Chapter 66

Orion

Day 51 of First Landing

Population of Thornhill - 55

My fears were confirmed as I watched the chains fall from the three former slaves, the collars slipping from their necks like symbols of an old, crumbling order—one that my younger brother would shatter. With her usual calm, Sophie revealed the truth to me: her Slave Cards, bearing her claim over Wulfric, Edith, and Ulf. As she pulled them, the cards—tokens of their bondage—disintegrated into tiny blue wisps, drifting on the wind like dandelion seeds. They were irrelevant now, the collars powerless to enforce their hold, their sorcery nullified by Cass’ Anti-Magic Field.

The three of them—no longer slaves, but the Emancipated—collapsed to their knees, their voices rising in unison. “Praise the Magebane,” they chanted until they finished with, “We have reached Sanctuary.”

As much as I longed to address their newfound freedom and the religious and geopolitical implications of such an event, the impending raid demanded my more immediate attention. I motioned for them to rise. They glanced around, taking in the gathered onlookers, eyes wide with awe, as if Thornhill were the heaven they’d prayed for all their lives.

Later, when Bianca settled the crowd, the town’s bell rang five times from our beaches, summoning the villagers to the mess hall. The room filled quickly, but a small group lingered on the edge—four of them, including the priest and an older couple dressed in finery, one of them the old crank who worked the warehouse. After dismissing the children, Bianca gestured for me to speak.

“It’s good to be back,” I began, the fatigue still weighing on my mind and thighs. “We learned much in Kronfeldt. And I see you've started on the defenses. Good. We’re going to need them in fifteen days.”

The silence broke with Samar’s question. “Where’s James?”

I raised a hand, steadying the room. “James is undercover, gathering intel on the enemy. I’ll send my bird for his message shortly. He’ll keep us updated on the enemy’s location.”

A new voice, from the back cracked through the tension. “What did you do? Why are we under attack?”

I let the question settle before speaking slowly. “As you know, we’re part of a much wider world. There’s an empire to the north that hunts for humans to enslave. They won’t stop searching this area until they’ve found humans and somehow… they found us.”

Panic rippled through the crowd. Whispers became mutters, then accusations. Fear clouded their faces, eyes darting from one to another, their anger toward the messenger and the newcomers rising.

“Did you lead them here?”

“What did you tell them?”

“What do we do? What do we do? What do we do?

“They could be at the gates right now!”

Panic thickened the air. Fingers pointed at the new strangers. Voices clashed. I became a focal point of their rage and terror, but in that swirling storm, I knew defending myself would be useless. It was too late for that. And it didn’t matter. If I had to play the bad guy for Thornhill, I would.

I stepped forward, cutting through the chaos with a severity that startled even me. “It doesn’t matter how they found us. The fact is, they have. And if we don’t want a repeat of the pirate raid, we’ll have to stand together, in the coming weeks.”

A disbelieving voice from the back cut through the crowd. “Who are these new people? Spies?”

I gestured toward Wulfric, Ulf, and Edith, who stood to the side, their unfamiliar faces pale under the weight of the villagers’ stares. “These are Wulfric, Edith, and Ulf. They were slaves. They don’t speak our language, but they’re not spies. They’ll stay with us from now on.”

A murmur spread through the hall, suspicion rippling through the crowd. Their eyes traced the strangers’ worn clothes, the foreignness of their faces. Even I could feel their unease and the splash of xenophobia toward the newcomers. Accepting modern people in familiar clothing appearing from the same plane ride was one thing; accepting people who looked like medieval peasants who spoke an alien language was another. It was a lot to take in.

I cleared my throat, steering the conversation back. “Sophie’s returned with supplies—ingots, crossbows, arrows. Blacksmiths, I’ll need you to start on helms and chest plates. The walls are coming along nicely, but we’ll need arrow slits too.” My eyes swept over the crowd, landing on Alex and Cade.

“The dungeon crew needs to start running daily runs,” I said, my voice cutting through the lingering hum of anxiety. “I know you’ve been saving your coins, but we need armor. Armor for the villagers. Prioritize helms, chest plates, bows, and then gauntlets.”

“We have been doing that,” Cade said. “Bianca had us doing two floors to gather weapons and armor the past few days.”

I sometimes forget that there are a lot more capable people in Thornhill than myself.

I glanced over at the crowd, watching the reaction. The room fell silent, and the air seemed to tighten around us.

“We’re making solid progress on the walls, so anyone who can handle a bow or crossbow needs to start training—at least a couple hours a day. Set up targets in the archery range, and rotate shifts. You know the drill, Bianca, make sure the others follow through.”

I held their gaze, letting the gravity of what I said sink in. Then, softly, but with all the conviction I could muster, I added, “I know some of you are hiding your classes for whatever reasons, and that’s fine. But you need to understand this: you have a responsibility. Combat skills level up faster. We need everyone’s abilities sharp.”

“How many will there be, Orion?” Alex asked as the villagers dealt with all the news.

