling with everyone else, to use your words."
He nodded once, decision made. "So I'll hedge."
The guards straightened, looking at each other.
"I'll put resources behind you," Caldwell continued. "Facilities. Transport. People who already know how to move freight without asking questions."
He pointed a finger at Harold. "But I'm not doing this blind. My people stay together, and I expect transparency."
"You'll have it," Harold said. "I'm going to need you and your contacts when the world ends."
Caldwell stood and adjusted his jacket. He turned to the guards. "Get word out. Anyone we trust, anyone who can listen and work. I want them here tonight."
The guards nodded and moved immediately.
Caldwell looked back at Harold. "You're either the best investment I've made in twenty years," he said, "or the worst."
Harold inclined his head. "I'll take those odds."
Caldwell gestured toward the door. "Come on. Let's go join your engineers before they redesign my whole operation."
They stepped out into the hall together, the low murmur of voices growing louder as they approached the other office. A flickering warehouse light sputtered above them, casting intermittent shadows that danced erratically on the walls, echoing the uncertainty of their venture. Somewhere in the distance, a solitary clock ticked, each tick a reminder that time was moving relentlessly forward. Now it was just a matter of time.
The warehouse no longer felt like a warehouse.
It felt like a city in rehearsal.
By the time the sun rose on the final morning, they had overflowed into the adjacent buildings without anyone ever formally deciding to do so. One space filled, then another, and then it simply became easier to knock through interior access points than to pretend the operation could still fit inside four walls. As the walls gave way, Harold paused amidst the chaos. He took in the echoing footsteps amplified by cavernous spaces and the sharp scent of cut concrete, each sensory detail a tangible reminder of the expanding scope and his rising urgency. The warehouse, once a solitary unit, had become a lifeline stretching across structures, and every breath he took seemed to share in the collective urgency that the task demanded. More than five hundred people now moved through the complex.
Engineers. Tradesmen. Logistics workers. Security. Families with children who stayed close and quiet. Students from Sarah's class, some of them barely out of their teens, along with instructors who had seen enough panic in their careers to recognize direction when it appeared. Caldwell's people handled the perimeter, disciplined and alert, while volunteers ran supplies between buildings in steady, unglamorous loops.
And in the middle of it all was Harold.
He didn't shout or posture. He pointed, assigned, redirected, and adjusted. Groups formed and dissolved as needed. Tool caches appeared where none had existed before. Sleeping areas were reorganized twice when the flow demanded it.
Most of them had chosen to be crafters.
It was the sensible choice. Builders. Makers. Planners. People who understood that survival came from infrastructure more than heroics. Roughly one hundred and thirty had committed to being adventurers, a number Harold tracked carefully. He would have liked to have more, but it was enough to explore and defend. Harold knew that with fewer adventurers, the risk of catastrophe increased. A single breached gate might mean ten lost lives. Without adequate defenders, the small breaches could quickly escalate into fatal consequences. Until the military got going, they would be all they had to defend his small settlement.
He carried a small notebook everywhere now. A bestiary filled with both the recollections and the warnings from the old forums that he could remember. One sketch had a caption: "Leaves no bones," hinting at the lethal nature of certain creatures. Crude sketches and handwritten notes detailed which creatures traveled alone and which hunted in packs, underlined warnings of territories that produced early perks yet were capable of swallowing people whole.
Sarah sat with him more than once, listening intently as he talked her through routes and priorities.
"Here first," he told her, tapping the page. "It's dangerous, but the reward's worth it. Only one person gets that perk. You need to be early." Harold explained.
"And this one?" she asked.
"Skip it. Looks tempting and kills a lot of people. You can't afford to lose a perk from dying by going after that so soon."
She didn't argue, and she wrote everything down. "Not a fan of losing a perk when I die," she grumbled.
"Sorry," Harold said, laughing. "I didn't make the rules."
Some of his knowledge came from experience. Most of it came from reading. From watching other people die and learning what they'd done wrong from forum threads that had devolved into blame before going silent forever. They were very lucky that the system allowed them to use a discussion forum in the first few years after they arrived. It was the only way Humanity had to talk to each other, and most of his knowledge came from that.
He crafted constantly.
Healing potions. Stimulants. He even tried to make something to cure a woman's arthritis that mostly worked. Nothing miraculous, but enough to prove he could do something that shouldn't be. Enough to convince the last holdouts that he was telling the truth.
Not everyone stayed because they believed him.
Some stayed because the world outside had begun to tear itself apart.
Riots rolled through cities in waves. Stores were stripped bare. The news ran endless loops of experts arguing while footage of violence played beneath them. Governments called for calm. The military tried to maintain order, then thinned, then broke apart as soldiers chose families over orders.
The projected impact zone shifted daily. Somewhere in Europe. Big enough to crack the planet. Or maybe not. The estimates changed hourly.
It didn't matter.
The order was breaking down faster than ever before.
The clang of pots echoed softly in the dining area as food reached eager hands, each recipient exchanging smiles or quiet words of gratitude. In another section, low voices marked the change of guards, with each team fluidly replacing the last as if part of a synchronized dance. Training sessions buzzed with energy, groups cycling through warm-ups and practice drills, their movements a testament to the rhythm they had come to rely on. Each action, perfectly timed and purposeful, transformed the space into a living, breathing organism, operating without the crutch of hope. It was a heartbeat, steady and strong, driving them forward.
Harold stood on the catwalk overlooking the main floor late that night, watching people settle into places they didn't yet realize they'd carry with them into another world.
Tomorrow, all of this would end.
Or begin.
He checked his watch once more.
One day left.
Harold didn't linger on it.
He left the catwalk and headed for the conference room they'd claimed early on, a glass-walled space that had once been used for quarterly forecasts and was now crowded with folding chairs, maps taped to the walls, and a table scarred by constant use.
The people inside were the ones Harold had pegged as leaders when they shifted.
Beth and Josh sat together near the front, notebooks already open. As former site supervisors and assessors, their expertise had naturally positioned them as construction leads by necessity, not title. They had argued through load limits, supply bottlenecks, and failure points until Harold trusted them without reservation. They had recruited a lot of their friends and coworkers to join them.
