The fifth day of the march, the road bent gently as it descended toward the river basin, and the wagons rolled steadily despite the softer ground. Conversation filled the column, the low voices trading speculation about the new village, about farmland, about what it might mean to claim a place that was theirs. Harold wasnt moving much population to the new village. It was mostly skilled people who could help get the village's industry up and running. Harold intended to pick a leader for the village from among the refugees who had fled Henri’s village.

  He was reading through the replies on his forum posts when the warning came from the left.

  “Contact! Left hill!”

  Every legionary reacted before the word finished carrying. Harold turned in time to see them crest the rise.

  Goblins spilled over the slope in a loose rush, long arms pumping, mouths open in shrill excitement. They were all hunger and momentum. Without a Hob to guide them, they were a formless swarm of thirty, maybe more.

  There must have been a Den in the area that wasn't completely cleared, Harold analyzed calmly.

  “Civilians behind the wagons!” Carter barked.

  Drivers snapped reins, and the Tatanka gathered calmly. Even they didn’t feel bothered by the swarm coming at them. Wheels ground into the earth as the column compressed. People moved quickly; fear lent speed where there was no training. Crates were dragged down. A carpenter grabbed a splitting maul. Someone else lifted a shovel as if it might pass for a weapon if held with conviction. This wasn’t the first time this had happened. They knew what to do.

  Harold stepped clear of the wagon as Carter’s eight closed around him without needing the order.

  “Just like we practiced, boys,” Carter huffed.

  His guards formed on either side and just ahead of Harold. They each unsheathed their weapons, then spread slightly. Deliberate gaps gave each guard space to move and kill without fouling another’s reach.

  Carter glanced once along the line, satisfied.

  Harold drew the longsword he had taken from one of the larger kobolds. The blade slid free with a quiet hiss, and he began to circulate his mana according to his method.

  “Hold until they commit,” Carter said calmly. He held his shield forward and prepared to meet the swarm.

  The goblins shrieked as they descended, emboldened when the humans held their ground.

  Twenty yards.

  Ten.

  Then the world tightened.

  Harold sensed it first from the man beside him, then the next. The familiar stirring coursed beneath his skin. Mana, answering his command, surged inward like breath after a steep ascent. Ren, grinning beside Harold, tightened his grip on his sword. Corwin, at Ren's side, moved with light steps. As mana sheathed their blades, the air sharpened. The blades sang as the group advanced.

  Harold took one last look around at his guard as their postures lowered and balance settled.

  A faint distortion shimmered along the edges of their weapons, as though the steel had remembered it was meant to end things. Harold could hear the blades as they sliced through the air, even over the shrieks of the goblins.

  “Forward,” Carter said quietly.

  Suddenly, where the line was calm and prepared to meet the goblins' charge, they flowed into the swarm instead. A measured advance that stole the goblins’ momentum before it could meet their shields.

  The first goblin lunged at Harold, blade aloft, driven by wild fervor, not skill. He stepped inside its reach and slashed across its throat. His mana-clad blade sliced through effortlessly. Hot blood spattered the dirt, and he moved to the next.

  To his right, Carter fought with an economy that bordered on insulting. His sword flashed out with inhuman speed to cut into one before reversing and killing another.

  One goblin fell to a short, efficient thrust. Another lost an arm before realizing the spear haft driving past its guard was no feint, but the prelude to death.

  The spearman anchored the left, reach, keeping four goblins dancing backward until the third tried to slip inside. The butt of the spear drove into its chest hard enough to empty its lungs before the blade finished the conversation.

  Elsewhere, short swords flashed in tight arcs. Their wielders stepped through openings as though the field were measured beforehand. Shields bashed out, slamming into small bodies and throwing goblins back. The legionaries moved through the swarm without missing a beat.

  Despite varied weapons and tactics, the results were the same. The goblins’ charge dissolved into chaos. Some rushed for the wagons but were quickly stopped. One fell to a maul. The carpenter, used to splitting wood, dispatched a goblin with ease.

  Harold cut another down and pivoted just in time to see Carter shoulder one aside to keep the line from bunching.

  The centurion, Carter, spoke in an almost conversational tone: “Keep spacing.”

  The remaining goblins faltered, and with their momentum gone, courage followed. One turned first, then another.

  “Two running,” someone called.

  “Let them,” Carter replied, as one legionnaire drew back his spear and launched it, sending it rocketing through the body of one of the goblins who was running away.

  “Or not,” Carter said, chuckling. The legionnaire had the grace to look sheepish as he moved to recover the spear lodged in the earth.

  Harold watched the one that got away run back toward the hill, shrieking warnings that would carry farther than their courage had. Silence settled quickly once the last body hit the ground.