The crowd held its breath, and the anxiety in the air became almost palpable. I hesitated for a moment, but the truth had to come out. “Maybe… three or four hundred. Maybe more. I don’t know for sure. It’s not an official army. It’s a slaver raid party.”

A collective gasp swept through the room.

“Four hundred?!” someone shouted, voice cracking with terror.

“We’re dead, we need to run!” another cried.

“There’s no way! No freaking way!” came a third, and I could feel the panic rising like a wave, threatening to drown us all.

I probably shouldn’t have said it, but it was too late to take it back.

“Listen to me!” I raised my voice, cutting through the chaos with the sharpness of steel. “I’ll do everything I can to thin their numbers. Alex and Cade—together, they can handle twenty of these bastards. And with the arrows, we’ll have ready, they won’t take one step into this village without turning into pincushions. I know we can beat them.”

I believed it. I believed it in the deepest parts of me. And I hoped they could see it in my eyes. They knew I wasn’t an optimist. I was a realist and I truly believed we could win.

“I won’t let any of you die.” I gritted my teeth.

I nodded to Bianca, signaling that I was done with my report, for now.

“Okay, you heard the man,” Bianca said, her voice low but steady. “Let’s get back to work, alright? We can do this.” Her fists were clenched tightly, and though the crowd began to disperse, a few unsure glances lingered, heavy with doubt.

The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

Once everyone had filtered out, only the notable holders remained in our roundtable discussion, except for Sophie—who was busy unloading her portable wagon with a few helpers. A small team of workers assisted her in offloading supplies: bolts, clothing, cloth, crossbows, arrows, and other essentials, including some women’s toiletries. The villagers gathered around Sophie as if she were Santa bringing goodies for all. It was gratifying for them to see their hard work pay off: Samar, our farmer, would receive new clothes and a blank book to draw and write notes in as a reward for her daughter’s help in grafting all the firecracker berry plants. Gabriel, one helper, nearly fainted when he was handed his guitar. The ingots would be delivered to the blacksmith later, with Bart and Jesus flexing their class strength as they carried a heavy bin of ingots on wood rollers.

“Bianca,” I said, catching her before she could step out. “We need a watchtower, or at least a place, to scout the enemy. Highest point. And we need trebuchets.”

“Anika and Ethan already designed the outline of a trebuchet for me. I’ll get on it when I finish the bridge. I don't think we can make a watchtower with the time we have left but there is a high hill I can use,” she sighed, her exhaustion clear in her posture.

So I wasn’t the first to think of that. Not surprising. Again, these were capable people that didn’t need me micromanaging them.

I gave a sharp nod and dashed to the warehouse. I grabbed a large plank and returned to the mess hall, where the council remained gathered, watching me with curious, expectant eyes. I took out some paint and figurines and started sketching a rough map of Thornhill.

The river and mountains to the west formed a natural barrier, one we couldn’t afford to ignore. I painted a thick blue line to mark the river, noting that a wall would be constructed on our side to block any movement across the river. I remembered JD’s vision overhead, recalling the rugged terrain of the hills to the east, with its limited access points. I marked those spots carefully. Those would need to be walled off.

Then I placed the figurines: the windmill, the shelters, the warehouse, the animal pens—each a vital part of our defense. The heart of our efforts would have to center on the blacksmith’s forge, the warehouse, the animal pens, and the main hostel. They were the beating core of this place, and we needed to protect them at all costs.

image [https://i.ibb.co/30YNDz5/map-thornhill-1.png]

"The farms are our biggest liability," I said, scratching my chin. "They're too spread out from our core buildings to defend. We’ll have to sacrifice them to keep the core of the village safe."

Anika sighed, folding her arms. "Samar won’t like that."

"It’s too much ground to cover," I replied. "We’ll have them harvest what they can before the raid. Better to lose the fields than the farmers."

I circled the eastern side of the map, where the dungeon entrance lay exposed on open ground. "This area’s a weak spot. We need to cut it off somehow."

Bianca nodded. "We already figured that. I’ll get Crag on it full-time after the north wall is complete. We’ll set up wooden barricades for the rest."

Crag, I assumed, was her level 10 skill—a stone golem that loomed like a fortress wall as it heaved blocks of limestone to reinforce the barriers at the north gate.

"I don’t expect them to come from the east," I said, finger tracing the path leading down from the north. "But we need to funnel them this way—make sure they push through this chokepoint."

I pointed to the northern clearing, a bottleneck of flat land wedged between hills and dense trees, flanked by ponds on one side and mountains on the other.

“And here, we’ll set an ambush,” I added, tapping the map slightly above the windmill and fields again. “A cavalry charge."

Ethan looked at me, brows knit. “How are we going to get cavalry?”

"Sophie’s on her way back to Kronfeldt tomorrow to hire mercenaries and more supplies. She’ll be back just in time for the raid," I explained, then pointed towards the wooden drawbridge, which would act as a barrier to the village. “They’ll probably destroy the drawbridge with magic to rush through with their men and capture us. If we have one advantage, it’s that they want us as slaves, not corpses.”