Caldwell stood near the wall, arms crossed, watching rather than speaking. Logistics, transport, money. The kind of man who thought in flows instead of ideals. Harold already knew he'd end up managing resources and the economy by default. Caldwell hadn't objected. He rarely did when something made sense.
The two brothers flanked the doorway.
Former military. Both of them. Quiet, alert, identical builds but different expressions. One smiled too easily. The other barely did at all. Caldwell recruited veterans exclusively, men with records that survived scrutiny but probably shouldn't have and deeds that spoke louder than resumes.
They'd chosen the adventurer path without hesitation.
"Figured someone needs to go hit things," the quieter one had said earlier.
Harold had agreed. A lot would depend on the adventurers.
Near the far end of the table sat one of Beth's "uncles".
Professor Martin Hale. Army before academia. Classical history with an interest in early Greek and Roman warfare. He'd listened more than he spoke at first, then asked questions that cut straight to the weak points.
By the end of the conversation, Harold had stopped trying to test him.
"I don't want an army to begin with. We won't have the people," Hale had said calmly. "I want to focus on developing elites that can use these weapons and formations. That will make up for our faults in others."
He'd sketched as he talked. Legion structure. Unit cohesion. Discipline under pressure. Then he'd layered in Macedonian pike formations, adaptable ranks, overlapping fields of threat. Harold had other ideas he wanted to develop, but those plans came later. Warfare in a magical world was complicated.
"Changeable heads," Hale had added, tapping the page. "Armor-piercing. Or if needed, ones with a bleed effect. The head will change based on what the need is."
Harold's crafter instincts had lit up immediately.
It was an interesting theory; he would have loved the time to run it down. It was practical and modular.
"You lead until we can find someone better," Harold had said.
Hale nodded. "That's how it should be."
And then there was Margaret.
Sharp-eyed. Older. Unimpressed by almost everything. She sat near Harold's side of the table, flipping through a checklist he hadn't realized he'd handed her days ago. Mother of one of Sarah's classmates, but she also seemed to know Hale, which was odd. Former operations manager in a career she refused to talk about.
She had opinions, and she let you know it.
She also had a talent for cutting through nonsense and keeping him on task when his mind tried to fracture into a dozen directions at once.
"Eat," she murmured now, sliding a protein bar toward him without looking up. "You skipped dinner again."
Harold took it without comment; he knew better anyway.
He stood at the head of the table and waited. The room quieted naturally.
"This is it," he said. "Tomorrow we leave."
No one reacted loudly. No gasps. No speeches. These weren't people who needed drama to understand the stakes.
"Roles are locked," Harold continued. "My biggest worry right now is that someone from the group decides to be a lord, and because we will all be linked, take a portion of the people here. We can't risk being separated like that when we all come together. We all need to arrive together; our organization depends on it."
There were no objections.
"Our priority on arrival is cohesion," he said. "We land together. We move together. We build before we expand. Our first months will be focused on gathering supplies and building."
The brothers nodded once.
"Construction begins immediately," Harold said, glancing at Beth and Josh. "Logistics and supply control stay centralized."
Caldwell inclined his head.
"Training starts as soon as we're stable," Harold said, looking at Hale. "We aren't making an army yet. We need people who won't panic and will fight when needed. You'll have a month to make a functioning century from the recruits we get. They'll be training, but they won't know Roman formations."
Hale smiled faintly. "I can work with that."
Margaret cleared her throat. "You've got 3 unresolved decisions, and 2 you're pretending don't exist."
Harold sighed. "I know."
"And you'll handle them," she said. Not a question.
Harold turned alittle to look at her. "Yes, I will. Thank you."
She nodded and checked something off.
Harold looked around the table one last time.
"This won't be fair," he said. "It won't be clean. And it won't be kind. We are about to spend a lot of time getting dirty and getting to know the worst sides of each other."
He paused.
"But it will be organized. And we can't fail under pressure, we are only planning on humanity's survival here." Harold chuckled.
That, more than anything else, seemed to settle the room.
Outside, the warehouses hummed with quiet preparation.
Beth broke it first, sliding a hand-drawn map toward the center of the table. "I've got the settlement broken into zones," she said. "Living space, production, storage, defensive perimeter. Nothing fancy, but it can be expanded."
She tapped the page. "First structures go up in this order. Shelter. Water access. Food prep. Then storage. Everything else waits."
Josh leaned in. "If we try to build everything at once, we build nothing well. Alot will depend on how much material we can gather a day."
Harold nodded. "Agreed, we will have a starting selection of tools and supplies that come when I start the Village. But we will need to make more urgently."
Beth continued. "We'll need bodies to gather raw materials early. Stone, timber, clay. I'm trying to balance how many adventurers we can spare without weakening perimeter security."
One of the brothers frowned. "You're talking about pulling fighters off the line."
Harold answered before Beth could. "I'll generate quests for resource gathering. Remember, adventurers will only respawn if they are on a quest. We can absolutely not afford to lose any of them."
Both brothers looked at him.
"Adventurers decide what they take," Harold continued. "Some will want to scout. Some will hunt. Some will run supplies. I won't force assignments. The adventurers need to decide what they want to do; we must balance freedom with need."
"That risks imbalance," the quieter brother said.
"Yes," Harold said. "But forced labor breaks morale. Early autonomy keeps people alive longer. We'll adjust once the system stabilizes."
Professor Hale nodded slowly. "Voluntary action scales better early anyway. Discipline comes after survival."
Beth flipped a page. "If even half the adventurers take gathering quests, we can meet material thresholds by day three. We need at least 500 cubic meters of timber to ensure we have the foundations ready."
"And if they don't?" Josh asked.
"Then we build smaller, I guess," Beth said.
Margaret spoke without looking up from her checklist. "You're all assuming perfect communication."
Harold glanced at her. "I'm not."
She looked up then. "Good. Because I'm flagging decision bottlenecks already, too many people waiting for approval will slow everything."
"I'll delegate," Harold said. "Structure leads decide within their lanes. I only step in when it affects survival or expansion."
Caldwell finally spoke. "And recruits," he said. "The ones generated by the system. Craftsmen, farmers, labor."
