The goblin formation hit like a battering ram.

  It wasn't the scattered rush of tutorial creatures. This was military discipline, crude but effective. The front ranks carried wooden shields reinforced with scavenged metal, creating a wall that absorbed the initial javelin throws from the desperate defenders. Behind them, spear goblins thrust through gaps with mechanical precision. Hobgoblins directed it all, bellowing orders in their guttural tongue and pointing with iron swords at weak points in the human lines.

  Jonah watched the eastern section collapse first.

  A group of maybe thirty survivors, with no clear leader, had positioned themselves near the old basketball courts. They'd formed something resembling a line, but the spacing was inconsistent—too tight in some places and gaps wide enough to drive a cart through in others. When the goblin shields slammed into them, the formation crumpled.

  Screaming erupted. Human screams.

  A man went down with a spear through his thigh. A woman tried to drag him back and took a goblin blade across her forearm. The line didn't just break—it shattered, and people scattered in every direction while goblins poured through the gap.

  Jonah's jaw clenched. He couldn't help them; his line needed him here. Splitting attention would cost more lives than it saved.

  "Eyes front!" he barked at the fighters near him who'd turned toward the chaos. "They're dead if we're dead. Focus!"

  The northern line held, but only barely.

  Goblin shields crashed against human defenders with bone-jarring force. Jonah felt the impact travel through the formation, and people stumbled backward, trying to absorb momentum they weren't prepared for. A gap started opening between two shield-bearers as their footing slipped.

  "Close that gap! Rotate!" Jonah grabbed a fighter's shoulder, physically moving him into position. "You—forward. You—step back. Rest for sixty seconds, then you're back in."

  The line stabilized. Spears thrust forward over the shield wall, finding green flesh. Goblins shrieked and fell, but more pressed forward, climbing over their dead.

  A flash of green light came from the goblin rear. Shaman magic.

  The bolt streaked toward the human line, trailing sickly luminescence. Jonah's mana sense screamed a warning half a second before impact.

  "Scatter left!"

  Three fighters dove aside. The bolt struck the earth where they'd stood, and the grass blackened in a perfect circle, withering to ash in seconds. Acid magic. The fumes alone would've burned lungs.

  "Mages! Counter those shamans!" Jonah pointed toward the robed figures in the goblin rear. "Suppression fire, don't let them cast freely!"

  Humanity's magical contingent was thin. Maybe a dozen people in his section had unlocked mage classes, and most were still figuring out how their abilities worked. But three of them responded, hurling mana bolts toward the shaman positions.

  The attacks flew wide. One struck a regular goblin, killing it instantly. Another dissipated against a magical barrier one of the shamans had erected. The third missed entirely.

  But it forced the shamans to react. Their next castings came slower and more cautious, aimed at the mages instead of the infantry line.

  It needed to be good enough.

  "Keep them busy! You don't need to kill them, just make them defend!"

  The battle dissolved into grinding chaos. Jonah moved constantly, correcting positions, rotating exhausted fighters, and identifying threats before they materialized. His Tactical Assessment skill fed him a constant stream of information: weak points in the goblin formation, areas where his line was about to buckle, and timing windows for counterattacks.

  Another shaman bolt streaked in, targeting the shield wall directly.

  "Shields up! Brace!"

  The defenders raised their shields just as the acid struck. Metal sizzled, wood smoked, but the formation held. The fighter who'd taken the brunt of the attack stumbled back, his shield arm shaking.

  "You're done. Medical station, now. Someone fill that gap!" Jonah pushed him toward the rear.

  A woman with a spear stepped forward, locking into position with surprising competence. Jonah recognized her as one of the construction workers who'd arrived with the second wave—built like someone who actually used her muscles.

  "Hold that spot," he told her. "Don't overextend."

  "Got it." Her voice was steady, fear present but controlled.

  The western section was struggling. Jonah could see it from his position: another group without clear leadership, trying to fight as individuals instead of a unit. Goblins exploited every gap, every moment of hesitation, and bodies were starting to pile up.

  He couldn't help them directly.

