The first profits from The Survivalist's Mercantile arrived not in a grand chest, but in a grimy pouch handed off by Griswold in the predawn gloom. Seventeen silver crowns and twelve coppers. A 34% return in one week. The market for "reliable, non-lethal gear" had been starving, and Kaelen had been the first to recognize the hunger.
He reinvested it all. The business was a new kind of system to optimize—a welcome respite from the politics of blood.
But Valerius, it seemed, had grown bored of ledgers and profit margins.
The summons came not as a voice, but as a physical pull. Kaelen was inspecting a new batch of salvaged kettle helms when his vision swam gold at the edges. A familiar, oppressive heat prickled his skin, localized to a disused storage tent at the edge of the market.
Inside, the God of War waited. His golden armor was muted, as if reflecting the drab canvas around him. The constellation in his helmet swirled slowly.
"YOUR LEDGER GROWS, LITTLE GHOST. SILVER AND GLORY. BUT A GENERAL MUST KNOW ALL BATTLEFIELDS. TODAY'S LESSON IS NOT LOGISTICS. IT IS TERROR."
Kaelen felt the world twist. The tent vanished. He stood, suddenly, on a windswept hill under a bruised twilight sky. Below, in a shallow valley, two forces were arrayed. To the left, a phalanx of soldiers in Count Vollmar's colors, their formation tight, banners limp in the still air. To the right, a ragged but larger host of "hill raiders"—the remnants of the force they'd scattered weeks ago, now reinforced, desperate, and furious.
[ SIMULATION LOADED: THE BATTLE OF BLEAK VALE ]
[ PARAMETERS: ]
· Forces: Vallmarian Army (Your Side) vs. United Hill Tribes (Enemy).
· Your Role: Strategic Observer. No direct control.
· Objective: Witness the engagement. Identify the breaking point.
[ VALERIUS'S INSTRUCTION: "WATCH THE MORALE BAR. NOT THE HEALTH ONE."]
This wasn't a memory. It was a projection. A divine war-game.
The battle began with a crash. The Vallmarian line held, shields locking. For ten minutes, it was a brutal, grinding slog. Kaelen's Logistics II parsed the data automatically. The Vallmarian side was better armored, better trained. They were winning the exchange of flesh. But their Morale, a visible green bar in his simulation-HUD, was dropping steadily, eroded by the sheer, screaming ferocity of the tribesmen.
Then, the breaking point.
From the rear of the tribal host, a new group emerged. Not warriors. Old men, women, children. They didn't carry swords. They carried drums, horns, and their own voices. They began a ululating, dissonant chant that slithered across the battlefield. It was a sound of pure, distilled hatred and grief.
[ ENEMY ABILITY ACTIVATED: 'Wail of the Mourning Peaks' ]
Effect: Area Morale Damage. Ignores Armor. Penalty: -2 to Willpower for all enemy units in range.
The Vallmarian line shuddered. The green Morale bar plummeted into yellow. A knight on the left flank, overcome, broke formation and charged wildly into the enemy, only to be pulled from his horse and butchered. His panic spread like a virus.
[ DOMINO EFFECT: MORALE COLLAPSE ]
Unit: 3rd Pike Company → Status: Routing.
Effect: Exposes flank of 2nd Sword Company.
In minutes, the orderly victory dissolved into a rout. The simulation froze, then rewound to the moment before the chant began.
Valerius stood beside him on the hill, his presence a furnace. "SEE? THEY WON THE SWING OF BLADES. THEY LOST THE SONG. FEAR IS A FORCE MULTIPLIER. SO IS ITS ABSENCE. YOUR TASK: GIVE THEM A SONG. NOT OF HATE. OF CERTAINTY."
The simulation reset. Kaelen was no longer an observer. A new interface glowed.
[ COMMAND MODE: ENGAGED ]
[ AVAILABLE RESOURCES: ]
· Unit Morale: Medium (Dropping).
