John awoke a happy man.
The room was warm and dry, despite the pattering sounds of rain against the roof. The bed left a lot to be desired, being not much more than a wooden frame with a ratty blanket, but it was better than hard ground and no blanket. The best thing, though, was that it was a big enough bed to share with Sarah.
The door didn’t lock yet, but John knew enough about his friends to trust they would knock before entering. As he lay there in the dark, wondering if it would be too difficult to build a window, he thought about the settlement he was now a part of.
Mitchell hadn’t explained much the night before, just following Miriam into the master bedroom and closing the door tight. They did not emerge, so Sarah and John had taken one of the other suites on the top floor. George took the last one, though spent most of the night preparing venison for everyone to eat for dinner. With shelter figured out and food and water present, everyone was starting to get tired of eating nothing but meat. A farm of some sort would be needed in the long run, but maybe foraging could work for now.
He adjusted his weight on the bed, not quite comfortable but Sarah’s warmth beside him led him to the realisation that he didn’t care all that much. In fact, knowing what he did, he imagined he’d be able to make a better bed frame, though obviously finding or making some sort of mattress would be the next project he undertook.
A knock on his door startled John from his thoughts, and he felt a brief pulse of irritation as Sarah stirred. She still needed to rest, to recover. Sighing, he rolled out of his bed with a creak and made for the door. His back twinged briefly, but the sensation quickly faded. Opening the door up just a slit, he squinted at the light coming from the main landing of the second floor. When his eyes adjusted, he looked down to see Miriam. “Mitchell’s calling a meeting downstairs.” She told him. “Dress up and come on down.”
“Is everything okay?”
She winced. “Not really. We have breakfast, though, so don’t dawdle.”
----------------------------------------
John and Sarah made their way downstairs into a smokey main hall. The sounds of pattering rain intensified. Mitchell sat on the bottom step of the raised stone platform, and Miriam leaned against a nearby support pillar. George was humming happily, a pot over the fire bubbling away with some grey, lumpy substance.
John took a whiff. Oatmeal. “No way, where’d you get that? And a whole pot!”
Mitchell gave a pained smile. “All part of the meeting, which we’ll start after breakfast is done. I don’t want to distract George.”
Sarah nudged his arm. “He looks like he didn’t sleep very well.”
John took his own look, and the circles under the Page’s eyes confirmed it, though he’d bring it up later when they weren’t all together. For now, he found a spot on the firepits rocks far away from the small fire they had going at the other end, and kept stretching out his muscles.
The room was quiet, and Georges humming fell silent as he spooned out the oatmeal onto the plates of carved wood John had made the day before, during one of his breaks in making the wall. The plates didn’t hold much, but they were missing a lot of the essentials for civilization, including spoons, so John just scooped it up with his fingers - after getting Sarah to disinfect them, of course. Soon only the crackle of the fire remained, and with a pang of guilt John tossed his dirty plate into the firepit.
The rest of the group followed his lead without question, and the fire flared brightly for a moment. A loud pop caused a shift in movement out the corner of John’s eye - it looked like Nimbus was making himself a nest in the rafters. A pad? A lair? Whatever it is that cats made.
“So. Welcome to the clan.” Mitchell began, and immediately a chorus of questions launched forth from the others. John held his tongue, and soon enough the room fell quiet again, Mitchell waiting patiently for the questions to stop.
“Yes, this is a dictatorship. Yes, I am technically in charge of this place, and legally, you all as well.”
George scoffed. “Legally? From what I saw, you essentially started your own nation. What legal code do we have?”
Mitchell winced. “Well.. the one I’ll need to create before the Settlement can Evolve to the next Tier.”
More questions started pouring out, and John had had enough. “Quiet! Maybe if you let him finish, your questions will be answered.” The centurion caught Mitchell’s nod of gratitude, returning a meaningful stare. Mitchell seemed to get it, because he gave a more reserved, subtle nod.
