I squatted in the dirt, tracing lines in the dust with my finger.
“In Earth's history of ancient warfare, countless lords made this fatal mistake. They thought the straighter and thicker the wall, the safer it was. The result? Once the enemy reached the base, the defenders on top became blind.”
Brad stood aside, crossing his thick, granite-slab arms. He frowned at the jagged, snowflake-shaped pattern I’d traced in the dirt.
“So, you're building the wall jagged? Won't that add a lot of unnecessary work? ”
“It's called a Bastion Fort, or more professionally—a Star Fort,” I said, pushing up my glasses.
“Look here. If we build the wall in these protruding ‘V’ shapes, every Bastion provides Enfilade Fire for the adjacent wall sections.”
My finger traced several intersecting lines on the paper. “If the Wolf-kin dare to rush into the concave area between two walls, they get hit from both the left and right bastions simultaneously. No dead angles. No blind spots. They'll find themselves standing in a Crossfire Zone with zero cover.”
Brad paused. As an NCAA linebacker, he had a natural intuition for Zone Defense.
“Damn,” Brad grinned, showing white teeth. “That’s a carefully designed trap. You nerd, you have a dark heart—but I like it.”
“It's called Tactical Geometry. Since we lack manpower, we use physics to kill.” I stood up and turned to Zayla and Elder Karl. “The blueprints are drawn. I need two things: first, every scrap of metal in this rift; second, every pair of hands that can lift a stone.”
An unprecedented mobilization began.
“Listen up!” Brad stood on a boulder, shirtless. He held a rusted I-beam torn from the ruins. “See that pile of scrap over there? Haul it up and drop it right here.”
He lifted the four-hundred-pound beam with one hand, displaying the terrifying pressure of his S-rank Strength. “If you don't want to end up as wolf chow, follow my lead! Start hauling!
The Cat-kin refugees hesitated. A human shouting orders was still alien to them.
Zayla stepped forward. She simply walked to the pile of rebar, picked up a piece with her injured hand, and looked at her people.
“The Builder bleeds for us. The Giant sweats for us.” Her voice was quiet but carried across the silent canyon. “Are the Sun Clan's hands too precious to touch dirt? If we do not build our future today, we will be buried in the past tomorrow.”
Ron was the first to step forward, shouldering a bundle of rusted rebar. Then the second, the third... even the children ran to the river to pick pebbles for concrete aggregate.
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I stood at the forefront. My task was the heaviest.
Construction began.
No mixer? Use magic. Ela led the priests to mix mortar using Water Flow manipulation. I stood by with a homemade measuring cylinder. “Keep the water-cement ratio at 0.5! Don't add too much! Vibrate it properly—I want 7000 PSI grade!”
No crane? Use Brad.
“Heave—ho!” Brad shouldered the rebar cages, planting them deep into the foundation pits like he was planting rice seedlings. “This is way better than the school gym!” Brad laughed, bronzed sweat glistening. “Alex, remind me to tell Coach I’m doing specialized strength training!”
The heavy grey concrete filled the molds, swallowing the crude iron rebar.
Normal cement needs 28 days of curing to form its crystal bonds. But I wasn't about to wait on nature. I looked at the Cat-kin's high priestess.
"Ela," I pointed at the wet foundation. "Hit the molds with your healing light. Maximum output."
She looked at me like I was insane. "Heal... the rocks?"
"Just do it."
As her milky 'healing' radiation penetrated the slurry, the water molecules inside the concrete violently agitated, generating immense internal heat. The system UI flashed, confirming my theory. The high-frequency waves were sending the chemical hydration reaction into overdrive, magically compressing a 28-day curing cycle into a few short hours.
When the sunset glow spilled into the canyon, a jagged grey-white defensive line stood at the entrance—industrial, brutalist, and, in its own way, beautiful, like a grey python coiled around the rift’s throat.
But the real surprise was hidden inside the bastions.
“Brad, install the Counterweights!”
On the V-shaped platforms, we mounted simple but deadly mechanisms: Gravity Trebuchets. No gunpowder needed. Just a heavy box of rocks and a long lever arm.
“These aren't just walls,” I patted the cold concrete. “These are launch pads. When the wolves come, we’re going to rain two-ton boulders on their heads.”
Night fell. Campfires were lit.
For the first time, there was light in the eyes of the Cat-kin—the light of hope. They sat around the wall, touching the cold surface that even knives couldn't mark.
I sat alone on the highest point of the bastion, sipping a warm, flat Coca-Cola I’d dug out of my bag. Instead of gulping it down, I tasted it slowly, as if it were vintage wine.
“Tired?” Zayla walked over, holding a piece of burnt jerky. She sat naturally on the battlement beside me, her tail hanging over the edge and swaying in the night breeze. Her ears were relaxed.
“I’m okay.” I took a bite of the jerky. “Tough as tire rubber.”
Zayla looked at my profile—at my hair covered in cement dust and my tired eyes behind the glasses.
“To be honest, yesterday morning,” she said softly, “watching you talk to a pile of mud and scrap metal... I thought the Ancestors' prophecy was wrong. I thought the Savior was just a useless madman.”
“And now?” I chewed the jerky laboriously.
“Now...” Zayla looked at her people below, laughing around the fire.
She lowered her head, the corners of her mouth curving up in a faint arc. “Now I feel I might really not have to die.”
I froze. That smile had too much lethality—more stunning than any prom queen back home.
Zayla reached out. Her cool fingers brushed against my cheek, wiping away a smear of grey cement dust. The touch was electric.
“You have mud on your face, Builder,” she whispered, her golden eyes locking onto mine. There was no mockery, only a strange, new intimacy.
I pushed up my glasses to hide the flush. “Don't celebrate too early. This is just the first line. The final exam is ahead.”
“I know.” Zayla drew her broken blade, sliding it across a whetstone. Sparks flew in the dark. “As long as the wall stands, my blade will not break.”
Not far away, Brad was surrounded by Cat-kin kids, showing off his biceps. “Watch this! This is five scoops of Whey Protein and squats! If anyone bullies you, punch them back!”
I tipped my head back and finished the Coke.
“Alright,” I whispered to the empty can. “Let's see whose teeth are harder—the Wolf-kin's, or my concrete.”
Star Fort: Phase I
Alex and Brad are building a legacy, one ugly grey brick at a time. And Zayla? She just learned to hope again.
Question of the Day: If you had to name a fortress, what would you call it?
(Click to carve the name in stone)
?? A) Fort Kickass.
Result: Brad's Vote. It sounds awesome. Unfortunately, Zayla refuses to sign official diplomatic treaties with "Kickass" in the letterhead. Cool Factor: 10/10.
?? B) The Indomitable Wall.
Result: The Queen's Choice. Noble. Historic. Epic. But Alex thinks it sounds like a video game level where you die a lot. Prestige: High.
?? C) Site B.
Result: The Engineer's Log. Efficient. Sterile. Ominous. It implies there was a "Site A" that didn't make it. Mystery: Max.
Follow and Rate to see the Wolves break their teeth!