The next morning was gray and miserable. The sun failed to pierce the heavy cloud cover, leaving the valley in a perpetual twilight.

  The Gullet was a miserable strip of land, flanked by steep, craggy cliffs on either side. The Old Trade Road ran through the center, a path of packed dirt that was rapidly turning to slush.

  Kaelen stood in the mud, wearing his brother’s old brigandine armor. It was slightly too broad in the shoulders. He felt the weak, rhythmic thrum of his own Battle Force—a small knot of heat in his chest, barely enough to keep the cold out.

  “Deeper here,” Kaelen instructed, pointing to a section of the road.

  He wasn’t guessing. The System overlaid a grid on the terrain, analyzing the soil composition down to the bedrock.

  [Terrain Analysis: Soil Liquefaction]

  Depth: 2 feet.

  Saturation: 92%.

  Effect: Movement Speed –80% for Heavy Units (Stone-Eater Tribe).

  The villagers were digging irregular pits, not a trench line. Small, ankle-breaking holes hidden beneath a layer of straw and muck.

  “My Lord,” Ser Haldor approached, wiping mud from his brow. The old knight looked skeptical. “Using the oil reserves is madness. It’s our only light for the winter. If we survive the battle, we will freeze in the dark.”

  “Darkness is better than death, Haldor,” Kaelen replied, not looking up from the blue grid lines. “And if we die tomorrow, the oil belongs to the savages anyway.”

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  Kaelen pointed to a scrawny boy struggling with a shovel.

  [Villager: Pip]

  Strength: 0.8

  Dexterity: 4.5 (High)

  Trait: Sure-footed.

  “You there, Pip,” Kaelen called out. “Put down the shovel. I need you climbing the cliff face. Can you carry these pots?”

  He gestured to the clay pots filled with oil.

  Pip nodded vigorously. “I climb trees for apples, m’lord. Rocks are easy.”

  “Good. Place them exactly where I point. Do not drop them.”

  Kaelen spent the next four hours micromanaging the placement of the “munitions.” To the untrained eye, it looked like random clutter. To Kaelen, it was a complex geometrical trap designed to maximize thermal spread.

  Around noon, a prompt flashed, interrupting his work.

  [Resource Alert: Caloric Deficit]

  Workers are fatiguing at 2x rate.

  Battle Force Regeneration: Stalled.

  Action Required: Food intake.

  Kaelen signaled the cooks. They brought out the “stew”—a mix of salted beef, turnips, and hardtack. It was the best meal these peasants had seen in months.

  As they ate, Kaelen sat apart, opening the [Economy] tab of his interface.

  [Ledger Update]

  Treasury: 0 Silver.

  Food Stocks: 8 Days remaining (at full rations).

  He was burning the candle at both ends. But he had no choice.

  “Riders!”

  The shout came from the scout perched high on the cliff.

  Kaelen stood up, his heart hammering against his ribs. He looked north. Through the mist, he saw them.

  They were not a disciplined army. They were a tide.

  Dark shapes moved with the heavy, clanking rhythm of a force that knew no fear. The System zoomed in, identifying the banners.

  [Enemy Force Detected]

  Faction: Tribal Coalition Vanguard.

  Composition: Stone-Eaters (Heavy Inf), Red-Walkers (Skirmishers), Cloud-Stalkers (Archers).

  Leader: Karg (Bronze Rank – Peak).

  Total Strength: 500+.

  Kaelen swallowed hard. Five hundred. And they were led by a Peak Bronze—a warrior one step away from Silver. A man who could likely shatter the castle gates with a hammer swing.

  “Everyone to positions!” Kaelen ordered, his voice tight. “Remember the drill. Do not engage until they hit the mud. Wait for the signal.”

  He looked at the blue percentage hovering over the battlefield.

  [Battle Win Probability: 41%]

  It was rising.

  But 41% was still a coin toss with death.