· Commander's Presence (Jannik, On Field): Low.
· Your Tools: System Glitch Analysis II, Psychological Fog of War.
[ RESTRICTION: You cannot directly command troops. You can only influence perception and information.]
The battle began again. The grind. The falling morale bar. Kaelen watched, his mind racing. He couldn't create a magical inspiring speech. He could manipulate data.
He focused on the Vallmarian soldiers, on the flickering, intangible network of their collective spirit. He activated Psychological Fog of War, but reversed its intent. Instead of creating confusion for the enemy, he aimed to create clarity for his own side.
He couldn't change what they heard. He could change what they focused on.
He targeted the terrifying chant, not to silence it, but to attach a system label to it, visible only to the Vallmarian subconscious—a trickle of his glitch power.
To the straining pikemen, the wail suddenly felt… quantifiable. In their minds' eye, a faint, instinctual sense emerged: Enemy Morale Ability. Duration: Limited. Effect: Fear. Counter: Hold Formation.
It wasn't words. It was a gut understanding, implanted by system-level tampering.
[ GLITCH APPLICATION: 'TACTICAL LABELING' ]
Cost: 10% Focus per minute.
Effect: Reduces the impact of enemy psychological attacks by 25%. Allies perceive them as a battlefield condition, not an existential dread.
The Vallmarian morale bar stabilized. The drop slowed from a cliff-edge to a slope.
But it wasn't enough. The chant was still eroding them. Kaelen needed a positive vector. He looked at Jannik, a gold-highlighted figure in the melee, fighting bravely but silently. A resource going to waste.
He used his glitch again, a delicate, brutal edit. He subtly amplified the sound of Jannik's blade hitting an enemy shield, making it ring out clearer, sharper than the chaos around it. He linked that sound, in the perceptual field of the nearest soldiers, to a faint, subliminal pulse of green—the color of their own morale bar refilling a sliver.
Clang! (A micro-bump of resolve.)
Clang! (Another.)
He was turning his brother into a walking, fighting morale stim-pak.
[ UNCONVENTIONAL STRATAGEM: 'ANCHORED INSPIRATION' ]
Effect: A visible commander's successful actions now provide minor, area-of-effect morale regeneration.
The line held. The chant reached its crescendo and began to fade, its power spent. The Vallmarian troops, bewildered but unbroken, found their discipline returning. The momentum shifted. The simulation played out to a grim, costly victory, not a rout.
The hilltop dissolved. Kaelen was back in the storage tent, on his knees, sweat-drenched and nauseous, his mind feeling scraped raw. Using the glitch on that scale had been like performing brain surgery on a battlefield.
Valerius loomed over him, satisfaction radiating in waves.
"GOOD. YOU DID NOT FIGHT THE FEAR. YOU CATALOGUED IT. YOU GAVE THEM A HANDHOLD IN THE FLOOD. THIS IS A GENERAL'S TRUE WEAPON: THE MANAGEMENT OF SPIRIT. THE LEDGER APPROVES."
[ THE LEDGER OF GLORY - MAJOR ENTRY ]
ACTION: Won a simulated battle through psychological manipulation and systemic cheating, preventing a total morale collapse.
VALERIUS'S VERDICT: "YOU HAVE GRADUATED FROM SAVING MEN'S BODIES TO SAVING THEIR WILL TO FIGHT. THE HIGHEST FORM OF LOGISTICS. +300 GLORY."
[ VALERIUS'S INTEREST: 95/100 ]
[ NEW SKILL UNLOCKED: MORALE ARCHITECT (PASSIVE) ]
You intuitively understand the pillars of group spirit. You can now identify key 'anchor points' in a formation (a steadfast officer, a held banner) and predict how stress will propagate through the collective mind.
Kaelen stumbled out of the tent into the cool dawn air. The lesson had been less about terror, and more about the economy of hope—its scarcity, its value, and how to artificially inflate its supply.