"They arrive with tools tied to their livelihood," Harold said. "We integrate them immediately. No idle specialists. Construction priorities might shift based on who comes through the recruitment portal."
Caldwell nodded. "That'll help."
Hale leaned back slightly. "Training timelines?"
"You'll have a month," Harold said. "After that, I'll need everyone we can gather for a mission. I can't wait longer than that."
The louder brother frowned. "And you still won't tell us what that mission is?"
Harold looked up sharply. His hands hadn't shaken in a while, but the thought behind the answer stirred something he didn't bother hiding.
"Not yet," he said. "Some things I have to keep close to my chest."
No apology. No justification.
Margaret checked another box on her list. "You've answered everything that matters."
She paused, then added, "For now."
Harold let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding.
"This is the cleanest we're going to get it," he said. "Once we arrive, things will break. We'll adapt."
No one argued. Outside the conference room, the warehouse buzzed with people who didn't yet know they were about to start from nothing.
Harold glanced around the table, then smiled, the tension easing just enough to matter.
"Now," he said, "who wants a beer?"
They packed into the warehouse until the air was thick with the smell of sweat and the sound of muffled whispers. The heat of so many bodies pressed close left no empty space to pretend otherwise.
People stood shoulder to shoulder between pallets and scaffolding, families clustered together, crafters gripping bags that held nothing useful, adventurers restless and bouncing on their feet like motion could burn off fear. Voices stayed low. No one shouted. The kind of quiet that came from too many people waiting for the same thing.
Harold stood at the center.
He didn't separate himself, watching as people tried to relax.
Sarah was on his left, wooden practice sword slung across her back, hair tied tight, eyes bright in a way that wasn't nerves so much as focus. Beth stood on his right, calm and watchful, one hand resting lightly on Josh's arm when his leg started to bounce too hard. Harold still thought it was strange that people insisted on holding onto supplies, even though he told them nothing would transfer with them.
Josh leaned in slightly. "You know," he said, forcing a grin, "if this doesn't work, this is a really weird way to spend a Friday night."
Harold laughed. "I don't know, I think we spent stranger evenings." Thinking back to his college days.
Sarah looked between them. "You're both idiots."
"That's fair," Josh agreed. "But you love me."
Harold checked his watch for the last time. Then he didn't look at it again.
Around them, the air felt dense as people instinctively shifted closer, drawn by an unspoken force. Hands found shoulders while fingers hooked into sleeves. These moments formed chains, linking them organically and branching outward from the center, as if they pulsed with a collective heartbeat. The scene was both eerie and hypnotic, a silent testament to their shared anticipation.
They'd practiced this part. Five minutes. Touch mattered; they wouldn't transfer if they didn't.
Then the air changed.
It wasn't loud. There was no wind, no flash. Just a pressure behind the eyes, like the moment before a headache decided whether it would stay or bloom.
And then it was there.
A translucent pane of light hovered in the air, visible to everyone at once. Text burned across it, precise and indifferent.
EARTH DESTRUCTION IS IMMINENT.
CONTINUITY OF SPECIES HAS BEEN AUTHORIZED.
POPULATION TRANSFER TO DESIGNATED CRUCIBLE WORLD INITIATED.
A murmur rippled through the warehouse. Not screams, but there surely were elsewhere. Just breathe, leaving bodies all at once.
Harold felt Sarah's fingers tighten around his wrist.
The text shifted.
THIS ACTION IS ENERGY-INTENSIVE.
ENERGY DEBT WILL BE REPAID THROUGH SERVICE.
PARTICIPATION IS MANDATORY.
Josh swallowed. "Well," he said softly, "that answers a few questions."
The final line appeared, pulsing faintly.
YOU HAVE FIVE MINUTES TO PREPARE.
A countdown began.
04:59
04:58
"Alright," Harold said, voice carrying without effort. "Everyone, hold on. Do not let go. If you can reach someone, do it now."
People moved fast then. Arms stretched. Hands clasped. Someone stumbled and was pulled upright without comment. The chains tightened, bodies pressing closer as if distance itself had become dangerous.
Sarah leaned in close, voice low. "You ready?"
Harold smiled at her, wide and unguarded. "I've been ready for twenty years. The question...little sister. Are you ready?" He said, smiling down at her.
The timer ticked down.
04:12
04:11
Beth's eyes met his. No fear there. Just trust.
Josh let out a shaky breath and laughed under it. "Next round's on me."
The light brightened. The warehouse dissolved.
And the world ended, exactly as promised.
________________________________________________________________________
Harold did not arrive with the others.
He stood alone.
There was no warehouse or hands to hold. No familiar weight of bodies pressed close, and no Sarah. For a moment, he almost panicked.
The space around him was empty in a way that felt intentional. Just absent. A holding room stripped of context and comfort, existing only to make decisions feel heavier.
Three panels floated in front of him. He recognized them instantly. He had seen these before.
ADVENTURER
CRAFTER
LORD
Last time, there had been relief in the choice. A sense of purpose. He'd told himself that making things was safer. That being useful was protection. This is where every confused person had made a choice, only this time, his group had a warning, and they were organized.
Then he remembered the chair bolted to the floor.
The glass walls.
The cutters…
Harold's jaw tightened.
"Not again," he said quietly.
He stepped forward and placed his hand against LORD.
The panel vanished the moment he touched it. The others followed, dissolving into nothing as they'd never existed.
Pressure swept through him.
ROLE CONFIRMED: LORD
INITIAL EVALUATION IN PROGRESS
The floor ceased to exist.
Stone slammed into being beneath his boots. Wind tore at his cloak as sound rushed back all at once. Metal rang. Voices shouted. The air reeked of oil, sweat, and smoke. In the distance, the rhythmic thud of a colossal drop hammer echoed, a peculiar sound that seemed oddly persistent despite the chaos. It was a sound that branded this war-torn city as unique, reverberating like a heartbeat within its stone walls.
Harold stood on a wall.
A real one.
Below him, a mountain city clung to sheer stone faces, its buildings carved and stacked rather than constructed. Narrow roads wound downward into fog-choked passes. Banners snapped violently in the wind, sigils unfamiliar but freshly repaired.
