Chương 47: The Next Step

James looked up.

"I know," he said.

"Believe me, I've had plenty of time to obsess over it. You want to do the bragging, or shall I?"

"I will brag for my warriors," Rogan said. He sounded almost offended at the idea that James would steal that pleasure from him.

"But you can handle the magical insanity."

"Fair," James said. He flipped to another section of bark, where he'd begun listing names and numbers earlier, and ran a fingertip down the crude columns. It still felt strange, seeing their lives boiled down to levels and skills and classes, but the system had woven itself so firmly into their reality that ignoring it would have been like ignoring the seasons.

"Wicksnap first," he said.

"Because apparently it's not enough that he talks to spirits and trees and occasionally very confused rocks. Now he has lightning."

"How is that fair?" Marla muttered.

"Some men get calmer when they grow older. He got weather."

"He also got less… shriek-y," James said.

"Which is something." Wicksnap's transformation over the week had been one of the more unsettling side effects of James forcing him to put almost every stat point into Intelligence. At first, it had just made his tangents more complicated. Then, somewhere between levels eleven and thirteen, something had shifted. The wildness in his eyes had cooled. The constant nervous energy had settled into a deeper, steadier hum.

He still muttered about spirits, but his sentences had structure now, and when he spoke about mana flows, James actually understood most of the words.

"And the system finally noticed what he's been claiming all along," James said.

"He already had the shaman profession, that one woke up on its own before I ever showed up. That new ritual of his, Spirit-Walk Circle? It's actually useful. Stand in it, get calmer, less likely to panic, better at noticing weird mana. I'd make a joke about him borrowing my lines, but honestly, I'm just glad he has something structured that doesn't involve screaming at clouds." Rogan grunted.

"The warriors like it," he said.

"Standing in that circle before going into the tunnels. It clears the chatter out of their heads. Makes it easier to listen."

"And now he's a Storm-Touched Druid," James added.

"a half crazed one, but still. Air and lightning. Gustleaf for shoving things around or redirecting arrows, Sparkbind for giving monsters a very rude surprise." Marla shuddered theatrically.

"I don't like the idea of that man having access to lightning," she said.

"If he starts calling himself 'Stormcaller' I am moving to another village."

"He's still Wicksnap," James said.

"Just… upgraded. And honestly? Normal Wicksnap is somehow more unsettling than Mad Wicksnap. At least before, you could write him off as harmlessly unhinged."

"Now he's the sort of person who looks at you, makes a thoughtful noise, and then adjusts the ritual around you without explaining why," Rogan said.

"Honestly... He freaks me out!"

"Bren next," Rogan said, clearly deciding not to go down that particular rabbit hole.

"He has been making my job easier and harder at the same time."

"Oh, Bren is ridiculous," James said.

"Levels all the way up to twenty-one, Shadowstalker profession, Shadowdelver class. Softstep so he doesn't make any noise on natural ground, Hunter's Veil so he basically melts into leaves and shadows, and that Fade Strike ability…" He whistled under his breath.

"Turning invisible for a heartbeat and then hitting like a truck is rude. Effective, but rude." Marla frowned.

"Isn't that dangerous?" she asked.

"What if he forgets to tell people where he is and someone stabs the wrong shadow?"

"He's careful," Rogan said.

"He had to be, sneaking around gnawer nests before all this. Now he's just… better at it. The monsters in the tunnels don't hear him until it's too late. He and Finni together have cleared more side passages than I expected."

"Speaking of Finni," James said, "our quiet little forest boy is now a Verdant Spellbinder. Level nine. Rootbind is… impressive." The first time Finni had used it in a tunnel, the roots had burst from the cracked ceiling like a brown-green waterfall, wrapping around a lunging creature's legs and torso before it could reach Kerrin's front line. The monster had gone down in a writhing, cursing heap, and the warriors had dismantled it with almost embarrassing efficiency.

"He still apologizes to the roots," Rogan said.

"Every time. Says they don't like being woken up inside stone."

"They're not the only ones," James said.

"But his control is good. Better than mine was at that level. Don't tell him I said that, his head will explode."