  Eight guards stood among the dead, breathing steady, blades bloodied but controlled. What would have panicked others was mere routine for them. They no longer feared small goblin swarms.

  Behind them, civilians stared. They were accustomed to the scene after days on the road. This had become routine, lessening their anxiety. Harold’s guard, some of the Legion’s most skilled fighters and mana users, proved their prowess as they cut through the horde. The civilians observed this quiet skill as they began recovery tasks.

  Carter wiped his blade on a scrap of cloth and glanced toward the ridge.

  “Scouts will push that hill and try to find that den. We’ll mark it to be eliminated when Captain Hale and Centurion Raul march back,” Carter said. Then, looking to Harold, he added, “Small raid, likely testing the road.”

  Harold nodded once, “Yes, but it worries me that it’s been so often. This path will be well-traveled and needs to be safe. We need a more comprehensive survey of these hills. Our scouts are missing too much.”

  He knew it couldn't be helped, though; expansion meant being seen, and they were beginning to really project power out from the Landing.

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

  From here, he could see the site selected for the village, many miles ahead. Then he looked back at the bodies cooling in the grass.

  “Let’s get the column moving again,” he said as his people gathered anything useful from the bodies. They couldn’t let anything go to waste, not even poor goblin metal. It could still be repurposed.

  Harold sighed as Carter and his guard formed up around him again, and the march began anew. The Tatanka bellowed and began pulling hard at the wagons as if they knew it was almost over as well, and the kilometers began to melt.

  The hills gradually softened as they pressed onward. Sharper ridges gave way to long, sloping ground rolling toward the basin. The air grew heavier the farther they descended. It carried the smell of damp soil and slow water. Even before the river came into view, its presence was felt in greener brush and thicker grass pushing up along the path.

  The road Centurion Raul had cut held firm, though wagon wheels sank slightly deeper with every mile. Drivers adjusted without complaint, guiding their teams with the quiet competence that had become routine over the last several days.

  From a rise, Harold could finally see it more clearly: a wide band of silver cutting through the land. Beyond it, smoke curled lazily into the afternoon sky. Refugees had already started staking their claim. Even at this distance, he saw people hauling timber, unloading wagons, and the early bones of a settlement taking shape. It was exactly where planners intended. He could spot legionaries helping from afar; their armor made them conspicuous.

  Margaret stepped up beside the wagon, one gloved hand resting on the side rail as she matched their pace with surprising ease.

  “You’ve been quiet,” she observed.

  Harold closed the forum pane, hovering faintly at the edge of his vision.

  “Mmm… been reading.”

  Her eyebrow lifted slightly. “Anything I missed?”

  “It’s overwhelmingly positive,” he admitted. “More than I expected.”

  “That tends to happen when someone hands people a way to stop dying, we told you to make that post earlier,” she said dryly.

  He allowed himself the smallest nod. “I will allow that you may have been right. I am struggling to decide what I should do. If I avoid changing humanity outside the basin, events may play out as before. Then, I could try to stop them before they happen. Or I could try to lift humanity up, help people change their own fates this time.”

  He shrugged his shoulders, adjusting how his armor sat on him as he looked at Margaret walking next to him. “It’s a difficult argument either way. How do you make people listen?”

  The post had spread faster than anything he had written so far. Lords, Crafters, and independent groups surviving without a Lord were passing it along. The section outlining monster indicators and preventative measures had drawn particular attention.

  “Many of them are calling me ‘The Potion Lord’ now,” Harold said, the faintest hint of disbelief threading his voice.

  Margaret’s lips twitched. “It could be worse, and you are selling potions.”

  “I’m sure it will be before long,” Harold muttered.

  “It always is,” Margaret said with a smile. “As long as they listen when you speak, does it matter though?”

  He shifted his focus back to scroll through more of the responses.

  “There are detractors,” he continued. “A few insist the claims are exaggerated. Others say no single settlement could have the production capacity I described for advancing to a town.”

  “People distrust competence they didn’t witness,” Margaret replied calmly. “Especially when it arrives before they are ready to accept it. Most are probably doing it on purpose to stop your influence. Lords have begun to stabilize, allowing them to scheme. It has been harder to connect with people from my old network. Loyalties are shifting.”

  Harold flicked past several arguments that seemed to loop endlessly and unresolved.

  “Some are trying to turn it into a debate rather than guidance,” Harold murmured.

  Margaret snorted, “Harold, I know you have placed this burden on your own shoulders. Some kind of chosen one sent back to save humanity from killing itself. You need to know that you won't be able to save everyone.” Margaret said as she looked at his face as he scrolled through the replies.

  He paused on one reply, expanding it.

  “This one is interesting.”

  Margaret waited.

