Harold found the glassmaker near the edge of the settlement, standing where someone had already cleared a space and marked it with stakes.The man was older, lean, hands scarred in the specific way that came from heat rather than blades. He had a small bundle of tools laid out on a cloth and was staring at the ground, as if he were already imagining what would sit there."Morning," Harold said. "How long until you can be producing vials?"The glassmaker looked up, surprised, then squinted at him. "Vials," he repeated.The man studied him for a moment longer than polite.Harold remained still, unfazed by the scrutiny."I thought this was a new settlement," the glassmaker said finally.""How can any of you already be talking about potions"Harold smiled, just a little. "We're starting early.""That much is obvious," the glassmaker muttered.He crouched and ran a hand over the dirt. "A couple of days," he said after a moment. "Maybe three. I'll need to get a furnace up and running first. There are far more people here than I expected.""That's fine," Harold said. "We got organized early. It helps that a few of us came here together. What do you need to get up and running?""Fuel," the glassmaker replied immediately. "Charcoal, preferably. Wood'll work short-term, but it's messy. Sand we can source locally if the stream's clean enough. Ash for flux. People to help get the building thrown up."Harold nodded. "Fuel's already being worked. I'll make sure you're prioritized for help getting the furnace going, but your building might have to wait a little longer. I'll talk to Beth and Josh."The man looked up again, curiosity sharpening. "You're planning to go through a lot of glass."Harold studied him for a moment. He could see the marks of a hard life etched into the man's hands. Fingers that didn't quite straighten. Burn scars peeking out from under his sleeves—old damage, poorly healed.Harold paused, his expression serious. "I'm planning to go through a lot of potions," Harold said. "Which means a lot of vials. The ingredients aren't easy to come by, and the process to perfect them cost more than a few failures," he added, a shadow of past struggles crossing his face. "Turn out good work for me, and I'll make potions to fix those fingers. The scars, too, if you want."The glassmaker scoffed, eyes glazing slightly. "Bah. Promises like that have been made before. Lords use crafters until they're worn out. You're all the same."Harold didn't argue; he reached down and pulled a strand of grass out of the ground to hide the shake in his hands. The old glassmakers hit a deep chord in Harold.Instead, he said, "For healing draughts, I'll need borosilicate blends, not soda-lime. Think of borosilicate as the armor that shields the potion. Standard glass leaches when exposed to active reagents, especially anything with regenerative properties. If it clouds, the potion's already degrading."The man stilled."I'll need narrow-neck vials," Harold continued, "fire-polished lips, no microfractures. Any stress points, and the mana circulation destabilizes during cooling. Flat bottoms won't do either. Slight convex. Keeps sediment from settling unevenly."The glassmaker stared at him now."For higher-tier work," Harold added, "I'll need layered glass. Inner vial treated with ash flux and trace copper, outer shell thicker for insulation. If you don't anneal long enough, the potion fractures itself before it ever gets used." Rimi shifted slightly, his fingers brushing over his tools with a newfound ease, signifying his growing trust. His shoulders, which had been tense, gradually relaxed, suggesting that Harold's knowledge resonated with him.Silence stretched.The glassmaker broke it first. "You've brewed before," he said slowly."A couple times." Harold chuckled."And you've lost batches," the man pressed."Many times, yes," Harold said.That earned a quiet, humorless laugh."No Lord ever talked to me about glass like that," the glassmaker said. "They just said 'make it stronger' and blamed me when it broke."Harold shrugged. "Then they didn't understand the process."The glassmaker looked down at his hands, flexing his stiff fingers without realizing it."Get me my furnace," he said after a moment. "Get me clean sand and real charcoal. I'll give you vials that won't fail you."Harold nodded. "That's all I'm asking. My name is Harold." He said, holding his hand out to shake. "I'll do my best not to abuse you, but you know how it goes sometimes. We Lords only know how to send demands to the crafters." Harold said with a smile.The glassmaker spoke again, quieter this time."My name is Rimi. If you can really fix this," he said, shaking his hand, "then maybe you're not all the same."Harold paused. "We'll find out in a few days."And for the first time since arriving, the glassmaker smiled like he believed it might actually be true.As he turned to leave, the glassmaker called after him. "You planning on selling those potions?"Harold looked at him, deciding how much to tell the man. "Some of them, yes, after our needs here are satisfied. And I'm looking to teach others how to make them."The man shook his head, half amused, half impressed. "The world hasn't even settled yet, and you're already cornering markets. I'm your man, my Lord."Harold paused just long enough to reply. "Someone will. Might as well be us, thank you, Rimi. I'll be counting on you."He left the glassmaker to his measurements and stepped back into the noise of the village, already