Soldiers surrounded him. Not NPCs or placeholders.
Veterans in this made-up scenario.
A man in a crested helm turned sharply at Harold's appearance. His hand twitched toward his sword, then stopped as recognition snapped into place. His armour is reminiscent of a medieval knight's.
"My Lord," the officer said, dropping to one knee.
Others followed immediately.
Harold took it in without reaction. The armor and spacing. The discipline.
Last time, the prospective Lords fumbled this part. Who can prepare for being thrust into a war like that with no prep? Who would win in a scenario like that, and even less would do well in this situation.
Someone on the forums did the numbers last time, and only about 30% of the prospective lords passed this trial. Many, many more people picked Lord than the other two Roles. Who wouldn't want to be a master of their own future? They were just lucky there wasn't a test for the other Roles. But the vast majority of people failed this test. It was too brutal. It was the first harrowing experience they went through, and when they failed this, they were given an option of being an adventurer or crafter.
Harold looked out over the city, confirming it still matched what he read about in the forum last time. There was a secret in the scenario that only a couple of people figured out last time. They ended up being some of the most successful lords, but none of them managed a perfect clear, and that was his goal.
Disciplined and measured footsteps approached from behind him.
"My Lord," another officer said, stepping to Harold's side and offering a crisp salute rather than a kneel. Older. A scar across his cheek. The kind of man who had survived long enough to stop advertising it.
"We've completed the full count."
Harold didn't turn yet. "Go on."
"The enemy force advancing through the lower pass numbers approximately ten thousand," the officer said. "Heavy infantry. Knights in full plate, supported by mounted elements. They're moving with purpose, this isnt a raid."
Harold finally looked at him.
"Siege assets?" he asked.
"Yes, my Lord. Two siege beasts confirmed. Large and armored. Used for gate breaches. We've also identified at least six ranged and mobile siege engines. Likely stone throwers. Possibly fire."
That matched from last time. Relief swept through him. It was a worry that things would change.
"Time to contact?"
"Less than an hour," the officer said. "They'll reach effective siege range sooner if unopposed."
Harold looked back out over the pass through the fog; the beginning portions of the army were beginning to poke through.
"Status of our earth crafters," Harold said.
The older officer hesitated just long enough to give the answer weight. "Limited, my Lord. Twenty-three are assigned to mining and reinforcement. Most can shift stone, clear seams, and reinforce supports. A few can do more, but none I'd call… exceptional."
Harold nodded.
Most Lords failed here because they misunderstood scale and just what was possible in this new world. Crafters weren't mages, though it was easy to be confused. They couldn't raise mountains or crush armies outright. Last time, a few Lords had tried rockslides. Although effective, they were never decisive, as the mass was too great for the crafters to move, and they lacked the proper leverage.
Even as a child, Harold had understood the power of flowing water. He'd once watched a small river carve a new path through soil with nothing more than its relentless current, transforming the landscape over time. Every kid who had a hose had done the same thing. Perhaps it was that memory which sparked the realization that water didn't need to be lifted; it only needed a path through which to flow, or it would make one.
"Bring me every earth-capable crafter in the city," Harold said. "Not just assigned crafters. Anyone who can feel stone with their perks. Civilians included."
The officer blinked. "My Lord, that will strip—"
"Do it," Harold said calmly. "Now."
He turned, already issuing the next command. "Get them onto the lifts. All of them. The mountain lake above the pass. I want them working the outlet, not the basin. I want them to create a channel for that water to flow onto that army."
Realization flickered across the officer's face. The horns shifted tone as orders relayed outward.
"And the signal?" the younger soldier asked.
Harold looked back toward the pass. The enemy vanguard was clearer now. Heavy armor. Banners. Knights who believed they were marching toward another frozen Lord. They were still about an hour out from the walls.
"When you see a full volley of fire arrows from the wall," Harold said, "that's the signal. Release the lake."
The officer's jaw tightened. "That amount of water—"
"Will break their formation," Harold said. "It won't kill all of them. That's not the goal."
It would also ruin this city in the future, but he wasn't concerned about that. He just needed the best clear he could get, then all this wouldn't matter.
He turned sharply. "Ready the gates. I want a sortie the moment the flood hits. Strongest units up front."
The scarred man stepped forward, grin gone now. "You expect survivors?"
"I expect the siege beasts to survive," Harold said. "And their elite. They'll be disorganized. Wet and furious. That's when we hit them."
"The archers?" the officer asked.
"Armor-piercing arrows only. They can move with the sortie," Harold replied. "Use them until we run dry. Save nothing."
The officer nodded once, then turned to shout orders.
Harold watched the fog churn as the army continued its advance, unaware that the mountain above them was already being prepared. The crafters should barely be able to complete their work in time.
Most lords attempted to defend the walls, and most of them failed. The siege beasts were too powerful, and they didn't have the time to realize that people here had abilities that weren't natural.
He watched the army approach and his people scramble to get into position and waited for the right moment.
Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.
Harold waited.
The city moved around him in disciplined fragments. Gates sealed. Ranks formed and reformed. Archers stood ready along the wall, bows already drawn, arrowheads glinting faintly. Below, the pass narrowed exactly where the map said it would. For a moment, Harold felt the weight of expectation settle on his shoulders, a mix of fear and determination. What if this was the moment he failed, and everything crumbled? Yet, in the quiet undercurrent of his mind, a flicker of hope ignited. Surely, the plan would work; he had prepared for this.
The enemy advanced with confidence.
Ten thousand bodies compressed by terrain into something smaller, tighter. Shields overlapping. Knights riding forward where they could, dismounting where the slope demanded it. Siege beasts lumbered behind them, their footfalls echoing like distant thunder, massive silhouettes framed by fog and iron, the air heavy with the smell of churned earth and sweat.
They were committed now.
Harold watched until the last of the vanguard cleared the bend and the bulk of the army pressed fully into the choke. He counted breaths, not seconds, a habit born from his mana control exercises—a discipline that had become both his anchor and a silent balm for unseen scars. Inhaling control, exhaling fear.
Almost time...