“Wait… they have wizards?” Cade nearly gasped. “Like that elf on the beach?”

I nodded solemnly.

Bianca, looking slightly skeptical, cocked her head. "If they have wizards, how are we going to stop their magic?”

Cass had the unique ability to nullify magic, a rare skill that would be vital against the enemy's mages. If we didn't deal with their backline quickly, we’d be overrun. But revealing Cass’s skill to the council—even trusted allies like Bianca—was a risk. If anyone here got captured or tortured into talking, it would put all of us in jeopardy.

“There’s an artifact I brought back from Kronfeldt,” I said, keeping it vague. “It’s like an EMP bomb, but we’ll need to lure them in close before setting it off. Once the gate is destroyed and they march forward, I’ll activate the EMP. You guys just need to find a way to make it rain and hold the chokepoint. No one can escape to warn their empire or emperor—or they’ll send more than a few hundred next time.”

Standing up, I realized we were making genuine progress on Thornhill’s defenses. Bianca, Anika, and the others had stepped up; they knew what was at stake and didn’t need every order spelled out. Not just the council and the Holders—everyone in the village understood. They had their roles, and I had mine.

“I think that’s all I can share with you. I need to get going,” I said, getting up and leaving the group there.

As I rose, Bianca’s gaze followed me. "Where are you going?"

“To the dungeon,” I said. “I need to level up.”

Her brows drew together. "The party already went today and can’t go back in until tomorrow."

If the first two floors were cleared, that was perfect. I could focus on gathering buffs.

"I’ll go solo," I said, brushing past her. She looked unsettled, but I couldn’t afford to wait or explain.

Astrid had taken Rudolph to the animal pens, so I’d have to make the walk myself. Before leaving, I stopped by my stash, grabbing my wok, some firewood, tinder, and a jar of lard.

With that, I set out for the dungeon, chewing on a piece of pemmican from my pack as I went. The dirt road was empty, the sky dimming, but I felt a quiet readiness settle over me.

Special Pemmican - C

Firecracker Blast: +20% Alertness and Energy (6 hours)

Boar Padding: +20% Resistance to Piercing and Slashing (6 hours)

Migration of the Elk: Slower Stamina and Endurance Decrease (6 hours)

Flight of the Scarlet Fowl: +25% Sprint Speed (2 hours)

Hide of the Muskrat: Brief Shield Against Rain and Water (6 hours)

Six hours. That was my limit. By the time I reached the first floor of the dungeon, the rats had already been dispatched, their bodies scattered in stiff piles along the stone corridors. In silence, I picked my way to the boss’ room, where the hulking corpse of the giant black rat awaited. Its fur, matted with clumps of sickly purple, hung in patches over its bloated form—a twisted, unholy heap of muscle and decay. A visceral disgust roiled through me; it looked like something left to rot by the side of a road, tainted by something worse than death. But I needed the power it provided.

I drew my knife, steadying myself. With a single breath to steel my nerves, I cut into the carcass. The stench hit like a hammer, a blend of sour meat and dumpster fire, tinged with a chemical burn that settled deep in the throat. I gagged, breathing through my mouth as the blade split the flesh and sliced deeper. At the center, nestled in the viscera, was a purple, tender piece of meat that gleamed like polished stone. It looked as revolting as the rest.

I set up the wok, stacking fuel and firewood, then slathered the pan with fat. Striking a spark with my ignition ring, I coaxed a small flame to life. As the fire crackled, I skewered the tenderloin on my knife and held it over the flames. A thick, dark smoke rose from the meat, filling the room with the smell of scorched filth, something like burning trash. I forced myself to keep going, to ignore the bile rising in my throat.

When it was as cooked as I could get it, I blew on it and took a cautious bite. The texture was something between a sponge and raw leather, clinging to my teeth as I chewed. My instincts rebelled, every nerve in me wanting to spit it out, but I swallowed. The aftertaste hit with a vengeance, metallic and slick, settling heavily in my gut like a stone. I shuddered, forcing the rest down in one quick gulp.

The effect hit instantly, a sick, rolling wave twisting my insides. My stomach lurched, forcing me to double over as cramps tore through me, each one sharper than the last. A cold sweat broke across my skin as I shivered, my entire body rejecting the poison I’d just forced down. I clenched my jaw, riding out each heave, refusing to let it break me.

Minutes passed, and gradually, the pain lessened. As the nausea ebbed, a faint glimmer appeared before me: a card, hovering in midair like a gift from some demonic god.

Rat’s Fortitude - Dungeon Gourmand Skill - F1

Passive: 50% Resistance to Poison and Disease

Slot 1/6

A slow grin spread across my soured face. It was worth it—brutal, but oh so worth it. With these new skills, I can do what I need to do to protect Thornhill.

Beyond the remnants of my gruesome meal, I glanced toward the darkness of the stairway descending further down into the dungeon. I was still hungry.