Chapter 56 - Squaring away the Hold (19 Jan 25)

The first thing he noticed was the ringing.Not loud — not like an alarm — but rhythmic. Metal on metal.Dalen sat up, groggy. The sun wasn't even fully up yet, just bleeding faint light across the treetops. The chill from the earth beneath him seeped through his clothes, grounding him in the moment. The scent of smoke lingered in the air, a reminder of the cookfires that had gone cold. Most of the Hold still slept. A couple of early risers stirred embers near the cookfires, but the rest were dead to the world, curled in shelters, slumped over bedrolls, and finally allowed a night of absolute rest.But that sound. It wasn't work; he didn't know what that sound was.He stood and followed it, past the cookpots and sleeping forms, until he reached the clearing near the trenchline.And stopped.Ten soldiers moved across the packed dirt with a fluid, sparring rhythm — half-speed, half-silhouetted in morning mist. It was getting into April, and the days were hot, but the mornings were still cool. Practice swords clashed with practiced control. Others knelt in circles off to the side, arms outstretched, drawing glowing lines in the air with slow, deliberate gestures, mana work?In the center of it all was Harold.He was stripped down to his tunic, cloak tossed over a branch, blade in hand. He moved like the others — focused, and efficient — but even in practice, Dalen could see the rhythm bend slightly around him. The others mirrored his pace.He wasn't showing off or barking orders. ​He was just… doing it and leading by doing.When Harold caught sight of him, he didn't stop. Just gave a short wave, like someone saying good morning, and went right back to it.Dalen stood there for fifteen more minutes, arms folded awkwardly, watching as the session ended. His eyes traced the measured movements of the soldiers, each strike and parry. The cool morning air clung to him, accentuating the stillness, and he shifted his weight slightly from one foot to the other, an unconscious attempt to match their rhythm. Harold, wiping the sweat from his brow with the edge of his tunic, seemed almost a part of the landscape. The final strike clashed. Someone called "Time." The soldiers broke apart with nods, catching their breath."Morning," he said. "You sleep alright?"Dalen shrugged. "Still getting used to it."Harold nodded. "That's fair."A beat passed.Harold glanced around — at the half-awake Legionnaires already setting up cook lines, tightening perimeter patrols, and hauling supply crates with practiced ease.Then he looked over Dalen's shoulder — at the slumped shelters and scattered, sleeping forms of the Hold's people.He didn't say anything. But Dalen followed his gaze. And he saw it—the difference.Harold turned back to him. "What's your plan for today?"Dalen blinked. "Plan?"Harold tilted his head. "How does the day usually start here?"Dalen didn't answer right away. He looked back at the Hold again, at the people still motionless because exhaustion had made waking up optional. As the light of dawn grew stronger, illuminating the stillness with a soft golden hue, something inside him stirred awake alongside them. He looked at the Landing soldiers, focused, mostly cleaned, already into the second hour of the day. The sun, now breaking over the treetops, seemed to echo the soldiers' readiness, while Dalen felt a new resolve emerging with the morning light.He didn't say anything.Harold saw the look on his face and nodded. He'd seen it before."Okay," Harold said. "How about this. Let's gather your people. Don't worry about the watchtowers — my guys will cover it."He turned and motioned subtly to Carter, who gave a quick nod and was already moving to relay the command.Harold turned back. "I'll help you get everyone organized."He gave a faint smile."They should be feeling better after sleeping on full bellies."