"I will absolutely tell him," Marla said.

"He could use a little exploding."

"Kerrin's doing well too," Rogan said. His voice warmed in a way James recognized, pride threaded with the wary understanding that pride in this world often came with a cost.

"Formation Sense. He was already thinking about where to place people. Now the system helps. His squad moves cleaner. Less stepping on each other's feet. They react to ambushes quicker."

"It's the first real leadership-based combat skill we've seen," James said.

"Other than whatever vague nonsense my class is doing. He deserves it. He's been taking the responsibility seriously."

"He still glances at me every time he gives an order," Rogan said.

"But he gives it anyway. He's learning that asking for approval and asking for help are not the same thing."

"Trell…" James trailed off and glanced toward the longhouses. Somewhere in there, he knew, the young man was probably lying on his bunk, staring at the ceiling, wondering why his life refused to spontaneously sprout titles.

"He did good in the tunnels," Rogan said.

"Hammer or no hammer. That Hammer Handling skill suits him."

"It's not flashy," James said.

"But it's solid. Less strain, better grip, less knocking his own teeth out when he hits something hard. Between that and the levels he gained, he's stronger, steadier."

"He's also sulking," Marla said bluntly.

"Not loudly. But he thinks I don't see the way his shoulders slump when someone mentions Merrit or Pella." James winced.

"Yeah," he said.

"Alder too." The Circle had done more than bless children when it manifested. It had turned Pella and Merrit's lives upside down. One moment they'd been the two eager young helpers content to carry planks and fetch nails. The next, they'd both shot up to level nine, professions slapped onto their names like the world had finally looked at them and said, oh, right, you.

"Pella the Woodshaper," James said, managing a small smile.

"Grain Whisper and Warm Touch. She can look at a piece of wood and just know which way to cut it so it lasts. And everything she makes feels… good. People don't even realize they're reaching for her tools first until you point it out."

"She carved me a stirring spoon," Marla said.

"I yelled at her for wasting time, then used it once and now I hiss if anyone else reaches for it. The handle fits my hand like it was made for it." She paused.

"Which it was, I suppose."

"Merrit the Earth-Fitter," James went on.

"Stone Memory. Put his palm on a rock and he can tell you where it's weak, where it'll crack, where to anchor a post so it doesn't shift. He's already been hovering around the tunnels, annoying anyone who passes with suggestions that somehow all turn out to be right."

"And then there's Alder and Trell," Rogan said quietly.

"Working just as hard, and the system has not given them a title yet." James's chest tightened. He had seen the way Alder's smile had dimmed around the edges these last few days. The way his jokes came a breath slower, the way he watched Pella and Merrit with an expression that wasn't quite jealousy and wasn't quite joy. Trell covered his own disappointment with bluster and jokes about his hammer, but James wasn't blind. This novel's true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there.

"I keep telling them that not having a profession yet doesn't mean they're failing," he said.

"But when you're eighteen and the system is handing your friends shiny labels, it's hard to hear that."

"You did get your class the moment you arrived," Marla said.

"Yes," James agreed.

"But I nearly died or actually died, I am still not sure about that yet, got transported into another world and yelled at by a glowing ball before that happened."

"Perhaps that is the answer," Lumen said mildly.

"We simply need to arrange for Alder and Trell to nearly die." James glared up at it.

"We are not attempting to unlock professions via homicide," he said.

"No matter how efficient that might be." Marla smirked.

"We'll find them something," she said.

"Something that feels like theirs. You're good at that." James wasn't sure about that, but he nodded.

"If nothing else," he said, "I've got Architect's Trance now. The next time I draw a unique building, we might drag them into it and see how the world decides to change them." He still wasn't entirely sure how that skill worked. The Circle had triggered something deep in him, a resonance between his intent and the world's willingness to answer. The system had named it Architect's Trance, and the description had been both thrilling and unsettling.

When he worked on a unique blueprint, one drawn entirely from his own imagination, not a pattern the system handed him, he and anyone helping him could fall into that trance state. Their movements grew smoother, mistakes slipped away, time thinned. Experience bled into them at an accelerated rate, and the building itself, if the system was to be believed, could imprint power onto them in return. The Circle was proof of that. Pella, Merrit. The Hearthseed Blessing. The Guiding Flame.