  "Runner!" Jonah grabbed a teenage boy who'd been lingering at the medical station. "Get to the west line. Find whoever's closest to being in charge. Tell them to tighten formation and stop trying to kill goblins individually. Defensive posture until they stabilize."

  The kid's face was pale, but he nodded and sprinted off.

  Maybe it would help, maybe it wouldn't. Jonah turned back to his own section.

  The goblin press intensified. More of the creatures poured in from the corrupted streets, reinforcing their assault. The initial raiding party had been a vanguard; the main force was arriving now.

  Jonah drew his sword. "Second line, prepare to rotate! On my signal, front line steps back, second line steps forward. Clean exchange, no gaps."

  Tired fighters gripped their weapons tighter, and fresh reserves—relatively fresh, anyway—moved into position.

  "Now!"

  The exchange happened with something approaching discipline. The front line stepped back, the second line stepped forward, shields locking into place before the goblins could exploit the transition. Not perfect, but functional.

  Then the hobgoblins hit.

  Three of them crashed into the shield wall with force that dwarfed regular goblins. Bigger, stronger, and smarter, they aimed for the seams in the formation, where shields didn't quite overlap. One of them battered through a defender's guard entirely, sword cleaving downward.

  The man's scream cut off abruptly.

  "Shock troops!" Jonah's voice carried across the chaos. "Breach at center-left! Plug it now!"

  Liam was already moving.

  The kid burst through the second line like a launched projectile, both daggers drawn, his face set in an expression Jonah remembered from veterans three times his age. Blade Sense at Advanced rank meant Liam perceived the combat differently than everyone else, not just seeing attacks but feeling the rhythm of violence that governed close-quarters fighting.

  The hobgoblin that had killed the defender turned toward this new threat. Its sword came around in a sweeping strike meant to bisect the charging human.

  Liam wasn't there.

  The boy's movement was instinctive, a slip-step that took him inside the hobgoblin's reach before the attack could develop momentum. His daggers found the gaps in the crude armor: one in the armpit, one in the throat.

  The hobgoblin gurgled and fell.

  But Liam's momentum had carried him too far forward, and goblins surrounded him, pressing in from all sides.

  David arrived like a boulder.

  The Guardian's shield slammed into goblins with bone-breaking force, creating a pocket of space around Liam. His sword work was economical: no flashy attacks, just precise strikes that kept enemies at bay while he anchored the position.

  "Back up!" David shouted. "Form on me!"

  Wavering defenders responded. Something about David's presence steadied them; the Guardian class provided subtle bonuses to nearby allies, psychological reinforcement that turned panic into determination.

  John crashed into the goblin flank.

  The Defender moved like a wall with momentum, shield leading and sword following. He didn't try to kill, he displaced, shoving goblins aside and creating chaos in their formation while the others exploited the openings.

  The breach sealed.

  Jonah watched it happen with something approaching satisfaction. His shock troops worked as a unit, each playing their role and covering weaknesses that would've killed them individually. Three days of intensive training paying dividends in blood and iron.

  But the battle wasn't won; it was barely begun.

  Another shaman bolt streaked toward the line, this one different, trailing dark fog instead of acid green. Curse magic.

  "Disperse!"

  The defenders scattered, but the bolt didn't need direct contact. It struck the earth and detonated into a cloud of black mist that spread across a ten-meter radius. People caught in the fog started screaming, dropping weapons to clutch at their heads.

  Jonah's mana sense analyzed the effect automatically: Despair curse. Magical depression that made fighting feel pointless, that whispered surrender was the only option.

  "It's not real! The feelings aren't real! Push through!" He shouted.

  Some did, others curled up on the ground, sobbing.

  The goblins surged forward, exploiting the gap.

  Jonah's mana core pulsed. He drew on the small reservoir he'd accumulated, channeling energy through the pathways he'd developed across forty-nine years of practice. The power was laughable compared to what he'd once wielded—a candle flame instead of the volcano it had been.

  It would have to be enough.

  Jonah activated his Mana Blade.

  Blue energy coated his short sword, extending the blade's reach by half a meter and sharpening the edge beyond anything physical steel could achieve. The technique was basic, barely more than a starter skill, but Jonah's understanding of mana manipulation turned even basic techniques into something more.