​ The river was cold. Not painfully so — just enough to cut the haze from his thoughts.Harold scrubbed the grime from his arms, then ducked his head under and came up with a quiet breath. Beside him, one of his newer guards — Eddin, long-limbed and always humming — wrung out his shirt on a flat rock, steam rising off his shoulders in the morning light.Harold glanced up. Near the bend in the bank, those same kids were back. Laughing now — actually laughing — as they flailed in the shallows with the nets, one of his youngest soldiers. Harold thought his name was Jenkins. He was splashing alongside them, showing them how to throw the net into the water.He watched them for a moment without saying anything. They deserved this morning.Harold dressed in silence, cloak still damp, armor slung over one arm. Then he started back toward the center of the Hold, with Carter and his detail flanking him loosely.As they passed the trenchline, Harold felt the crisp, biting cold of the river water in his ears, a sensory echo of his resolve to witness change. The shock of the temperature cut through his morning lethargy, sharpening his awareness as he watched Dalen moving purposefully. Dalen was attempting to rally people, pointing and raising his voice, issuing instructions to the scattered shelters. Yet, most villagers simply sat there, some rubbing their eyes, a few pulling their blankets tighter. Two even went back to sleep without a care.Carter raised an eyebrow. "Permission?"Harold nodded. "Wake them up."Carter smiled faintly — not cruel, but enough that Harold knew he would enjoy it.He raised a hand and pointed. Two Optios peeled off instantly with their smiling, stern-faced squads. Harold could see a couple of them trying not to giggle as they worked.The Legion way followed.Orders barked. Blankets yanked. Cold water poured. The hold snapped into motion like a fire had been lit under it — a lot of shouting, more than a few curses, but also real movement.Some younger person yelled out, "Fascist!" Carter didn't even blink; the Optio next to him just had a large grin.Dalen didn't argue. He jumped in, helping pull people to their feet, shouting over the mess. "Everyone to the center! Now! Get your gear — if you don't have gear, get in line anyway!"There was confusion and complaining. A kid started crying, but the momentum was real. In ten minutes, the center yard was packed.Villagers stood in loose rows — uneven, disheveled, more dazed than ready, but standing. Behind them, Landing soldiers moved through the crowd like guardrails, helping form columns, keeping the edge from spilling out.Dalen stood near the front, flushed and breathing hard, but upright.Harold stepped up beside him, then onto the edge of one of the wagons. The wooden frame groaned faintly under his boots.He let the noise settle before he spoke."Listen up."He waited a moment, watching the crowd settle."We're not here to rescue you," Harold said.That got a few heads to snap up.Harold scanned the crowd — tired faces, dull eyes, shoulders too used to being hunched."You're not hostages. Most of you are not children. But you are survivors."He let the word hang."We brought food. Medical supplies. Protection. You needed that. We gave it. But we are not a caravan. We're not a relief convoy. This isn't a stop on the way to safety.""This is safety. Or it will be — if you build it."He took a step forward on the wagon bed."My people work—every day. We hunt, we build, we train. We get up early. We go to bed late. That's what it takes to stay alive out here."He pointed to the nearest group. "You want to eat tomorrow? You'll need to earn it today.""We're going to organize you into work crews. Hunting, foraging, construction, and defense. If you don't know how to do any of those things, you'll learn."Harold's voice dropped lower."We're not here to carry people who won't walk. You want to live? You need to help yourselves," Harold emphasized, his gaze sweeping over the crowd. He paused, letting the words settle in before asking, "Who here believes they can build something better?" The question lingered, a challenge to the villagers. A long silence followed. Some looked ashamed, while others looked ready to work. This was the turning point—the moment when people either stood up or stepped aside.This was the turning point—the moment when people either stood up or stepped aside. In that moment, Dalen realized that this was the leadership he both feared and craved, a guiding force that pushed him to confront his own potential and responsibilities.Harold let the silence settle before nodding once to Dalen."Let's get to work."