A horn blew somewhere down the line. The enemy began to deploy.
"Archers," Harold said quietly.
The command rippled outward.
"Loose."
The wall erupted in fire.
Hundreds of flaming arrows arced into the sky, rising high and bright before gravity claimed them. They fell well short of the army, embedding harmlessly into stone and dirt, guttering out before they could threaten a single soldier.
Confusion rippled through the enemy ranks. Some of them started openly laughing.
It didn't matter.
Nearly a mile above the pass, earth crafters froze mid-motion and looked for the signal.
They saw the light. Then, with one final effort from them...the mountain answered.
At first, it was only sound. A deep, grinding groan that rolled through the pass like distant thunder. A few rocks dislodged from the slope, tumbling down toward the army.
Shouts rose. Orders barked.
A handful of elite knights surged forward, blades flashing. They leapt impossibly high, cutting through falling stone, shattering boulders before they could build momentum. Yet, amidst their heroic feats, one knight's sword struck a boulder at a flawed angle, sending a vibration down his arm that threatened his grip. Another hesitated ever so briefly as his footing slipped upon the slick stone, a reminder that even they are not infallible.
It worked for the stone. Then the lake broke.
Water poured over the ledge in a roaring white wall, not flowing so much as falling, carrying rock, mud, and debris with it. The force hit the middle ranks first, flattening shields and hurling bodies backward into those behind them.
Formation vanished.
Men screamed. Horses vanished beneath the surge. Siege engines tipped, snapped, and disappeared entirely. Knights were lifted like toys, slammed into stone, dragged under by sheer weight. Amidst the chaos, a broken banner jutted from the mud, its once proud colors smeared and indistinct, fluttering feebly against the torrent. The river claimed its spoils mercilessly, turning soldiers into flotsam.
The pass became a treacherous river, and the army broke. It didn't retreat. Somewhere in the back, someone attempted to rally them and form ranks in the water that rushed around them. Desperation echoed amidst the crumbling formation, countered by the roar of the flood that marked their defeat.
Harold didn't look away.
When the water began to slow, when bodies and wreckage clogged the narrowest points, when survivors stumbled and clawed for footing in mud and panic—
"Open the gates," he said.
Steel screamed.
The city surged forward.
Shields locked. Pikes angled. Veterans moved as one, crashing into an enemy that no longer had ranks or rhythm. Siege beasts roared, half-buried and furious, but even they were off-balance, surrounded by chaos instead of command.
Archers moved with the formation and loosed again. Armour-piercing heads this time strike any moving target. His own elite knights moved in teams to strike the siege beasts.
He watched the momentum shift as the first one started to run away, then it became a rout. A horn sounded, and his army surged forward.
That was when the light took him.
The mountain city vanished, replaced by rushing brightness that swallowed form and sound alike, and for a heartbeat, he wondered if this was how it had ended for everyone who failed.
Then even that thought was stripped away.
And the trial ended.
Light receded.
Not all at once. It peeled back in layers, sensation returning before sound, depth before detail. Harold found himself standing on nothing that felt solid, yet nothing gave way beneath his feet.
He stood above the world.
It stretched out below him in impossible scale. Continents curved away under thin cloud cover. Mountain ranges cut dark scars across the land. Rivers traced silver lines through valleys and plains. It wasn't a globe so much as a living map, suspended and waiting.
A section glowed faintly. Human territory.
A vast, irregular region highlighted in muted light, bounded by sharp edges that felt less like borders and more like permissions. Beyond them, the world faded into gray, details blurred and inaccessible, as though reality itself refused to resolve.
A panel appeared in front of him.
Clean. Centered. Unmistakable.
LEGENDARY STARTING VILLAGE STELE EARNED
CONDITION: PERFECT CLEAR
BONUS EFFECTS LOCKED UNTIL DEPLOYMENT
Harold didn't react right away. Perfect clear.
He exhaled slowly, the sound lost in the open space, and let his gaze drift back to the world below. Somewhere in that glowing section, his people would arrive. Confused. Naked of tools. Given only what the system decided they deserved.
He waited.
Another panel slid into existence, almost apologetic in how quietly it announced itself.
SELECT STARTING LOCATION
The world shifted subtly, the human-allowed region sharpening in response. Terrain resolved into finer detail. Elevation lines. Watersheds. Forest density. Natural choke points.
Harold searched without hurry.
He already knew where he was going.
There. His eyes shone as he looked at the familiar area.
A wide basin, ringed by mountains on three sides and ocean on the fourth. Rivers braided through fertile land, converging toward a central valley large enough to grow inward before it ever needed to push out. Passes were few and defensible. The center was a small, shrouded area he couldn't see into, but he knew what was there. Last time, Humanity failed here; he couldn't let it happen again. It was the perfect spot for him to begin his Imperium.
He focused, and the map responded, zooming until the contours felt close enough to touch.
The exact portion he wanted lay near the inner curve of the basin, elevated enough to avoid flooding, close enough to stone and timber to build quickly. Far enough from other likely spawn points to buy time.
Beyond the basin's edge, the land dissolved into gray. Unavailable and unknowable, It was the other races lands. Some of those boundaries he knew about.
Harold studied the boundary for a moment, then dismissed it. He'd see it soon enough.
He reached out and selected the location.
The panel acknowledged the choice with a muted pulse of light.
LOCATION CONFIRMED
DEPLOYMENT IMMINENT
Harold didn't look away from the basin as the world began to shift again.
This was where it started. And this time, he knew exactly what he was building.
Stolen story; please report.
Harold arrived first.
Even stone dug uncomfortably against his boots as he shifted his weight. Wind cut across open ground, carrying the smell of damp earth and distant water. The sky above was pale and unfamiliar, the sun just a shade too bright to be comfortable.
He didn't move yet. He waited and felt the familiar sensation of mana fill him again. The integral part of this world. Its functions were role-based and ran through his old mana drills to calm himself.
A heartbeat later, Sarah appeared beside him, stumbling half a step before catching herself. Her simple, rough-spun clothing clung awkwardly to her frame, starkly different from the sleek fencing gear she used to wear, its absence a vivid reminder of the life they'd left behind. Her wooden practice sword was also missing, leaving her hands empty and exposed. She looked down at her hands, then up at him.