  He hit the goblin line like a thunderbolt.

  The first goblin died before it registered his approach. The second managed to raise its shield—Jonah's blade sheared through wood and metal like paper, continuing into the creature's skull. The third tried to stab him; he pivoted, let the spear pass, and removed the goblin's weapon arm.

  Precision and timing they could not deal with.

  Forty-nine years of combat experience compressed into movements that baseline humans couldn't match. Jonah knew where attacks would come before they launched. Knew where to place his feet, his blade, his body, and more. Every motion served a purpose.

  Goblins fell in droves.

  He carved a path through their formation wide, creating breathing room for the defenders behind him to recover. The curse fog was dispersing now, people shaking off the magical despair as he demonstrated that victory was possible.

  A hobgoblin officer recognized the threat. It bellowed orders, redirecting goblins toward this single human who was cutting through their ranks.

  Jonah welcomed the attention.

  Let them focus on him. Let them commit forces to stopping one man. Every goblin chasing him was a goblin not killing defenders.

  He retreated before they could surround him, bladework never stopping. Step back, strike, step back, strike. Controlled withdrawal that left bodies in his wake.

  The line reformed behind him.

  "Close it up! Shields forward!" Martinez's voice cut through the chaos. The former Marine had taken command of the section Jonah had abandoned, keeping the formation tight.

  Good. Trusting your people was just as important as leading them.

  Jonah disengaged from the goblin pursuit, circling wide toward the eastern edge of the battlefield. His mana reserves were dropping. Mana Blade consumed energy with each strike, and he'd already spent more than he should.

  But he'd seen what he needed to see.

  The goblin command structure was visible now. Officers positioned throughout the formation, directing movements, exploiting weaknesses. And behind them, protected by rings of elite guards, the shamans continued their magical assault.

  Kill the leaders. The rest would crumble.

  Jonah moved away from the main battle and around it, skirting the edges where combat was thinnest, using corrupted buildings as cover. His footwork skills kept him silent, blending evasive and aggressive footwork into something that wasn't quite either. Ghost movement, the kind that made enemies' eyes slide past without registering.

  A goblin patrol spotted him anyway. Three of them, carrying better weapons than the front-line fodder.

  Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

  Jonah didn't slow down.

  The first died to a thrust through the eye socket. The second managed a swing that he deflected and countered, blade finding the gap between helmet and collar. The third turned to run, to raise alarm.

  His thrown dagger caught it in the spine.

  Jonah kept moving.

  The goblin rear wasn't empty. Supply carriers, wounded being dragged back, reserves waiting for deployment. More guards than he'd expected. The hobgoblin commander wasn't stupid. It had positioned protection for their magical assets.

  Jonah counted the threats to his mission's completion. Eight guards around the shaman cluster. Three more patrolling the perimeter. A hobgoblin that looked bigger than the others, better armored, carrying a sword that actually gleamed with magical enhancement.

  I finally found him. The raid leader.

  His mana reserves were at maybe thirty percent. Enough for another minute of sustained Mana Blade, or a few high-intensity attacks.

  He chose high intensity.

  The first guard died without knowing he was under attack. Jonah emerged from behind a supply pile, blade taking the goblin through the throat, and was moving before the body fell. The second guard died much the same way. Only a goblin that had been moving past caught sight of the action.

  It screamed and the shouts of alarm echoed in the area.

  The remaining guards converged on him.

  Jonah's Enhanced Reflexes triggered. He felt the same thing when he fought Derek. Time feeling lethargic. But he knew better. It was nothing but an increase in perception and reaction time. Processing information faster than baseline human neurology allowed. He tracked six attackers simultaneously, calculating angles, timing, threat priority.

  The shaman cluster was trying to cast. He saw the magical buildup, felt the gathering of hostile mana.

  It became the priority target.

  He charged through the guard formation instead of fighting it. Took a glancing blow to his side. Pain flared, but armor absorbed most of it. Another strike aimed at his head that he ducked under, feeling the metal whistle past his ear.

  Dancing between them as he worked to get through their lines and at his targets.

  Then he was among the shamans.