The notification text still sat in the back of his mind like a bright stone. He had gained four levels off that project alone, leaping from twenty-six to thirty. He'd finally thrown some of his hoarded points into Strength, because he was tired of feeling like a wet noodle every time he lifted something heavier than a plank, and the rest into Willpower, because apparently his life's trajectory was "become a mana battery that also sketches."

James rubbed at his chest absently, feeling the simmer of power that sat there now with more weight than before.

"I don't know what the next unique building will be," he admitted.

"The Etherwell wants Aetherium, so that's off the table for now. Maybe your kitchen, Marla. Maybe something else entirely. But I do know I need to be careful. Every time I do this, the village changes. The people change. I don't want to throw that around lightly."

"Good," Rogan said simply.

"Power should make you cautious. If it doesn't, someone else needs to take it away."

"Please don't take my toys away," James said.

"I'll be responsible. I swear." Marla snorted.

"You say that now," she said.

"Wait until you discover something that makes biscuits appear faster." James opened his mouth to retort and then closed it again as a different sensation tugged at his awareness. It wasn't as sharp as a system notification, not as clear as the Heartroot's pulse when he used Mana Resonance, but it was there, a subtle shift in the air, a weight on the back of his neck, like the moment before a storm when the sky held its breath. He glanced up.

The Circle's roof framed a slice of night sky, stars scattered between the darker shapes of the Heartroot's higher branches. Fireflies drifted lazily just below, and a pair of mana butterflies traced slow arcs along the beams, their wings trailing faint light. Everything looked as it always did. And yet.

"We're ready for the next step," he said softly, almost to himself. He reached for his cup, fingers brushing the smooth wood, the coolness grounding.

"I think." Rogan followed his gaze upward, then outward toward the dark line of the forest. His hand found his spear and rested there, not quite gripping it but not leaving it either.

"We're more ready than we were," he said.

"Whether that's enough…" He shrugged one shoulder.

"We'll see." Marla leaned back, balancing her weight against the column, and closed her eyes for a brief moment. The firelight painted her lined face in gold and shadow, smoothing some of the exhaustion, emphasizing the strength instead.

"What's coming?" she asked quietly.

"More tunnels? More monsters? More nonsense metal you can't hit with a hammer?"

"Danger," James said. The word slipped out before he had fully framed the thought. Perhaps it was intuition. Perhaps it was the way the Heartroot's aura had started to push gently against the edges of the clearing, as if probing for other lights in the dark.

"Sooner or later, someone is going to notice that there's a glowing tree here, and a Circle that sings when people step into it." Marla's eyes opened. For a moment, the only sound was the soft crackle of the magical hearth, the faint rustle of leaves high above, and the distant murmur of their people settling into sleep.

"Then we keep building," she said.

"Walls. Kitchens. People. Skills. Whatever this is." She tapped the stone table with her knuckles.

"We keep making this place so solid that anyone who comes here feels it in their bones. Whether they come as friends or enemies." Rogan nodded once.

"We'll be ready," he said.

"Or at least, we'll be less unready than they expect." James hesitated, fingers tracing the rim of his cup.

"Walls help," he said slowly.

"But if something really bad comes knocking, I don't want all of you standing there in cloth and leather with rock-headed spears." Rogan tilted his head, alert now in a different way.

"What else would we stand there with?" he asked.

"That is what weapons are."

"Here, maybe," James said. He drew in a breath and let Mana Construct rise with it, blue light gathering around his hands.

"Back where I came from, this is what weapons are." He lifted one hand and shaped the mana into a long, straight blade. It gleamed in the Circle's firelight, edges clean and cruel, the ghost of a fuller running down its center. A proper crossguard formed, then a wrapped hilt, the lines so familiar to his muscles that it hurt for a heartbeat to look at it. A sword, simple and honest and absolutely alien to these people. Rogan leaned forward without seeming to realize he was doing it.

His eyes tracked the length of the blade like it might leap free and bite him.

