Blood. That was the first thing Owen saw as Draed and the others arrived. One warrior and a hunter lay dead, thin clothes draped over their heads. His remaining men and women, many bearing wounds, surrounded the fallen.

Owen rushed forward. The soldiers bowed, but Owen stopped them with a wave. “What happened? Was it the orcs?” Fear tightened his chest, worrying that an orc ambush had struck the other side of his territory. His heart sank at the thought.

Draed nodded gravely. “They ambushed us.”

“Damn it,” Owen muttered, clenching his fists. “What’s the current situation? How did they lay an ambush?” He turned his attention to Draed.

“Our enemy has set up a perimeter around the dome. They were waiting for us. They had it planned. They’re watching us right now.”

Owen glanced at the dunes and mountains above; the orcs could be anywhere.

“But it wasn’t a total loss,” Draed said, nodding to Lome. Lome dragged a wounded orc through the sand, dropping him in front of Owen. He was bound and blinded by an eye covering.

Draed cast a hateful glance at the orc. “You mentioned keeping an eye on their attire. All the orcs wore these.” He produced a pair of jingling silver bells. “I tested them myself. The creature under the sand? It didn't sense me.”

Draed handed over the bells. They were ordinary, no tricks or enchantments, just bells. “We can use these. Someone in the middle of the formation must carry them if we head out.”

Owen nodded. That, at least, remained unchanged. He had four days left of protection. The situation looked dire, but it was time to go on the offensive.

“We will burn the dead,” Owen said, his voice catching as he laid eyes on the two dead warriors. “Cedric, prepare for the funeral. They died defending this land—my land—the least I can do is offer words to send them off.”

“Draed,” Owen continued, “if we had a map, could you point out where they attacked and where the scouts are located?”

“Of course, my Lord,” Draed replied.

“Score it in the sand.”

Draed started marking the sand when Rizael, the healer, approached. “My Lord, I’ve found some fauna outside with healing properties. If you can prioritise an alchemy station, I can start drafting up potions.”

Owen squeezed his head, trying to shake off the budding pain. The weight of stress bore down on him like a mountain. He wasn’t prepared for this—he’d never even taken management training at work, let alone run a kingdom against bloodthirsty monsters.

“My Lord?” Rizael said with concern.

“For that,” Owen said, recovering, “you’ll need glass, containers, and everything in between. I’ll see what I can do. Other Lords may have uncovered a lab and put its contents on the market. Your expertise will be crucial in the coming days. I’ll make it a priority, don’t worry.”

Rizael beamed. “Thank you, my Lord.”

“How is Pyris?” Owen changed the subject. “Any chance she’ll wake up soon? With her, our problems would be solved.”

“I'm afraid not,” Rizael replied. “There are still no signs of her waking. But Gorath and I are watching her around the clock. As soon as she wakes, you will be notified immediately.”

“Thank you, Rizael, Gorath,” Owen said.

Draed finished marking the scouts positions. In front of his territory to the North, were three large dunes. Beyond that was a large desert plain, the one where the mysterious monster lurked. Beyond that, was the mountains where the orcs resided within.

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Owen’s mind was a storm as he thought about what to do next.

“For now,” Owen addressed his fighting force, “rest. Think of strategies we can use. How can we give them hell? I have a few things I need to do. We'll talk again later.”

It was true, his warriors bar Lome were utterly exhausted. The sun, orcs, and lack of water while out had drained them to an inch of collapse. In fact, it was a miracle most of them returned alive. Owen massaged his neck, guilt growing. If he was stronger, if he had gone with them, then perhaps they wouldn’t have perished… Owen shook his head. Now wasn’t the time for useless thoughts.

They all bowed and went their own way.

Owen took a moment to admire the builders' work—of which he had been tirelessly helping. As promised, a wall was forming, designed to break the wave of the tsunami. Brook had redesigned the houses to withstand the colossal night wave's pressure. The ruins told Owen that although the wave was tall and appeared devastating, it didn’t hold the crushing weight that a tsunami of water did. Brook had the same idea.

Farmer Bimpnottin approached with concerns.

“Ah, Lord,” he said in a high-pitched, almost Irish accent. “We be having troubles with the ideas for the farm.”

“What troubles?” Owen asked.

“That soarin’ wave at night. Scared me something rotten. But that’s the least of me concerns. We be in a desert, aye?” He didn’t wait for a response. “If that wasn’t bad enough, we have that colossal wave to worry about. Will wash all the crops we plant in the sand, it will.”

Owen nodded. “For now, an underground farm might be our best bet. Or placing it in a building,” Owen continued, inspiration forming, “maybe with a retractable roof so that sun can get in during the day?”

“Aye, that would work wonders,” Bimpnottin agreed, scuffing the sand with his feet. “We have experience with mushrooms. Scratch that, we can plant anything with the right seeds and a can-do attitude.”

Owen smiled. “I love the confidence, Bimpnottin. I’ll get to it right away. Follow me.”

“Kind lord and a good work ethic? Bimpnottin’s blessed by the high gods, he is.”

“Kind? Is that so?” Owen chuckled.

“Aye. You care deeply for us, we can tell. Being a leader is tough. Ye have your work cut out for you.”

“You can say that again, Bimpnottin.”

Owen didn’t think much about the compliment. He just knew that his people fought for him, so he’d fight for them.

Before leaving, he asked the builders to make room for Rizael’s potion-making station. Since it was closer to the orcs, it made a perfect location for a triage unit.

It didn’t take long to set up an expansive cave for Bimpnottin's underground mushroom farm, and because he had been working on the mountain for a while now, it didn’t take long. Owen also made a wide staircase, carving it out of the stone.

With all of that done, Owen returned back to the sands. The orc was situated in the middle of his land, which just happened to be in the middle of nowhere. He was blindfolded and also strapped securely to a stone pillar sticking out of the ground.

Finally, he turned his attention to the system notifications awarded thanks to Draed and the others effort

Your subordinates have defeated a Orc x6

| You have reached Level 22.

Your subordinates have gathered Summoning Tickets.

| Warrior x2, Scout x1, Assassin x1

Not only had Draed and the others earned 4 tickets, which was considered very lucky, but they had also Levelled up a bunch. Draed, Cedric, and Lome were nearing Level 20. At 25, they’d gain Class upgrades. From what Owen knew, it was his decision what they chose, unlike their Stats.

An Assassin? Owen perked up. And a Scout, finally. Two specialised units. Hunters could scout, but their skills were limited. Of course thanks to his Class, they were stronger than average. Builders, Hunters, and Warriors were the most common units. Above that were the likes of Scouts, Assassins, Farmers, and more specialised units.

With haste, Owen tore the Warrior tickets first. Both of them were 2-stars, pretty good.

Next, Owen ripped the Assassin ticket. The wheel of lights stopped at solid green. 3-stars. Miriam Lee was her name. She was a lady in white armour with a tan headscarf and she bowed, then gazed across the land. Owen noticed a hint of a smile on her lips. Was her home a desert?

After greeting the newcomers, Owen turned to the last ticket. A brown ticket with white words and a pair of eyes staring back at him.

Give me something good, Owen thought, and tore it.

Lights flashed, settling on a dazzling blue. Owen smiled. It was a 4-star Scout.