  Robed figures raised their staffs and ornaments, but they weren't fighters. One tried to hit him with a wood staff. Jonah caught it, pulled the shaman off balance, and his blade decapitated it.

  Another completed a spell, acid bolt forming between its hands.

  Jonah's pommel crushed its skull before the magic could release.

  He could see the irony in this moment. He had been them not so long ago... or maybe far in the future. A glass cannon that failed against a WyrmKin Juvenile.

  The gathered energy detonated uncontrolled.

  Acid splashed across several goblins, dissolving flesh in seconds.

  Three shamans were down with two more fleeing. The guards were behind him now, turning, trying to catch up.

  Jonah ignored them as the ground shook.

  The raid leader was charging toward him with lumbering weight.

  The large hobgoblin moved with surprising speed for its size. That enchanted sword gleamed with hungry light, and its eyes showed tactical awareness.

  It barked something in goblin tongue.

  The remaining guards spread out, trying to encircle him and prevent his escape.

  Jonah didn't let them.

  He met the raid leader head-on instead.

  Jonah slammed into the larger foe with ferocity. Blade clashing against his in a shower of sparks. The impacts jarred his arms. The hobgoblin was strong, stronger than him by a significant margin. Its next attack came immediately, a combination strike that would've opened him from shoulder to hip.

  Jonah's footwork saved him. His Evasive skill worked overtime to keep him alive, sliding right, letting the blade pass. His counter found armor and scraped across instead of penetrating.

  The hobgoblin pressed its advantage. More attacks, each one forcing Jonah backward. His mana reserves dropped with every deflection, Mana Blade consuming energy to match the enchanted sword's power.

  He could feel it dwindling with each exchange.

  Jonah couldn't win through attrition.

  The hobgoblin's sword came down in a vertical cleave. Jonah stepped left...

  And stepped wrong.

  His boot caught on a goblin corpse, a dozen dead just from their clashes as collateral damage. His balance was disrupted for a fraction of a second.

  The hobgoblin exploited it instantly.

  A kick, faster than it should've managed, caught him in the ribs.

  Jonah flew backward.

  He hit the ground hard, rolled, came up on one knee. Pain screamed from his side and chest. He knew his rib had cracked, at least maybe broken. His Mana Blade had deactivated, reserves exhausted from the impact.

  The hobgoblin advanced, sword raised. Behind it, the guards were closing in.

  No mana. Injured and outnumbered.

  Jonah smiled.

  Because he'd been here before. Not this exact moment, but situations like it. Dozens of times across forty-nine years. Back against the wall, power exhausted, enemies closing. That last one caught him though because he had made a tactical mistake.

  He'd learned something from those moments.

  The hobgoblin's killing blow descended in a wide arc from side to side.

  Jonah dropped flat. The sword passed overhead, embedding in the ground for a split second. He rolled, came up inside the hobgoblin's guard, and drove his blade upward with every ounce of physical strength his baseline human body possessed.

  The point found the gap beneath the breastplate. Steel punched through leather, through flesh, through the cavity where a heart should be.

  The hobgoblin stared at him, shock in its eyes that dimmed second after second.

  Jonah ripped his blade free and turned on the guards.

  They hesitated. Their leader was dead. The shamans were dead or fled. The command structure that had organized this assault was collapsing around them.

  Jonah didn't give them time to recover.

  He killed four before they decided to run. The others fled, and he let them go. They'd spread panic through the goblin ranks, and panic was worth more than their corpses.

  It would mean retreat, and their pocket of humanity would get a chance to gather themselves and rebuild before the actual army arrived. They would need to prepare for a thousand goblins, not one or two hundred.

  A horn sounded.

  Different from the attack horn.

  Jonah smiled.

  That's the retreat sound. I still remember it clearly. How relieved I was when the first raid finally fell back.

  The goblin formation began collapsing visibly. The coordinated assault devolved into individual goblins trying to survive, trying to reach safety. Some continued fighting out of momentum or rage, but the organized pressure evaporated.

  Jonah leaned against a corrupted wall, breathing hard. His ribs screamed. His mana reserves showed single digits. Blood dripped from half a dozen minor wounds he didn't remember receiving.