“Thank you, Master of Law and Order. Please, everybody - this may be a new… whatever it is, but we should still try to act with some sense of decorum. If I am reading things right, we may soon become responsible for actual, human lives.” That put enough of a damper on the mood that he continued. “Now. In case anyone didn’t know - John, you are the Master of Law and Order. Sarah, you are our Surgeon General. George-”
“Lemme guess, Ranger of the Great Leader?”
“Master Hunter. Just so you know, that will also be a cover for hunting information. Spies and such.” George's grin grew as Mitchell continued, jab at his government choice forgotten. “Miriam, you’ll be the equivalent of a court wizard. It’s a combination of advisor, engineer, and bodyguard. I will be the Clan Patriarch. No, I’m not your dad, nor are any of us related. The system seems to view you guys as branch families, and since I have all the settings set to not differentiate between main and branch families, there’s no difference.”
Mitchell waited for an interruption and was pleased when none came. “Now, we will make all decisions as a group, and I think our first decision should be how we come to our decisions. Do we need a unanimous vote? Majority? Divvy things up and keep out of each others business? There’s a lot of ways to do it, but I’m personally of the opinion that voting is the way to go. Any thoughts?”
Miriam stood off the pillar. “Nope. I know already that you all voting for me to do some magic stuff is going to end up with me banging my head against the wall trying to create magic toilet paper. I reserve the right to veto decisions that effect magic.”
“Sarah’s likely the same.” John started, looking down to his wife for confirmation. She looked up at him and nodded. “Yea, and I’d probably be the same for the police stuff. How about vote, veto powers to most affected, and then veto-overrule with unanimous decision?”
Mitchell shrugged. “As per the System, I’ll still be able to overrule that over-rule, but I promise I won’t use that unless we really need to. Consider it done! So, with the first order of business out of the way, I have a few more points. Firstly, the oatmeal. I apologise for choosing for everyone. Would someone like something else?”
A beat passed before Sarah spoke. “Could go for a latte.”
Mitchell winced as George laughed. “I told you,” the Hunter said, “I told you they’d ask for something you couldn’t buy yet.”
“Buy?” John asked.
Mitchell stood. “Yes. One of the functions of an activated Settlement Crystal is access to what is called the System Store. So, this morning, I traded 5 F-grade coins for a sack of oats.”
Miriam frowned. “You managed to trade some wooden discs for food?”
At this, he smiled and gestured to the chest still against the wall, which was now overflowing with the tokens. “I think you should take a closer look at those coins. They’re a bit more than they seem.”
John joined the others in gathering around the chest, even as Mitchell continued talking.
“We have here 995 F-grade coins, or if we exchanged them it would be called 9E95F. Confusing, but it’s like dollars and cents. 100 coins to make one of the next grade. You can’t split them up, but you can fuse them together. We have 1 E-Coin in the bottom.”
George held up a hand. “Nope. Not gonna start dealing with algebra. The F ones can be franks, and the E’s can be eur-”
“Electrum!” John shouted before George could make things boring, and like the Before. “No fair if you get to name both.” George conceded the point.
“Oookay. Franks and electrum. 100 franks to an electrum. We can work with that.” Mitchell sighed. “So the reason I called everyone to explain all of this is, besides for the dungeon coins which Sarah and I will split, our Settlement got a base amount of coins and I’d like us to be aligned in how we want to spend them.”
“Well let me shop for some groceries first, and the rest of mine can go to the settlement.” Sarah waved off, returning to her seat but staring at the floating crystal. With her backing away, the others returned to the various places they were before around the room.
“That makes things a lot easier. My second purchase I made, after the oats, was a mattress and proper bedding. Cost me about 10 f-coi-”
“Franks!”