"How come you have nice clothes?" she asked.
"'Cause I'm the Lord," Harold said. "Stay here."
Beth arrived next. Then Josh. Then the brothers. Each arrival came with a brief flash of light and a sharp intake of breath as bodies adjusted to new gravity, new air, new rules.
Then the rest began to pour in.
As the atmosphere crackled with energy, people appeared in bursts and clusters, never all at once, yet close enough together to emphasize the importance of their connection. Harold's breath caught in his throat, a mix of terror and thrill washing over him as the sheer magnitude of the moment settled in. This was the point of no return, their shared destiny anchoring around him. Those who had been closest to Harold arrived sooner; those further out arrived a few seconds later. Families appeared tangled together. Friends reached out instinctively, hands grabbing sleeves that were no longer the same fabric they remembered.
Voices rose. Questions were shouted.
"Where are we?"
"Is this it?"
"Don't let go—wait, it's already done."
Harold stepped forward as the first dozen people regained their balance.
"Accountability," he called, voice steady and loud enough to carry. "Move to your assigned groups. If you don't know where you belong, stay where you are." Silence followed, though not without a hint of underlying tension. A sharp laugh cut through, and a sarcastic voice shouted out, "Yes, Lord!" Beth shot them a quick, sharp look, "I know that was you, Jeffries!"
Crafters drifted together first, habit and inclination pulling them into loose knots. Adventurers followed, restless even now, scanning the terrain, counting sight-lines without realizing it. Caldwell's people formed up with quiet efficiency, veterans defaulting into perimeter positions as if they'd rehearsed it.
Beth and Josh were already moving, calling out names, checking faces against memory. Clipboards were gone, but the structure wasn't.
Sarah hovered near Harold's side, eyes tracking movement, posture alert. "Everyone's here," she said after a moment. "I think."
Harold scanned the growing settlement area. Grass flattened under bare feet. Nervous laughter breaking through fear. Children were clinging to adults who looked just as lost.
"They'll sort themselves," he said. "We just guide it."
A final cluster arrived in a shimmer of light, the last of the chain snapping into place. The air stilled, and there were no more arrivals.
A panel appeared in front of Harold alone.
STARTING LOCATION ESTABLISHED
He dismissed it without reading further.
"Alright," Harold said, turning back to the crowd. "Listen up."
The noise softened. Not silence, but attention. People leaned in without realizing they were doing it.
"We're exactly where we planned to be," Harold continued. "Everyone knows the priorities. Let me establish the village, then we have one more task before we can start working."
He pointed toward the forest at the edge of the mountains, dark green against the pale grassland. Beyond it, a wide stream cut steadily through the land, fed by meltwater from the distant mountains. The trees were massive here. Almost to the same size the redwoods were. Everything here was bigger.
"We're moving there," he said. "Orderly. Stay with your groups."
No arguments, no questions, but he could already see people starting to get restless.
People were scared, but fear now had a direction, and direction mattered. Some moved faster than they should have. Others held hands longer than necessary. A few glanced back as if expecting something to chase them.
Nothing did, and they walked.
The forest grew closer, the ground firm beneath bare feet, the air cooling as shade took hold. When they reached the tree line, Harold stepped ahead of the group and stopped.
"This is it," he said.
A panel appeared in front of him alone, unobtrusive and final.
ESTABLISH VILLAGE
CONFIRM LOCATION
He confirmed it.
The ground shuddered once, subtle enough that some people didn't notice until the sound followed. Wood creaked where there had been none. Roots pulled back as if politely asked.
A structure rose from the earth.
A large wooden house took shape at the forest's edge, beams locking into place with practiced precision. Broad and solid. A central hall large enough to gather a crowd, flanked by smaller rooms that suggested privacy without excess. A home meant to function, not impress.
Beside it, stone erupted upward in a clean, deliberate column.
The village stele.
It stood taller than the surrounding trees, surface smooth and unmarked, radiating a quiet sense of weight. The kind that didn't need decoration to be understood. The runes on its surface glowed softly blue.
People stopped.
Fear shifted into something else.
"This," Harold said, voice steady, "is home base."
He turned, taking in the faces watching him. Five hundred people, suddenly anchored to a place that hadn't existed minutes ago.
A pulse ran through the stele beneath his hand.
A panel unfolded in front of him alone, brighter than the others had been. Older. Heavier.
WORLD FIRST ACHIEVEMENT
LEGENDARY-RANK VILLAGE ESTABLISHED
A second line followed immediately.
LEGENDARY PERK AWARDED
Text stacked downward, precise and unemotional.
All Crafter Types:
• +10% Production Efficiency
All Adventurer Types:
• +10% Defense
• +10% Attack
50% more spawn rate from village stele
Harold read it once.
Then again.
Not because he didn't understand, but because he needed to confirm it was real.
Ten percent didn't sound like much. It never did, on paper. But the entire time, he had never heard of perks that straight-up gave him 10% more wheat from a field. That meant ten extra loaves of bread on the table. 10% more iron ore from a mine translated to sturdier tools and extra fortifications, thickening the walls that might one day save lives. It was huge. The increase in the spawn rate was what he expected; the epic-level stone gave 25% more spawn rate. This one doubling that would let him expand faster than he expected.
He let out a slow breath.
That would matter in the first weeks. More people meant more production, but food would quickly become a priority. Luckily, the Lords' Hall would come with a large store of food.
It would matter more in the first fight, so far so good, he murmured under his breath.
The panel faded.
Harold stood there for a moment longer, hand still resting against the stele, feeling the village settle around them. Movement had already accelerated. Groups forming. Tasks beginning. Momentum is taking hold.
He stepped forward and raised his voice, not shouting, just enough to carry.
"I need everyone here," he said. A few other people repeated the command, and it was a command. Harold was the Lord.
They gathered naturally, forming a loose ring around him and the stele. Adventurers on the edges shifted outward, not to watch the forest or scan for threats, but to make space. Attention turned inward, tightening like a drawn knot.
Harold waited until the last murmurs died.