  But the wave was broken.

  The aftermath was worse than the battle.

  Jonah walked through the park as survivors began the grim work of sorting living from dead. The screaming had mostly stopped. Those who were going to die had done so, and those who weren't were being treated by every healer in their pocket of humanity that had managed to unlock it.

  Bodies littered the ground everywhere.

  Not just goblins either.

  A woman lay curled around a wound she'd taken trying to protect someone else. The someone else was gone, dragged away by goblins or fled during the chaos. She'd died alone, for nothing.

  A man sat against a tree, staring at the space where his left hand used to be. His shield lay nearby, still clutched by the severed limb. He wasn't screaming, wasn't making any sound at all, just staring.

  Two teenagers, probably siblings based on the resemblance, holding each other. One was clearly dead. The other wouldn't let go.

  This was what real battle looked like.

  Not glorious combat, not heroic stands, just people dying in confusion and pain while others tried desperately not to join them.

  Jonah had seen it before and would see it again, but the weight never got lighter.

  "Jonah." Martinez appeared at his side, armor dented and bloodied but moving under his own power. "We held. Northern line took casualties, but we held."

  "Numbers?"

  "Counting now. Looks like maybe forty dead in our section, double that wounded. Could've been worse." Martinez's voice was flat, the detachment of someone who'd seen combat before. "The eastern line... that's bad. They're still finding bodies."

  Jonah nodded. He'd expected it. It didn't make it easier.

  "Liam?"

  "Kid's a monster. Took down three hobgoblins personally, helped with two more. He's got a gash on his arm, but he walked himself to the healers." Martinez paused. "David's shield saved maybe a dozen people during that curse fog thing. John just... wouldn't stop. Every time the line wavered, he was there. Rebecca treated more wounded than our entire medical team combined."

  The team had performed. That was something.

  "Sarah?"

  "Coordinating burial details." Martinez's expression flickered. "Someone has to."

  Burial details. They didn't have time for proper funerals, couldn't afford the resources for graves. The bodies would be burned before they attracted scavengers or, worse, started rising. The System's integration had made that a genuine concern.

  Jonah's interface pinged. Notifications he'd been ignoring during combat.

  [Combat Victory]

  [Goblin Raid Repelled]

  [Experience Gained: 847]

  [Level Up: Level 1 → Level 3]

  [Attribute Points Available: 8]

  [Skill Points Available: 4]

  [Achievement Unlocked: First Blood]

  Survive first major combat engagement post-Tutorial

  Reward: +1 Constitution, Combat Experience Gain +5%

  [Achievement Unlocked: Officer Hunter]

  Kill 5+ enemy officers in single engagement

  Reward: +2% Damage vs. Leadership Targets, Enemy Morale Penalty (Passive)

  [Achievement Unlocked: Shaman Slayer]

  Kill 3+ enemy casters in single engagement

  Reward: +1 Intelligence, Magic Resistance +3%

  [Skill Advancement: Mana Blade (Basic) → Mana Blade (Intermediate)]

  Extended duration, reduced mana cost, improved edge manifestation

  [Skill Advancement: Tactical Assessment (Intermediate) → Tactical Assessment (Advanced)]

  Threat detection range increased, ally coordination bonuses, pattern recognition enhanced

  [Skill Advancement: Sword: Short Blade (Novice) → Sword: Short Blade (Basic)]

  Improved technique foundation, reduced stamina cost, basic flourish options

  [New Skill Unlocked: Battle Presence (Novice)]

  Allies within range gain minor morale bonus

  Effect scales with Leadership skills

  Level 3. Not impressive by any objective standard, but a foundation was being laid.

  Jonah allocated attributes carefully. Two points to Intelligence, mana capacity and magical processing speed. Two to Dexterity, his advantage was precision, not brute force. Two to Constitution, he'd nearly died to that hobgoblin's kick, needed more durability. One to Wisdom, mana regeneration and perception. One to Strength, couldn't neglect physical capability entirely.

  Skill points went to Mana Circulation, pushing it toward Advanced rank. The foundation mattered more than flashy abilities.