Mitchell rolled his eyes at George. “It cost me 10 franks for a queen size set including mattress, sheets, pillows. The awesome part is that it’s Systemized, so the sheets will never go threadbare, and it's all self cleaning. The mattress will last as long as any other F grade item - so a long damn time.” He walked over to one of the walls, where a tattered brown sheet hung against the wall. “My final purchase, for 25 franks, was this.”
With a flourish, Mitchell ripped the sheet off of the wall and behind it was a clear, crystal screen that reflected a pale blue in the light. Mitchell waited a moment, then gestured to the screen.
Breakfast Gruel
A mundane breakfast slop designed to fill the belly and not much else.
“I put that on there earlier, but it basically lets you put a screen up from your popups. For example-”
Mitchell LeFluer
Page of the March / Aspiring Clan Patriarch
Human Level 8
HP - High
MP- Low-Mid
Stamina - High
Upgrade Identify for more data… processing request… request granted by target. All details granted:
Name: Mitchell Lefleur
Race: Human
Class: Page of the March 8 / Aspiring Clan Patriarch 8
Level: 8
HP: 155
MP: 64
SP: 125
STATS
STR 28
FOR 33
AGI 13
REF 13
VIT 23
CON 23
INT 18
WIL 51
INS 17
CHA 26
Human Skills:
Common Ancestor
Duality of Man
Species Progenitor
Primary Class Skills:
Weapon Mastery
Secondary Class Skills:
Settlement Management
“And that’s me.” Mitchell said, hiding his nervousness at their reactions.
“Broken.” George muttered. “Damn broken. I wanted to be first to 50. What does 50 Willpower even do?”
“It makes him even more stubborn.” Miriam groaned.
John just shrugged. “I’m stronger, and you’ve even got a level on me.”
Sarah looked pointedly at Mitchell. “Are you going to tell them about your class? Or should I?”
The Page sighed. “I was hoping it could be later, but now’s a pretty good time for it. I’ll just throw it up on the screen.”
Congratulations! You have been granted a class for advancing your race to the fifth Mortal Level. Due to the nature of Human levelling, you are not given a choice, but one is given to you based on your actions and the Strings of Fate. You have been given the class: Page of the March.
Page of the March (Very Rare Mortal Class)
The Page of the March is a lower member of the trans-global order of Knights that follow the Tenets of the March. The March is a term used to describe the inevitable progress of sentient races, civilised or otherwise. By becoming a Page of the March, you agree to follow the Tenets to your best ability, and to act in the interests of the March at all times.
Stat increases: +10 WIL, +6 STR, +6 FOR , +4 CON.
+5 WIL, +3 STR, +3 FOR, +2 CON per level.
You have gained the class skill: Weapon Mastery.
“Before anyone asks, no, I don’t have a list of the tenets. I’m trying to work them out, because I get a vague sense if I’m about to do something contrary, and encouragement if I’m doing what they say. Mildly concerning, but I already tested it this morning and I’m not punished for disobeying, it just removes all chance for me to gain xp from the action.”
If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.
For Miriam, something finally clicked. Given her heritage, she’d been baffled when he’d chosen a dictatorship… but… “So the settlement rules work with your class?”
Mitchells eyes lit up. “You caught that? Yes, I actually was level seven this morning. Both George and I got levels before anyone else was even up. Him, for cooking, whereas I got one of each, both for setting up this little brekkie-meet.”
“Yup. I got a new skill when I hit level 10, too. That’s right, I got a skill out of cooking oatmeal. Let’s just say our next meal will be of a… higher standard.”
John stood, going to make his way towards the door, when Mitchell raised his voice. “John! Sorry if I’m rambling on, but we’re almost done. Only one item left on the menu.”
John turned, and leaned against the wall beside the door. Something inside him was itching to get outside, to get to fighting and building and levelling. As much as his Strength was higher than Mitchell’s, it was his highest stat, and it was well below his highest.
“Thank you, and Miri we can chat later about classes and politics and such, but right now I need to show you the reason I’d bought this screen. As fun as it is showing off, there is an actual reason, and that reason is this.