"Roles are set now," he said. "That means there are things I can no longer undo."
Faces watched him closely. Fear was still there, but it had changed shape. "You all know I have knowledge of what's coming," Harold continued. "Some of you know more than others, but all of you know enough to understand this next part."
He took a breath.
"That knowledge cannot leave this circle."
A ripple moved through the crowd.
"No bragging," he said. "No hints. No stories told late at night to impress someone from another village. No 'I heard' or 'I think' or 'what if.'"
He let his gaze sweep across them.
"If that information spreads, it changes things I can't predict. The butterfly effect is real. More importantly, it will put a target on our back."
Silence followed.
"I'm asking for an oath," Harold said. "Here in this place, in Gravesend. If you make an oath to the land, it listens and enforces. If you break that oath, you lose all respawn protection and all perks you have."
Someone shifted their weight. Another swallowed. In the silence, someone glanced sideways, eyes briefly meeting with another person who stood defensively in front of a younger sibling, an unspoken promise of protection hanging between them.
Then a woman near the front spoke, her voice steady. "Even if it would help?"
Harold looked over at the tall woman in the uncomfortable roughspun clothing. "Yes," Harold said kindly. "Even if it would help."
Someone swallowed audibly.
A man near the back muttered, "So… death is just death."
"Yes," Harold said. "The final death."
The ring tightened without anyone being told to move. People leaned inward, not away, drawn by the weight of the choice.
Harold's gaze shifted deliberately to the edges of the gathering, to the handful who had already begun to angle their bodies away from the stele, calculating exits.
"If you decide not to take the oath," he said evenly, "I need you to understand what happens next."
The words didn't rise. They didn't harden. That somehow made them worse.
"I'm sorry," he continued, "but they have orders to detain you. This information cannot leave this circle. Not once. Not by accident."
Murmurs stirred, then died as he kept speaking.
"This is too important to gamble," Harold said. "I won't allow one person to endanger the best chance humanity has because they thought the rules didn't apply to them."
He let that sit.
"No one here is being punished," he added. "You're being asked to choose. Stay with us under the same constraints as everyone else, or be removed before damage can be done."
His eyes swept the crowd again, calm and unblinking.
"I don't need everyone," he said. "I need people I can trust to help this village and humanity."
The stele pulsed once, faint and patient.
Sarah moved first.
She didn't look at anyone else when she did it. Just stepped forward out of the crowd, boots crunching softly against dirt that still smelled new, and stopped beside the stele. Her shoulders were squared, jaw set in the same way it had been before a hard match.
Josh stepped up at the same moment.
They glanced at each other, surprised, then shared a quick, crooked smile as they'd just shown up to the same bad idea independently.
Harold felt something tight in his chest ease.
"Okay," Josh said lightly, rubbing the back of his neck. "Guess we're doing this."
Sarah shot him a look. "You were always going to."
"Yeah," he admitted. "But it helps when you go first."
Harold cleared his throat. The crowd had gone very quiet again, all eyes on the three of them now.
"I'll guide you through it," he said. "The wording matters. Don't improvise."
Sarah nodded once. "Tell us."
Harold took a breath and spoke slowly, deliberately.
"Place a hand on the stele," he said. "Then repeat after me."
They did.
"I swear," Harold began.
"I swear," Sarah and Josh echoed.
"By this land, and by my continued existence within it—"
They repeated it, voices steady.
"That I will not speak, write, signal, or otherwise transmit knowledge of foreknown events, future outcomes, or privileged information gained through Harold's foresight—"
Josh winced slightly at the length of it but kept going.
"—to any person not bound by the same oath."
"—to any person not bound by the same oath," they finished.
Harold continued. "I accept that violation of this oath will result in the loss of all protections, perks, and respawn rights granted by this world."
They said it.
The air shifted.
It wasn't dramatic. No thunder. No flash. Just a subtle pressure, like the moment before a storm breaks, followed by a faint sense of something clicking into place.
Harold felt it.
A clean, unmistakable snap, like a lock engaging.
Sarah blinked. "Oh."
Josh swallowed. "Yeah. That… did something."
Harold nodded. "You're bound."
They stepped aside without being told, moving to the right of the stele, faces pale but resolute.
For a heartbeat, no one else moved.
Then a woman from the construction group stepped forward. Then two engineers. Then one of the former bodyguards. A pair of students. A teacher.
Harold repeated the oath again. And again. Coaching each group, correcting phrasing when nerves threatened to derail it.
Each time, he felt it.
Snap.
Snap.
Snap.
Some voices shook. Some didn't. A few people hesitated halfway through, then finished anyway.
No one walked away.
By the time the last person stepped back from the stele, the air felt different. Heavier. Quieter. As if the land itself had leaned in to listen and decided it approved.
Harold exhaled slowly. It was done.
He looked at the group now gathered to his side, then back at the five hundred faces in front of him.
"Alright," he said, voice steady again. "Now we can actually start."
And for the first time since arriving in Gravesend, he felt the future narrow into something he could hold.
Harold peeled away from the crowd before momentum could turn into noise. The brisk evening air carried a slight chill, crisp and invigorating against his skin, reminding him of the impending spring.
"Core group," he said, already walking. "Five minutes."
Beth moved first, her eyes darting briefly back to meet Harold's as if seeking reassurance before locking onto the path ahead with a steely focus. Josh followed closely, his jaw set and fists clenched, ready for whatever lay ahead. Sarah slipped in without a word, her movements fluid and measured. Caldwell followed, his shoulders straightening as he noticed Harold's nod, a silent acknowledgment of shared purpose. The two brothers flanked him, mirroring each other's purposeful stride without a hint of hesitation. Bringing up the rear was Margaret, already holding a slate she'd acquired from somewhere, tapping it once like the meeting had been scheduled all along. Her eyes skimmed the group with an appraising look, as if tallying hidden strengths and vulnerabilities.
They stopped just beyond the village hall, far enough that the hum of five hundred people faded into something manageable.
Harold exhaled.
That was when the panel slid into view.
It didn't announce itself. No chime. No flourish. Just appeared in the corner of his vision like it had been there the whole time, waiting.
PERK ACQUISITION
He focused.