  The notifications cleared, and he was back in the present.

  The dying present.

  "Second wave hits in four hours," he said. "According to the System's pattern."

  Martinez absorbed that without reaction. "We ready?"

  "We'll have to be. We need to set up defensive fortification in the meantime. We can't afford these open engagements."

  Jonah moved through the aftermath, assessing damage, identifying who was combat-capable and who needed to be moved to support roles. People looked at him differently now.

  Some with hope, the man who'd killed the enemy leaders, who'd turned the tide.

  Others with fear, the man who'd left sections to die while protecting his own.

  Both reactions were justified.

  Derek found him near the eastern line's remnants.

  The man's face was a mask of barely controlled rage. He'd lost people in the fighting. Jonah could see it in the empty spaces where his lieutenants should've been standing.

  "You knew," Derek said. "Knew it would be this bad. Could've warned the other lines, could've helped—"

  "I warned everyone. Publicly. You were there." Jonah's voice was flat. "I organized what I could reach. The rest made their own choices about leadership and positioning."

  "Bullshit. You could've done more."

  "I could've spread myself thin trying to save everyone and gotten us all killed instead." Jonah met Derek's eyes without flinching. "This is what reality looks like. Resources are limited. Attention is limited. I chose to save what I could save well, instead of saving everything badly."

  "People died because—"

  "People died because goblins killed them. People died because they didn't listen when I explained what was coming. People died because humanity has been in the System for one day and doesn't know how to fight." Jonah stepped closer. "You want to blame someone? Blame the System. Blame the goblins. Blame the randomness of which people ended up in which positions. But don't stand there pretending I murdered people by not being omnipotent."

  Derek's hand drifted toward his weapon. Jonah watched it happen, tracked the motion without reacting.

  "Go ahead. Start a fight now. While everyone's wounded, while our defenses are shattered, while the next wave is hours away. Prove you care more about your ego than survival."

  Derek's hand stopped. He looked around at the gathering numbers watching. "This isn't over."

  "It never is." Jonah turned away. "But if you want to be useful instead of vengeful, start organizing burial details for your section. Bodies attract worse things than goblins if they're left too long."

  He walked away without checking if Derek followed the suggestion.

  There was too much to do.

  The medical station was overwhelmed. Rebecca worked alongside the other healers, face grey with exhaustion, mana reserves running low after hours of continuous casting. Jonah stopped briefly, dropped off one of his explosion talismans.

  "Emergency use only. If something breaks through to the medical station, throw it and run."

  She nodded, too tired for words.

  Sarah was exactly where Martinez said she'd be. Coordinating the burning of goblin corpses, organizing the collection of salvageable equipment, keeping people moving instead of freezing.

  "Weapons from the hobgoblins are decent," she reported. "Better than tutorial gear. We're distributing to anyone who can hold them."

  "Good. What about the shaman staves?"

  "Three recovered. The mages are arguing about who gets them."

  "Give one to whoever shows most promise. The other two go in reserve until we identify more casters." Jonah scanned the activity. "How are you holding up?"

  Sarah's laugh was humorless. "I killed eleven goblins today. Watched maybe thirty people die. I'm holding up exactly as well as that suggests."

  "Fair."

  "Jonah." She met his eyes. "How do you do it? Stay calm, stay focused, when everything's falling apart?"

  He considered lying, perhaps saying something inspiring about inner strength or iron will, but instead he said, "Practice. This isn't my first time watching people die."

  She didn't ask what that meant, perhaps understanding that some questions didn't have comfortable answers.

  Liam found him next, arm bandaged but eyes bright with excitement or shock.

  "I leveled up. Twice!" The kid's voice cracked. "Level fricking 3! And my Blade Sense! It went to Master rank during the fighting. Master rank, Jonah! Master rank! The System says that's rare for first-day acquisition. I even got an achievement!"

  "It is." Jonah studied him. The gash on his arm wasn't deep and would heal cleanly, but the look in Liam's eyes was more concerning. "How many did you kill?"

  "I don't... seven? Eight? The hobgoblins mostly. They felt different—more dangerous, but also more predictable, as if I could feel what they were going to do before they did it."