As the screen flickered into a new configuration of words, John’s fists clenched and he whirled out the door, almost at a sprint. He’d only read the first line of the quest, but it was enough.
Settlement Initiation Quest: Defend your home!
Difficulty: Medium
Recommended Level: 10-15
Starts in: 000:00:01:22:35:15
You have created a place to grow in safety. Others wish to take what is yours.
Stop them.
----------------------------------------
Two days.
John let the wave of anger flow through him as the axe slammed against the base of the tree, wood fibres exploding outwards and bouncing off his skin and armour. He was too tough to be injured by such non-deliberate shrapnel, now.
Two days until people would come to try and take what was his. Again. What about a wall makes people want to be inside it? Instantly, he knew. It was safe. It was an implied value. It was a community. It was human.
Two days was all he had to fortify, and by all the gods that existed in this part of the universe, he would do more than anyone thought possible. Already a trench surrounded the wall, ready to be filled with stakes that George was even now sharpening. Mitchell had thought to send him out to secure food in case of siege, but with the System Store, they could survive for a long time if they needed to.
The ‘Patriarch’ had also wanted to discuss the various buildings they could unlock for the battle, but after a quick glance at the list, John had disagreed on the urgency and gone to fortify. It didn’t hurt that the wood fortifications slowly granted experience for both of his classes, and so he fell into a rhythm and worked away.
That is until…
“Hail!”
An unfamiliar voice interrupted him mid swing, and the axe hit the tree at an off angle, cutting downwards but not cleaving through the whole trunk. John tamped down his frustration at someone interrupting his flow, and with a quick glance at the sky found he had been at it all morning. The sun was high above, the rain having stopped around an hour ago. The air was humid and hot, and John wiped the sweat from his brow before turning to the new arrival.
It was a medieval peasant, it looked like. Dressed in dirty but thick clothes and with a pair of ratty shoes on, the peasant held a rope lead that fastened around the neck of a mule, who in turn was attached to a rickety cart. He wasn’t tall, but muscle was clear on his underfed body. He had dark eyes, and dark hair surrounded a face John could easily see himself forgetting.
“Is this Ol’ Mil’Town?” The peasant asked. “Heard there was opportunity to settle round here, so I up hiked on over. Y’all have any need for a worker? I’s was a warehouser, I’s was, but I got a strong back and you won’t hear me complain ‘bout doin’ sumtin’ else.” The man had an easygoing way of speaking, and his words were earnest.
John set his axe down, noticing the release of tension in the man's shoulders. “We got no room for shirkers, vagabonds, or malcontents. But, if you’re none of those, you’ll be welcome. We don’t have much in the way of housing, so you’d have to bunk in the main hall until we figure that out.”
The man spit with a smile on his face. “Beats sleeping under a cart, good sir. Do you know where I could find a Core Clansmen? Need to register with y’all before I can get to work.”
John slapped his hand against his pants in a half-hearted attempt to clean them, before extending it out for a handshake. “John Forrester, Master of Law and Order. I’m one of the five.”
The man immediately dropped to his knees, pressing his face against the dirt. For a moment, he dragged down on the mule’s lead, trying to get it to copy him, but the animal just looked dumbly at the nearby trees. “Forgive the disrespect, Master! I meant no ‘ffence, addressing you directly. This humble peasant begs for mercy!”
John scrambled to grab the mans shoulder and drag him to his feet, but the effort was like trying to lift an entire car. “Hey there, none of that now. Just a man, not nobody’s master. Just in charge of a job, that’s it.”
The man stayed with his head pressed against the ground. “I await my punishment.”
“Wha..?” John couldn’t help but mutter, as he was unable to lift the peasant. Just to make sure, he pressed his hand against the semi-felled tree he’d been working on and gave it a push, the snapping of wood and subsequent felling of the tree proving to him it wasn’t his own Strength that was failing. “Look, guy, what’s your name?”