ticking off the next task.Harold followed the sound of water before he saw it.The creek cut cleanly through the trees, shallow but steady, its banks already worn down by traffic. Harold noted with satisfaction how someone had done efficient work clearing brush and setting stones where the footing was worst. He mentally ranked the sturdiness of the banks and the flow of water, assessing their suitability for future projects. The water was exceptionally clear, enough to see small fish darting near the bottom, an ideal resource for the settlement. It reminded him of pristine mountain streams from before, rare and precious. To Harold, this was not just a source of water but a foundation for more sustainable infrastructure, a potential for gravity-fed systems ran through his mind, weighing the feasibility of each observation.A work crew had claimed one side of the bank. Clothes were laid out on flat rocks, scrubbed clean with ash, and rinsed downstream. Someone had figured out to stagger the washing so soap and grime didn't foul the intake area.Better.On the opposite bank, a line of kids stretched back toward the settlement, each carrying whatever could hold water—mostly hollowed out tree trunks that needed a couple of kids to move. Harold had seen someone managing a line of tree trunks being hollowed out by fire. They moved carefully, splashing more than they should, laughing when someone lost their footing and soaked themselves anyway.Harold stood there longer than he meant to. This was working, but it was fragile. Every trip was time. Every spill was a wasted effort. Every kid hauling water was a kid not doing something safer, and Harold didn't see anyone patrolling this far from the settlement. These kids would be the future of the settlement when they came of age at 16. At least they were laughing for now, though, instead of panicking. Kids are resilient.He added it to the list in his head.Aqueduct.Piping.Gravity-fed if possible.Doesn't have to be pretty. Just reliable.One of the kids noticed him and froze, sloshing water dangerously close to the rim."Careful," Harold said. "You're almost there."The kid nodded vigorously and hurried off, pride written all over his face.Harold walked closer to the water and crouched, letting it run over his hands. Cold and clean. Someone nearby cleared their throat. "My lord?"He looked up to see a woman from the washing crew, sleeves rolled up, hands red from the water."You're keeping the wash downstream," Harold said. "Good thinking."She smiled, surprised. "Didn't want anyone getting sick.""Keep it up," he said. "And if anyone starts washing higher up, send them my way. These roughspun clothes you are all wearing. How many washes do you think they can handle before they fall apart?She snorted softly. "Two, maybe three if we're lucky."She wrung out a shirt with practiced hands. "They weren't made to last. They were made to exist. After that, they fray, then they tear. Wash them too hard, and they won't even make it that far."Harold nodded. "So we need replacements.""We need looms," she said immediately. "And time. And people who know how to mend instead of throwing things away. If we could weave herringbone or twill, those would be strong enough to last beyond just a few washes."She glanced back at the creek. "Until then, we wash gently, and we don't waste soap.""That's fair," Harold said.She looked back at him, eyes steady. "You get me cloth and needles, my lord, and I'll make sure nobody's walking around naked in a month."Harold smiled faintly. "I'll add it to the list."She smirked. "That list must be something else."Harold straightened and looked back toward the settlement. Smoke rose in thin lines. Hammers rang faintly. The line of kids kept moving.It worked for now, but it wasn't long-term.He turned away from the creek, already thinking through stone channels, hollowed logs, and how much labor it would take to stop carrying water by hand.Another item on the list.Harold had just opened his mouth to ask where a decent place to wash up might be when he felt his heart stutter and a cold sweat break out across his skin. A familiar pressure settled in behind his eyes as a panel slid into view.WORLD FIRST ACHIEVEMENTMONSTER DEN CLEAREDPERK GAINED: QUICK START (Epic)Accelerated Training DoctrineAll soldiers under your command gain +10% training efficiency. Drill time, formation practice, and skill acquisition require less repetition.Lowered Perk ThresholdAll soldiers under your command have a 10% reduced perk requirement threshold.A second panel followed immediately.REGIONAL FIRST ACHIEVEMENTMONSTER DEN CLEAREDPerk Gained: Disciplined Soldiers (Rare)All soldiers under your command gain +5% Discipline.The panels hovered, waiting.Harold exhaled slowly.Hale had been successful. Now it just depended on the cost.The thought came unbidden. Even with some losses, these perks would be worth it.He stopped himself immediately.That was a dangerous line of thinking. The kind that led people to start counting bodies as acceptable losses rather than trusting him to make better choices.He dismissed the panels and straightened. He needed to be there when they got back.The bath could wait. Tonight, the soldiers would get double portions. They had earned that much, at least. "Wish we had some beer….dam, maybe I should move that up the schedule, we could all use a beer after this," Harold murmured.And tomorrow, he'd make sure earning perks never became the reason people died.