  “A lord two regions east of us implemented the gnoll safety measures. Extended scout screens and concealed their watch post scents with a blend of plants we used last time, or just simple waste. He claims casualties dropped to almost zero within a week as they were able to notice the gnolls attempting to sneak in and raid the village.”

  She nodded once. “I saw that one, if you keep reading. You will notice that he thanks you profusely in the post, along with some of his people too.”

  “He added that the only deaths they suffered were people who ignored orders and tried to prove they knew better,” Harold murmured again.

  “That will remain a constant across every region,” Margaret said without hesitation.

  Harold allowed the pane to close and looked again toward the growing cluster beside the river. One hall was almost already completed. It looked like it just needed the roof finished, but people were swarming over it to finish it.

  “It’s working,” he said quietly, “I’ll take it.”

  Margaret followed his gaze. “You have made a difference, even if you don't think it’s enough,” she said. “And I know you’re still conflicted about what to do with Sarah.”

  Margaret stopped and held Harold back as the column moved ahead, surging toward the small signs of life taking root. His guard held back and surrounded him as they were alone for the first time during the march. “There's been some unrest at the Landing today. Mark sent me a coded message on the Forum. A group of people from the second wave were sent to work in the mine because they had no other applicable skills and wouldn't take the oath. It seems they didn’t take the changes to your authority well, and you gaining a system-derived title didn't help. They knocked out the mine foreman on duty, who had taken the oath and was a Citizen. They stole a large amount of supplies and walked off into the forest, to live somewhere else, I guess? I don’t know what their plan actually was. The legionaries there didn't stop them because they just thought it was a group of people walking into the forest; their posts were all facing out. Not watching in. ”

  “It was a group that Lira came to me about a couple of times, but I never took it very seriously because there was nowhere else to go. I’m sorry I didn’t bring it up with you, Harold. The foreman would have died if Lira hadn't gotten a healing potion into him quickly enough, and they stole enough supplies and tools that they could make a real effort to start over. The production of mine will have a very noticeable decline until we can get more labor there.”

  Margaret saw it before he spoke.

  Emotion moved across Harold’s face too quickly to name, but the pressure that followed was unmistakable. The air itself seemed to tighten. She found herself leaning away before realizing she had done it.

  Harold could feel the phantom pain of the decisions he had once had to make, and they reminded him of the ones he was going to have to make here soon. And gods, he just felt tired.

  Next to him, Margaret watched as emotions flitted over Harold's face in rapid succession, and for the first time, as she watched him, she felt a quick flicker of fear surge through her. She could feel the anger that rolled off Harold. It was a physical pressure that forced her to lean away, then it was gone as quickly as it appeared. Harold’s eyes met hers, and the intensity of his gaze didn't belong on a man as young as he appeared. It was another reminder that this wasn't the 25-year-old man he appeared to be.

  Harold visibly mastered himself as their eyes met, and he continued walking, motioning for her to keep up. His guard fell into motion around the man, and Margaret could see Carter look at her, questioning what was going on. The alarm on his face was just as dramatic as Margaret herself felt.

  The column crested another gradual slope, and the sounds of the river finally reached them — a low, steady rush that seemed unconcerned with the struggles unfolding along its banks.

  Finally, Harold spoke…”I can’t allow a Citizen to be harmed. Not right after I declared that the sky would fall upon anyone who harmed a Citizen of the Landing. Already, I can feel the oath forcing me to make a decision.”

  Harold stopped on the small hill and looked down at the signs of life a couple of miles away. Below, the figures had begun to notice their approach. A few pointed. Others straightened from their work. Movement spread through the half-built camp. Harold’s eyes met Margaret's one more time, and the intensity of that gaze drilled through her. She was a tough woman who had done things she wasn’t proud of; not a lot scared her. But in that moment, she realized she had miscalculated Harold.

  “I realize we are still adjusting and learning in this new world, but we can not afford these setbacks. This can’t happen again,” Harold said simply. “Send the Thornwalkers after them. I trust you understand what I mean.”

  Margaret looked at the man…no…the Lord next to her, an aura of authority surrounded him as he declared consequences just like that. She had talked to many powerful people who had declared worse things easier than that; none of them had unsettled her this quickly... “Yes…My Lord.” Carter said nothing, but his grip tightened slightly on his hilt.

  He considered that, then glanced sideways at her. And as suddenly as the presence was there, it was gone. She could breathe and think more easily. Instead of the Lord he had been, he had disappeared, and the young man who had worried about his sister was back. The difference was stark, but she swore she would’t make that mistake again.

  He looked at her with a tired expression…”Let me know when it’s done…and he kept walking to catch up with the column that was getting close to the first village that the Landing would start.