“I was called Jack, Great and Merciful Master!”
“Quit that shit.” John growled out, starting to get upset that this guy wouldn’t get up. “We don’t do that here. We don’t bow or nothin’, and we don’t have any masters. Jack, yea? Get yourself together. I’m more of a carpenter than I am a Clansman.”
There was a pause, where the man was silent. “I… this isn’t what I heard this place would be like.”
That’s when it clicked. ‘Cultural Primer’. This was part of Mitchell’s choices with the immigration. “You know of the Housewarming Ceremony?”
“Aye, and I even chose a nearby tree I’d like to use for my own, if it pleases the Master.”
“What else do you know of our culture?” John asked.
“The Clan is great and powerful, and the Core Clan lead us all forwards into prosperity. I came prepared to simply work in the outer rings of the clan, or even as an aspirant.” Jack's accent was slowly falling away, much to John’s confusion.
“Alright.. So how would you treat someone of the same status?”
“As I did when I arrived. Please, Master, show mercy.”
John eventually had enough of trying to hear him past his face being in the dirt. “I will show mercy if you get up and look at me when I talk to you.”
The man twitched, slowly rising to his feet. “As you command.”
John huffed. “Good enough. Now. Since I doubt that Mitchell-”
“Hail to the Patriarch!” Jack shouted before resuming his listening.
“... sure, him. I doubt he set the rules behind,” John waved about without direction, “whatever this is, let me set a couple things clear. First: What are the status tiers?”
“From my learning, there is the Core, the Inner Clan, the Outer Clan, and the Aspirants.”
“Cool. So, we’re the core. The only ones who should ever even approach that level of deference would be an Aspirant making a egregious request that is genuinely likely to offend one or more Core members, and even then it’s just to show deference to decision making, not to any sort of general superiority. Do you understand?”
“Yes.” Jack bounced back and forth on his feet for a moment. “What must I do to become an Outer Clan Member?”
“Uhh… For now, just ask nicely, I think? We haven’t gotten that far yet. I think Mitchell-”
“Hail to the Patriarch!”
John groaned. “Yes, him. He’s in charge of this stuff, so let me just lead you through the gates and we’ll go find him.”
Jack’s eyes went wide and he hurriedly brushed off his clothing as best he could, and John tuned him out when he started muttering things like ‘unpresentable’ and ‘the turning point of my life’. If Mitchell wanted to be a dictator, let him deal with dictating.
----------------------------------------
Miriam was having a hard time with helping. Curious as she was about the man and cart John had led into the gates, she turned back to her studies on the very underpinnings of reality. From the start, her heart had been set on mental magic - from the moment Singh had looked at her with murder in his eyes, despite having never met her… She’d felt vulnerable. Even more than that, the way he’d toyed with them in combat had been terrible, and she would much rather have stopped it before it all happened.
So, she was working on what she called the ‘Calm’ spell, but it was difficult. She could perform the spell easily on Mitchell, but as soon as she tried it on someone else the energy splashed off of them like rain off a rock. Given it was a complete spell, she was unable to find where the issue was, so right now it could only realistically be called a ‘Calm Mitchell’ spell. Useful, no doubt, but not what she needed.
So she started from the ground up, scrapping the set of 12 arrays that made up the spell and starting anew with a targeting array, the common first step of most minor magics. Greater magics required a building of energy or a ‘flavouring’ as she called it, but her spells just added another array to take care of that step. So she added an amplification array right after the targeting array, but quickly scrapped that as her intuition told her that configuration would just lead to a multi-target spell.
She started again, and again, and again, until she had an idea - why not adjust her currently working Calm spell? She pulled up the twelve arrays and located the one that adjusted the spell for the target, the most difficult one she’d had to infuse into the spell. She could see the various identity glyphs she’d had to spend hours of discrete testing to find, and wondered - if the spell already targeted someone, why couldn’t she add those tests to the spell structure itself?