"That is like the practice sticks we use for duels," he said slowly.

"Only if you hit someone with that, they would not get up."

"That is the idea," James said.

"You can thrust with it, cut, parry. It is faster than a spear in tight spaces, better against more than one enemy if you know what you're doing." He let the sword dissolve and called the mana back, reshaping it around Rogan's torso and shoulders. A breastplate settled over the Radiant Warden's broad chest, followed by pauldrons and greaves, all rendered in soft blue light. Straps appeared where leather would go, rivets where metal would bite into metal.

It was not ornate, just layered, solid protection, the sort of thing a frontline fighter could trust with his life. Rogan froze. His hand lifted, hovering just shy of the construct, as if he were afraid touching it would make it vanish.

"All metal?" he asked.

"You can… cover a man like this? And he can still move?"

"If it's made well and fitted right, yes," James said.

"You would be heavier, slower to start moving, but once you get going? You would be a walking wall. Your class would love this. A Radiant Warden in full armor is… a problem for anything that tries to get through." Some of the color had drained from Rogan's face, but his eyes were burning.

"Our smith can make this?"

"Not yet," James admitted.

"Varn needs levels, better skills, better tools. We need more ore, a proper forge, probably a few bruised apprentices. It's not a tomorrow thing." He let the armor fade away, leaving Rogan sitting there in his worn tunic and leather, suddenly looking underdressed in comparison.

"But it is a next step. Spears and knives are fine. I want more than 'fine' when the world notices us." Marla watched him carefully.

"And your people," she said.

"Where you came from. You used these? Swords and armor like that?"

"Once," James said.

"A long time ago. Ages ago, really." His mouth twisted.

"We got very good at it. Too good. Then we… moved on to other things."

"Other things?" Marla repeated. She gestured at the now-empty air where the sword had been.

"How is there something more deadly than this? That blade would cut a man in half."

"It can get worse," James said quietly. For a moment his mind filled, unbidden, with flashes of tank treads and the hard profile of a rifle, with newspaper photos of cities turned to gray dust.

"Trust me. There are things you don't even have words for yet." Marla frowned.

"I do not like the idea of a world where people look at that and say 'not enough.'""Me neither," James said. He forced himself to unclench his jaw, to let the memories slide back into the mental box he'd built for them. This world had plenty of ways to kill you already. It did not need lessons from his.

"Which is why I am not bringing those things here. We keep it simple. Spears, swords, armor. Things you can swing with your own hands and look in the eyes of what you're fighting." Rogan's hand settled fully on the stone tabletop, fingers spreading as if to brace himself against a future only he could see.

"If you can make that happen," he said, voice low and steady, "then I will wear whatever metal you give me. I will stand in front of anyone who comes. That is my job."

"And my job," James said, "is to make sure the people standing in front don't die because I failed to plan ahead." He sighed, feeling the shape of his next months rearrange themselves in his head: more ore from the tunnels, more practice for Varn, maybe a small armory tucked against the workshop, training dummies, a place to test how much weight a man could wear and still move.

"Fortifications, better weapons, better armor. A proper kitchen for Marla so she does not murder me in my sleep. All of that before whoever is out there decides to pay us a visit." Marla's mouth twitched.

"I am more likely to murder you if you forget the biscuits," she said.

"Speaking of which, are you going to finish that?" He reached for another slice of blue bread, tore it in half, and dunked a piece into his shimmering milk. The crust soaked up the mana-rich liquid, turning soft and heavy. Marla made a small, interested sound as he lifted it to his mouth. The fire in the Circle of the First Hearth burned on, steady and warm, casting their shadows large and intertwined across stone and wood.

Outside, the Heartroot hummed gently, its presence wrapping the clearing in a quiet, watchful embrace. Somewhere far beyond the tree line, in tunnels and groves and other villages clinging to their own scraps of survival, the world shifted in ways they could not yet see. But here, for this moment, they had bread and milk and plans.

They had a roof over their heads, a fire that remembered them, a Circle that promised the lost a way home, and a half-formed vision of steel and walls taking shape in their chieftain's mind. It was not everything. It was not enough. It was a start.