  "That's Blade Sense. Weapon awareness extended to combat precognition at higher ranks." Jonah put a hand on the kid's shoulder. "You did well—better than I expected—but don't chase that feeling."

  Jonah still remembered how the original Liam died in the future.

  He couldn't allow it to happen again.

  "What feeling?"

  "The one that makes you want to find more enemies—the rush of being good at violence." Jonah's grip tightened slightly. "I've seen talented fighters die because they loved fighting too much, started taking risks for the thrill instead of the necessity. You understand?"

  Liam's expression sobered. "I... yeah. I think I do."

  "Good. Go rest. Eat something. Sleep if you can. Second wave comes in hours, and I need you functional."

  The kid wandered off, processing what he had been told.

  Jonah watched him go with something approaching hope.

  Liam could be great—one of the best humanity ever produced—but greatness required surviving long enough to achieve it.

  David and John appeared together, supporting each other. John had taken a spear thrust to his leg—he wasn't crippled, but he was limping badly. David's shield arm hung limp, probably dislocated.

  "Medical station," Jonah ordered. "Both of you."

  "I can still fight—" John started.

  "You can barely walk. Being brave and being stupid look identical until the consequences hit." Jonah pointed toward Rebecca's station. "Get treated. Rest. If the second wave looks manageable, you can join. If it doesn't, you're backup reserves."

  They went. They were good soldiers, both of them, and they'd followed orders even when those orders meant sitting out.

  Martinez appeared at his elbow again.

  "Perimeter's set. Everyone combat-capable is on rotation: two hours on, one hour off. Best I could manage."

  "It'll have to do." Jonah surveyed the park: fires burning where goblin corpses were being disposed of, wounded clustered near the medical station, fighters grabbing what rest they could, the beginnings of organization emerging from chaos.

  "What about food? Water?"

  "Found supplies in some of the corrupted buildings. Enough for a day, maybe two. After that... We'll figure something out." Martinez shrugged.

  "The settlement stone. Once we survive all three waves, we can claim it, that opens up actual infrastructure. Housing, storage, basic facilities. Farms. The System provides starting resources for new settlements."

  "How much of this do you actually know?"

  "Enough." Jonah met the older man's eyes. "Enough to keep us alive if people listen. Enough to recognize what threats we face and plan around them."

  "That's not an answer."

  "It's the only answer I can give. Get some rest, Martinez. You've earned it." Jonah started walking toward the northern perimeter.

  The former Marine watched him go but didn't follow.

  Jonah climbed onto a partially collapsed wall, the highest point in the immediate area. From here, he could see the entire park. He needed a better vantage point to create some defensive fortifications. Rudimentary and maybe insufficient, but better than nothing.

  The clusters of survivors, the defensive positions, the distant shimmer of corrupted buildings all within his view as he surveyed the area.

  And beyond that, barely visible against the darkening sky, the shape of something massive. A structure that hadn't existed before the System arrived. Towers of twisted stone reaching toward clouds that moved wrong, swirling around a central point like water circling a drain.

  The first dungeon. Level 1's primary challenge, waiting for whoever was strong enough to claim it.

  Weeks away. Maybe months.

  Jonah wasn't sure he wanted anyone to try it for at least nine months until they were ready for what was inside.

  Humanity needed to stabilize first, needed to develop beyond this desperate scrambling for survival.

  But it was there. A reminder that the tutorial was over, that the real climb had begun.

  Jonah checked his mana reserves. Slowly regenerating, but still low. His ribs ached despite the System's passive healing. Exhaustion pulled at him, the kind that went deeper than physical fatigue.

  He didn't rest.

  Instead, he began the circulation exercises from the manual, drawing in ambient mana, routing it through developing pathways. Every minute spent cultivating was a minute building toward the power he'd need.

  The power to prevent humanity's extinction.

  The power to reach heights he'd never touched before.

  The first wave was done. Two more waited. And beyond that, an endless climb toward a summit that might not exist. Toward the level he had died on and an enemy he hoped he would become strong enough to kill.

  Jonah breathed and began meditating. Gathering mana and prepared for what came next.