​​The yard was still quiet, but it held a different kind of silence now.The villagers stood where they'd gathered. Some crossed arms. Others whispered. A few yawned. But most were watching Harold.Dalen stood beside him, a few pieces of slate one of the Optios had handed him earlier in his hands, eyes flicking between Harold and the crowd like he was afraid to miss anything.Harold stepped down off the wagon and faced them."Alright," he called. "We're gonna sort you out by skill. One at a time — I want you to tell me two things."He held up two fingers."One. What you did back on Earth. Your job, your trade, your experience — whatever you were good at."He held up a second hand."Two. What do you think you can do here? And if you don't know, that's okay. We'll figure it out."People looked at each other, confused. A couple started to move, but Harold cut them off with a raised hand."One at a time. Line up. Let's make this clean."Carter barked a quick order. The lines began to form.They came forward, slowly at first."I was a dental hygienist. I guess I could… help with cooking?""I did warehouse work. I can haul stuff.""I used to code. Full stack. I, uh… can learn farming?""I don't know. I want to be useful."One by one, Harold listened. Dalen scribbled frantically, asking names, marking down trades, drawing columns for labor types. Harold gave simple orders:"Go fell tomorrow's shelter walls. Meet with Optio Bren after.""The foragers need your hands. Go join them, gather what we need.""You're a builder? Perfect. Go raise walls with Tribune Tran's team.""Not sure? You're in with the tree team. Start swinging that axe today."It went on for an hour.By the end, they had the start of something. Crews. Names. Purpose.Harold stepped back and looked over what they'd made—a rough draft of civilization.Then he turned and pointed to five of the sturdier-looking villagers who hadn't shied from eye contact."You, you, you, you, and you — you're crew leads now."One woman blinked. "Wait, what?""You're not in charge forever," Harold said. "Just today. Your job's to report in."He turned to Dalen, then addressed the whole group again."At the end of each day, your crew lead will meet with Lord Dalen and tell him what you got done. You're only reporting results."He pointed at Dalen."And tomorrow morning, you'll meet him again over breakfast, and he'll give you your priorities for the day."Dalen straightened a little at that — surprised, but not protesting.A few murmurs ran through the crowd. Someone said, "Finally," and wasn't being sarcastic.Then Harold raised his voice slightly. "Adventurers!"They came quickly — confident, a little cocky. Fighters, hunters, and combat types. They filtered forward from the edges — scrappier and louder than the crafters—some in mismatched armor, one with a crossbow strapped across his back.Harold was very interested in where he got that.Harold turned to Dalen, then over his shoulder toward the approaching figures of Sarah and Vera."You're with them for now," Harold said to Dalen.Dalen blinked. "What?""They're going to show you how to organize the combat teams. Adventurers need quests. Their job today is to search for potion ingredients, scout, and hunt anything edible."Sarah crossed her arms as she approached. "So we're babysitting?"One of the older male adventurers heard what Sarah had said and stepped up. "I don't need any babysitting. We know this area better than any of you."Vera snorted and rolled her eyes.The adventurer saw that and stepped forward angrily. Dalen moved to stop him, but Harold held him back.Dalen could see the wolf smile that had appeared on Harold's face. "Just watch," he said.He moved to Vera and raised his hand, but she moved. Her body twisted faster than most of their eyes could follow, and she slammed the palm of her hand into the chest of the other man, throwing him back.Laughter broke out amongst the group, loudest was Sarah's, and he could see Mira giving the guy the stink eye. The girl could be mean.Harold just looked at him, "They're an independent lot. Find someone you trust and let them handle themselves until it affects what you are building. You need to protect your adventurers. They are not a renewable resource. You don't get any of them from your recruitment portal. Do not throw them away."Then he got back on target, "I need you," he said to Dalen, "to generate the quest today. Location, goal, what we're looking for. Doesn't have to be fancy. I like to keep one quest open in case I need anything done urgently."Dalen hesitated. Sarah gave him a look before saying. "Really? You've played games before," she said. "You know what to do."Dalen opened his interface — still clumsy with it — and scanned the mission options."Uh… alright," he said. "Let's start with a basic ingredient recovery mission. A mission to scout, then another to hunt."Harold stepped back and gave him a nod."I'll check in with the work crews. You learn how the adventurers organize."And just like that — the Hold had a rhythm.