He was heading back to the Falken camp when he saw the gathering. A different kind of dread, mundane and bureaucratic, was in the air. Lord Anselm's clerks were moving through the camp with scrolls, followed by grim-faced sergeants. Levies were being lined up and counted. Again.
Old Thom found him, his face ashen. "It's a culling, milord."
"A what?"
"The Count. The campaign's over, but the treasury's empty. They're cutting the levy. Sending half of us home. Today."
Sending home was a gentle term. It meant revoking the feudal obligation, yes. It also meant stripping these men of the meager pay and rations that were keeping their families alive through the winter. For the Falken levies, it was an economic death sentence.
Jannik was arguing with one of Anselm's men, his face red. "You cannot! These men are sworn to my house! Their service—"
"—is at the pleasure of the Count," the clerk finished, bored. "The pleasure has ended. Your house will retain a core of ten men for garrison duty. The rest are released. The decision is final."
Kaelen watched the line of despondent men. He saw the data his Logistics II now provided—not just their fatigue, but their Dependents, their Debt to the Manor, their Winter Survival Probability if discharged. The numbers were a column of red, failing stats.
This wasn't a battle of fear. It was a battle of futures. And Anselm's cold calculus had declared these men a deficit.
Then, a new screen, quiet and personal, appeared.
[ SIDE QUEST: THE MUSTER ROLL ]
OBJECTIVE: Retain the dismissed Falken levies under your banner.
CONSTRAINTS: No direct defiance of Count's order. No use of House Falken treasury (empty).
REWARD: 500 XP, Loyalty of 18 Veteran Levies, Unlock: Private Retinue System.
FAILURE: Economic devastation for Mournhold village. Loss of nascent reputation.
Kaelen looked at the broken men. He looked at the silver in his mind's eye, the growing capital of his mercantile. He looked at Griswold's stall, which needed guards against market thieves. He looked at the unsettled lands around Mournhold that could be… improved.
A plan, audacious and borderline treasonous, began to form. It wasn't about defying the order. It was about redefining the employer.
He walked to the head of the line, where the clerk was about to stamp the first dismissal parchment. He spoke clearly, for all to hear.
"These men. I'll take them."
The clerk blinked. "You don't understand, Lord Falken. They are being dismissed. They are going home."
"I understand perfectly," Kaelen said. He turned to face the levies—Old Thom, Piotr, the others he'd marched with. "The County's obligation is ended. Mine is not. I am forming a private company. For security, labor, and development. The pay is two silver a month, plus a meal a day. The contract is for one year. Who wants a job?"
Silence. Then, a stunned murmur. Private employment? From a noble's second son? With actual pay?
Old Thom was the first to step forward, his back straightening for the first time in weeks. "I'll sign, milord."
One by one, the others followed. They weren't swearing feudal oaths. They were accepting a business proposal.
The clerk sputtered, but could find no law against it. The men were being discharged. What they did after was their own affair.
Jannik stared at his brother, a maelstrom of confusion, resentment, and dawning, horrified understanding on his face. Kaelen wasn't just saving men. He was collecting them. Building a power base not on land or title, but on contracts and silver.
[ QUEST COMPLETE: THE MUSTER ROLL ]
[ STATUS: Unorthodox Success ]
REWARD: 500 XP, Loyalty of 18 Veteran Levies, Private Retinue System UNLOCKED.
[ NEW SYSTEM: PRIVATE RETINUE ]
Members: 18
Cohesion: Medium (Grateful)
Upkeep: 36 Silver/Month + Rations.
Capabilities: Basic Labor, Guard Duty, Militia Training (Available).
As the clerk stormed off and the newly-minted "Falken Retinue" stood in a loose, bewildered group, Kaelen felt the weight of the ledger shift. He was no longer just a tool, or a schemer.
He was now, technically, a proprietor. A commander of his own tiny, paid-for army.
The greatest general, he realized, might not be the one who served the king. He might be the one who signed the paychecks.