Chirp. Chirp.
Sunlight slanted through the window in thin, dusty beams, striking my face with a cold insistence. I groaned, turned my head, and then memory hit me like a hammer.
Upgrades.
Bare feet slapped against the cold stone as I bolted down the stairs. My stomach protested, but I ignored it. Hunger could wait; the village wouldn't upgrade itself.
The underground hall breathed around me, shadows stretching along the walls. The crystal hovered at its center, rotating slowly, almost deliberately, its light fractured into shards that danced across the chamber like pale fire on water. When I pressed my palm to its surface, a chill seeped into my skin. The world peeled away.
Beneath me, the village lay still, quiet, waiting. Roofs and paths arranged with geometric precision, chimneys wisping lazy smoke, the soft clatter of life paused mid-motion. The Town Hall waited at the center, its presence commanding even from this height.
I selected it.
Gold vanished in a blink.
Stone groaned, bending and twisting as if briefly liquid, walls stretching, corners sharpening. Seams closed with a low, grinding hum, almost sentient. When it settled, the Town Hall loomed taller, broader at the base, heavier in presence—as if it had always belonged at the heart of the village.
Town Hall: Level 3.
Instant. No scaffolding. No builders shouting orders. No restless nights staring at a clock, wondering if gems were worth it. The crystal pulsed brighter, new options unfurling like doors cracking just enough to reveal secrets.
Good.
I turned to the cannon nearby. It was clean, but had dulled from years of neglect.
'Alright, baby,' I murmured. 'Do you know how long I've been waiting for this?'
Light wrapped around it in tight bands, metal stretching and thickening with a resonant, almost alive ring. The barrel lengthened, the base widened, and when the glow faded, it stood solid, proud, balanced. Both cannons flanked the Town Hall symmetrically. For the first time, the village looked intentional—not just functional, but defensible.
Another bite out of my gold.
At the edges of my vision, icons hovered: army camp, bombs, laboratory… and a mortar. I winced. Expensive. Massive. Necessary.
The mortar slammed into place with a weighty thud, barrel angled skyward like a challenge. I imagined its shells arcing through the air, landing with bone-rattling impact. Crude, unforgiving, devastating. Flaws? Of course. A dead zone at the base, slow reload. But power always demanded a price.
'One more, then I'll stop.'
The barracks upgrade came last.
When it finished, I leaned back and exhaled. From a healthy 18,000 gold, I was down to a meagre 2,500. A pauper, by noble standards, but I couldn't care less. I am stronger now.
I withdrew my hand from the crystal. The hall dimmed, and the village snapping back into motion. The paths were alive: farmers hauling baskets, a dog chasing a cartwheel, children darting between legs, merchants arguing loudly over prices. The world felt awake, vibrant.
My legs stiffened from the stairs as I emerged into the cool morning air. Hunger had clawed its way back into my awareness, and it demanded food.
After a rushed meal, and a half-hearted attempt at washing myself up, I walked through the village toward the barracks.
It stood apart from the bustle, simple stone walls and thick wooden beams concealing the impossible within. Through elixir, and intent, it bent reality pulling into existence living, breathing troops.
Compared to towers they might seem low-tier. Sure. But their power was no less real.
There were rules. Always rules.
You needed elixir.
You needed the card.
Your Town Hall had to be high enough.
Right now, my options were limited.
With just over 3,000 elixir, I could summon an archer… or a barbarian.
Gwen and Aelig already guarded the Archer Tower. Another archer wouldn't do much. A barbarian, though… that sould shift the balance.
I stepped inside and activated the summon.
The doors thundered shut. Lavender light spilled through the seams of the stone. Restless and flickering, they cast long, dancing shadows across the chamber. The air thickened, humming with power, as though the room itself had begun to sing in a low, ancient register.
Time stretched...
Then.
A breath, deep and thunderous, rolled through the hall.
The light folded inward like a collapsing storm, and a figure stood where moments before there had been nothing.
He was massive. With broad shoulders, and a chest carved from stone. Limbs thick with sinew and motion-ready muscle. His skin was pale, sun-kissed, streaked with scars that told quiet tales of battles survived—slashes from steel, burns kissed by flame, old wounds healed by raw endurance.
Golden hair tumbled wildly in uneven waves down his head, catching the light like a living fire. His strong jaw, magnificent moustache, heavy brow, and sharp azure eyes spoke of struggle and instinct, not softness. Life honed from survival, and combat.
A sword rested in his hand. Not polished. Not noble. Worn and nicked, a blade meant to cleave, not finesse. He gripped it naturally, like it had always belonged there.
The barbarian inhaled deeply, chest rising like bellows. Stance widened, feet planting against the stone. Not aggression. Readiness. Motion and violence were his language, and the world was expected to answer in kind.
His gaze swept the room, wild and appraising. When it found me, his eyes narrowed—measuring distance, intent.
A low sound rumbled from his chest: not a growl, not a roar, but the pulse of something alive, untamed, and dangerous, like distant thunder before a storm breaks.
I held up a hand, trying for calm. "Easy there… I'm not here to fight." The barbarian's shoulders twitched, eyes scanning me like a storm about to break.
"Uh… we're… okay," I muttered. Heart hammering. "See? No traps. No tricks."
A low rumble vibrated from his chest. I prayed he was simply curious, and not hostile.
I pulled back slowly. Hands now clenched, my heart hammered violently in my chest. "Good. That's… good."
I guess the sound and my actions anchored him. Tension in the room eased by degrees. His taunt shoulders lowered slightly. The sword dipped, though his grip never slackened. Confusion flickered across his expression, brief and unguarded, as if waking from a dream forged of fire and steel. Not calm. But awake. That was enough.
I guided him outside slowly. It was late afternoon, the warm, orange sun had started to dip below the horizon. Everyone was relaxed, winding down from a day of work, yet the moment he stepped out from the barracks the village reacted instantly. Conversations faltered, tools paused mid-swing, dogs yipped, and a child dropped a basket of apples. A few braver, or more foolish onlookers leaned closer. Their eyes wide with awe and unease. No one tried to stop us.
At the empty army camp, the barbarian wandered, boots scuffing the dirt, sword dragging behind him. He sniffed the air, flexed massive shoulders, let out a low, throat-deep rumble that vibrated across the soil. Not defending, not attacking. Simply testing the world.
Still, his presence mattered. The atmosphere was proof enough.
As I stood there, watching a man born less than an hour ago pace beneath the open sky, pain flared behind my eyes. My crown tightened. The world flashed red. The sensation passed quickly—but left me unsteady.
"Chief!"
I turned to see Timothy sprinting toward me, breath ragged, face pale beneath dust.
Timothy skidded to a stop, chest heaving.
"Chief… there's… uh, a carriage at the gate."
"A carriage?" I asked, narrowing my eyes.
"Yeah… real fancy. Folks inside… they said you should 'stand ready for arrival.' Something like that. Too much fancy talk, I didn't catch it all."
I frowned. "And they expect me to just… wait?"
Timothy swallowed hard. "Apparently... Feels like trouble, sir."
I stiffened instantly, echo of the crown's warning still ringing in my skull. It was as if the air was getting colder around me.
This is going to be a terrible night