Writing it up, she ended up with a 48 array spell that would cost half again over her maximum mana to cast. Not wanting to drop into a coma, she stored the spell into the pages of her tome and stood to stretch. Too long studying in one place on one topic tended to reduce its effectiveness, so she went to go get the update from John on what the new guy was all about. She also hadn’t heard Singh in a while, but that was a relieving situation she wouldn’t question too avidly.
She caught him leaving the Clan House, looking incredibly frustrated. Upon seeing her, he just waved his hand towards the house. “You’d better make sure your boyfriend doesn’t start something messed up.”
Not bothering to respond, she hurried into the Clan House, her eyes adjusting to the low light after being outside, the overcast sky still having enough light to require adjustment. There was a low fire crackling in the longpit, despite the heat of the day outside, and Mitchell stood in his full gear at the head of the room, looking down on a kneeling man.
“You wish to join us?” He said in his best attempt at imperious will, and she had to admit it wasn’t half bad. “What do you have to offer?”
“I was a warehouser, Patriarch. I have a strong back, and can work long days.”
Mitchell rubbed his beard. “This place is not safe. We may need to have you doing things other than warehouse work. You may even be asked to raise arms against our enemies. However, if you join us, you can expect to perform honest work for honest pay. You can reside within our Clan’s grounds until such time that an expansion for Outer members is made. Should you father a child within this time, that child will be eligible to become an Inner member. Should that child have their own child, that grandchild could potentially become a core member. Do you understand how one progresses in our clan, and vow to uphold your station and duties for so long as we require?”
“I do, Patriarch.”
“Do you vow to obey the lawful orders of the Core Council, both in letter and in spirit? Do you further vow to protect the interests of the Core Council, both explicit and implied?”
Jack shuddered and if he didn’t have a huge smile on his face, Miriam would have thought him under duress. “Yes, Patriarch! I vow!”
Mitchell clapped a hand on the man’s shoulder, a short laugh coming from his lips. “Then rise, Jack of the Houser Branch. May your service be long and fruitful and your fortunes vast. Go and see our Surgeon General, and she will check you over before we find you somewhere to sleep and some place to contribute.”
Wordless but beaming, Jack rose and left the longhouse. Miriam waited where she stood until Mitchell gestured for her to come closer. She did so, as he pulled off the breastplate and unbelted the sword, leaning both up against the steps. “Thanks for coming to see me.”
She nodded, but then raised an eyebrow in question. Mitchell sighed.
“You should have seen the Clan menu during that. Almost as many options as the creation screen. I think for tomorrow, I’m just gonna set it to a bunch of human peasants rather than skilled people. Numbers, I think, would help more than a single ex-warehouser.”
Miriam sat down on the step beside him. “When are we going to talk?”
He looked at her out of the side of his eye. “About what?”
She scoffed. “I don’t know, Patriarch, maybe the fact that a few days ago you walked into the woods without telling anyone, and since you came back you’ve been acting like it was an obvious solution to an obvious problem?”
“It was.”
“It was luck!” She shouted, before taking a quick breath to calm herself. “You went out to die. Are you being serious right now? Missing a hand, probably infected, with no weapons. Should I point out any other way you were stupid? Oh that’s right, Sarah told me what you were doing in the dungeon. Throwing away advantages to avoid getting an Ant Tamer class?”
“Oh come on, that would have sucked!”
“Less than leaving me alone? I was attacked while you were gone.” She said flatly.
His features softened. “I heard that it wasn’t that bad.”
“From George? Of course he downplayed it. I’d be dead if not for him.” She waited for a response but when none came she kept talking. “I got cornered in the Mill, by Singh. He’s still in there. He had this sword, and he was just so fast. I tried to hit him with my darts but it was hard to try and cast them at a person. Then he got me.” Her voice tightened. “Slipped the sword right under my arm, and I knew I was done. Sarah taught me enough that I know there’s a big vein there, and of course that’s what he would be aiming for, he was too fast and too skilled - but he didn’t.”