The panel expanded.
LEGENDARY PERK (VOIDED)
Legendary Craftsman
Effect: Upon first death, restart the Crucible from the initial entry point.
Status: ❌ INVALID – Role Incompatible
The text didn't fade. It struck through itself, deliberate and final, like a correction rather than a punishment.
Harold stared at it longer than he meant to. So that was what he'd almost been. He tried not to remember what he crafted and what he used to make it, but erasing the memory was impossible. It wasn't a potion he wanted to ever make again.
He swallowed and scrolled.
INITIAL PERK CONFIRMED
Returner
Effect:
You carry the weight of outcomes unseen.
When circumstances demand it, an aura will manifest around you.
• To allies: resolve, hope, clarity, or inspiration.
• To enemies: dread, pressure, or hesitation
Aura intensity scales with situation, perception, consequence and mana.
World First Achievement
Create a mana based object before the crucible. (Legendary)
Effect: 20% more control over mana
Effect: You have been granted a Mana body(Perfect).
He let the panel linger, then dismissed it.
Josh noticed the pause. "You good?"
Harold nodded once. "Yeah. Just… confirming my perks."
Beth tilted her head slightly. "Anything good?"
"Yeah," Harold said. "I got one for being the first to establish a legendary village. Didn't get the one for the first village overall. Probably because it took so long for everyone to arrive, and because of the short walk we did. You'll have to tell me what you all got later. "
Josh blinked. "You sound disappointed, but I'll tell you now, my starting one is one that increases my stamina."
Harold shrugged. "I am. But I'll take the loss. This one matters more." He turned to Josh. "Stamina is a good one. You'll be able to work longer and tire less."
Josh just nodded, lost in thought, but looking at Beth with a weird grin.
Beth studied Harold for a second longer, ignoring Josh. "What does it do?"
"Among other things," Harold said, "it boosts recruitment. Fifty percent more from the stele."
Caldwell did the math immediately. "So instead of the twenty five you said for epic…"
"Thirty," Harold confirmed. "Every day."
Josh whistled softly. "That's a good increase."
Sarah crossed her arms. "You're going to summon them now."
"In a moment," Harold said. "I want everyone ready and in position first. Once I activate the stele, things need to start moving fast."
He paused, glancing around the small group. "I know you all know this already. I've been repeating myself for days."
Josh grinned. "Repetition is comforting when the universe is actively trying to kill us."
Harold snorted despite himself. "Good. Then stay comforted."
He looked back toward the village stele, its surface faintly glowing as if aware it was about to be used.
"I want to reiterate that these are real people coming out of here. Real backgrounds and stories. They can have kids and will have kids with them. They will be inhabitants of this place, and some of our people are going to fall in love with them. They're as real as you and me and will be integral to running this place. Then I want you to remember we wont have the benefit of spawned people forever. This world is massive and we will need the population."
Caldwell just looked skeptical for a moment while everyone else just accepted it. There were stranger things to worry about.
The panel appeared the moment Harold reached the stele.
Just a quiet confirmation hovering inches above the carved stone.
VILLAGE STELE INTERFACE
OPTION AVAILABLE: SUMMON INITIAL RECRUITS
BONUS APPLIED: +50% RECRUITMENT
Harold rested his palm against the cool surface.
"Do it," he said.
The stele answered.
Light ran through the carvings like veins filling with blood. The pillar hummed, low and steady, and the air in front of it thickened, bending inward as if space itself were being folded.
Then people stepped out.
Not appearing all at once, but in a steady stream, as if exiting a doorway only they could see.
Thirty of them.
Men and women of varying ages, builds, and temperaments, blinking against the light of a world they hadn't known a breath ago. They arrived already equipped, not lavishly, but practically. Tools slung across backs. Packs secured tight. Weapons worn with familiarity rather than ceremony. One family came with a cart to haul all of their goods. Leading the group was a man with a distinctive scar running diagonally across his cheek, a mark from battles past. His eyes, though weathered, held a glint of determination and kindness that set him apart, offering a sense of leadership and quiet strength to those around him. They were just lucky there were no language issues in Gravesend. Everyone spoke a common language that they learned from the system. Everyone could still speak their native languages, but the system was kind enough to let everyone communicate with each other. One of the only kindnesses of the system.
Harold counted automatically.
General laborers first. Broad-shouldered men and women with calloused hands, simple clothes reinforced at stress points, the look of people used to working that started before sunrise and ended when it was done.
Then the craftsmen.
A blacksmith stepped forward, hammer hanging from his belt, eyes already scanning the treeline and nearby stone outcrops like he was inventorying the land. A leatherworker followed, packs of cured hides neatly bundled, needles and tools secured in a roll that had seen real use. Two more craftsmen emerged behind them, both lumber workers, axes balanced on their shoulders with the easy confidence of people who knew exactly how much force it took to fell a tree cleanly.
The hunters arrived last.
Two of them.
Lean, quiet, and alert in a way that made the rest of the group feel loud by comparison. Bows already strung. Quivers half-full. One knelt briefly, pressed a hand to the soil, then stood without comment.
Soldiers rounded out the group. They weren't knights or elites. But you needed disciplined infantry, shields worn smooth at the edges, swords held correctly without needing to be told. They clustered naturally, spacing instinctively.
Harold felt it then, the faint pressure behind his sternum as the village acknowledged its first true expansion.
Beth exhaled slowly beside him. "That's… clean."
Josh nodded. "They don't look confused."
"They aren't," Harold said. "This is their livelihood. Thankfully, there won't be any language differences."
The blacksmith approached first, stopping a respectful distance away. He inclined his head, not kneeling, but clearly recognizing authority.
"My Lord," he said simply.
The others followed suit in their own ways. A nod. A fist to the chest. A quiet acknowledgment.
Harold turned back to the group he'd arrived with, just long enough to let them see it.
"This," he said, "is why we need to get as many first as possible."
Then he faced the newcomers, voice carrying without strain.
"Welcome," Harold said. "You're safe here. For now. We have work to do, and we'll start immediately."
No cheers. No questions.
Just people shifting grips on tools and waiting for direction.
The Crucible had begun.