Her heart started beating faster, and her eyes unfocused. “He just… cut. Into the meat. It barely bled, but right after that, he laughed, and I could see it in his eye. We were like mice being played with by a cat. He could have killed me at least 5 times before George made it in, but he didn’t. He could have killed George, too, while we escaped, but he didn’t. He just wanted to cause pain.”
“I-”
“I’m alive because someone preferred torture to murder. George is alive because of the same. Singh is alive because John won’t let us kill him - he says we can use the bastard against his party members, but I say they wouldn’t piss on a fire to put him out.” Miriam grit her teeth, realising what she was about to ask. “Get rid of him. If you’re in charge, he tried to kill two of our Core members. How does our Clan respond to that?”
Mitchells eyes flicked up and she could tell he’d just gotten a screen. “You know, you have the worst timing, right? Not this time, it’s perfect this time, but I’d like for us to go back to your experience later and talk about it more thoroughly. For now, come with me.”
----------------------------------------
George sat in the shade of the mill’s ruins, lazily petting Nimbus who lounged just in his reach. His other hand rolled a pebble between his fingers, testing it, hefting it, checking its weight. It was a rough stone, and had a fleck of something that caught at the light. It was a nice pebble, he thought, better than the last one.
“You can’t kee- ow.”
George smiled smugly from where he sat, picking up a new pebble. Singh rubbed at his forehead with his bound hands, a new welt joining close to a dozen others that had been placed there over the morning. “I can, and I will.”
Singh huffed and sat back against the wall, doing his best to rub his bound wrists. It didn’t last long, because as the two of them heard footsteps coming, they stood. George snarled at the prisoner. “Don’t know why you look happy. Only reason they’d be coming is to-”
“George. Can you come out here? I need a favour.”
The Ranger wiped his hands off on his pants. “See ya, dead man.”
Singh nodded his head. “See ya.”
Mitchell had brought over Miriam and John, the latter of whom kept looking back over to the wall. “Miriam, could you go watch Singh please? We need to have a private word.”
George joined John in giving the Page a dirty look. What was his problem, sending her in to watch over him when she’d been the most affected by his attack? She didn’t say a word, though, ducking into the mill with her wand held at the ready.
“Alright spill it.” John spat.
Mitchell raised his hands placatingly. “Hold up. John, you fought the others, the ones with Singh. Any of them you’d let camp outside the walls, be a meat shield for the coming assault?”
John frowned. “I think if it’s dangerous over a large area, they’ll come asking for sanctuary, but if it's focussed here, they’d only come to try and get revenge during our distraction. Either way, my vote is still throwing Singh in the river.”
Mitchell shook his head. “Can’t. They know we have him, and my class will punish me for killing another human. I’m about bringing us all forward. Trade him, maybe?”
“That’s human trafficking, and I’m not doing that.” John answered. “There’s lines I won’t cross.”
George hummed and fixed Mitchell with a knowing stare. “Alright, I see where you’re going with this. I’ll go conscript them, in exchange for Singh’s ongoing safety or imminent danger, whichever gets them moving faster.”
“Thank you, George.” Mitchell answered. “Normally I’d say we’re fine but… as the time grows closer I start seeing what type of enemy we will face and we will need the help. If you have the time, range a little further afield, see if we can’t find any more groups. John, can you make some militia weapons? Spears and javelins should be fine, have Jack help you if you need it.”
He looked at the two of them as a flash of light came from inside the mill and Miriam left with a smug look on her face. Mitchell pointedly didn’t glance her way - that light reminded him of her Flare spell, which didn't do any damage. He figured a bright light wasn't too excessive considering what the man had done to her. “We live, or die, in the next 3 days. We can figure out the rest afterwards.”