Margaret didn't even wait for the chairs to scrape back before stepping toward Harold.
"My Lord, a moment of your time?"
Harold arched an eyebrow. He'd barely dismissed the meeting. "Of course." He glanced over her shoulder. "Mark. Evan. Stand by, just in case."
The two adventurer reps exchanged a glance, then nodded, falling into quiet conversation near the council table.
Harold led Margaret through the side door and down the short hall into what had once been a glorified storage closet. Now?
It was an office.
The same footprint as before — still tucked at the back of the Lords Hall — but the work crews had clearly gone over it. The floors were level now, with smooth, joined planks instead of the first planks the original work crews had made. The walls had been paneled in cut timber, and a small hearth had been built into one corner, complete with a proper chimney and a narrow iron grate. It was a little sad to see the first actual building Josh had made but progress was progress.
The warmth of low coals glowed faintly, the scent of roasted beans hanging in the air. A small pot of coffee sat steaming off to one side.
Harold's desk dominated the room now. Actual carved legs. Drawers. Stained a dark, smoky brown. A tall-backed chair stood behind it, flanked by two simpler ones in front. Slates were stacked along one side, paper and ink across the other — bound notebooks, rough sheaves, even a small tin of sharpened quills.
He gestured toward one of the chairs for Margaret and took the other himself, leaning back and rolling his shoulders.
"Alright," he said. "What's going on?"
Margaret didn't sit at first. She glanced around the office — taking in the space like she was cataloging it — then finally eased down across from him, folding her hands in her lap.
Her expression was unreadable. But her eyes were sharp.
She didn't answer right away.
Harold studied her for a moment trying to figure out what she needed but he still didn't speak.
Margret opened her mouth then closed it. "My Lord, I want to give up my position and request a different one. I believe I am in the wrong job simply because I ran it originally but there are other people that can do this job and very few who can do the job I want."
Harold sat there a little surprised but he connected the dots pretty quickly as well.
"Jeez Margret, you scared me there for a moment. I thought this was serious. You're thinking about the branch I asked you and Hale to set up?"
Margaret let out a short breath — not quite a laugh, not quite a sigh.
"I am serious," she said. "But… yes. That branch."
She leaned forward slightly, her voice lowering in pitch. Not secrecy — just purpose.
"I've spent the last week reorganizing one hundred administrators, setting up shifts, designing color-coded tokens for work assignments, and mediating which part of a potato gets counted for kitchen surplus."
Her hands unfolded, palms up. "I can do it. Obviously. But it's not where I'm needed most."
Harold nodded slowly, watching her carefully.
"I've read every report from the scouts," she continued. "I've listened to what Hale wants to build, what you're worried about long-term. The world is changing, and it's changing fast. What are we building? It's not just a town. It's a nation. And nations need intelligence. Counterintelligence. People who can track threats before they arrive and remove them before they take root."
She met his eyes then.
"I'm the best option you've got."
Harold tapped a finger on the edge of his notebook.
"You want to run Internal Affairs."
"I want to build it," she corrected. "Properly. Not as an afterthought. Not just 'keep the peace.' I want the tools, the staff, and the mandate to safeguard this territory from the things that paperwork can't."
He sat back, processing.
Margaret added, more quietly, "You asked me to help design it. Let me be the one to shape it. There are a dozen good people in my section who could take over the day-to-day admin load. I'll train whoever you choose."
Harold let the silence stretch for a long few seconds, the crackle of the low fire filling the space between them.
Then he finally said,
"You'd need a title."
Margaret didn't blink. "Director."
A beat.
Harold nodded. "Alright, Director. Let's talk about what you'll need, but for now I want this branch to be kept a secret. Build it but you will be my assistant. You will run my day to day schedule. I'm drowning in reports from every section. I need to stay up to date but I need someone who understands what I need to know immediately and what can wait for next week."
Margaret gave a small, knowing smile — the kind that said she'd expected as much.
"Understood, my Lord," she said. "I'll start building the foundation under that cover. Recruitment, compartmentalization, early protocols. Quiet, careful. Nothing obvious. For now, I'm just your overworked assistant."
Harold gave her a look. "You were already my overworked assistant."
She allowed herself a thin smirk. "Yes, but now I'll be terrifying, too."
He chuckled under his breath and leaned forward, tapping the stack of slates and papers on his desk.
"Start tomorrow. I want daily summaries, priority flags, and a brief every morning before drills. Filter the noise. If it's political, legal, or potentially dangerous — I want it highlighted."
Margaret gave a crisp nod. "You'll have it. And a list of candidates who won't blink when asked to work in shadow."
Harold leaned back, satisfied for now.
"Welcome to your new post, Director."
She inclined her head, then stood — back straight, face calm.
Then paused.
"One more thing," she said. "If we're going to keep this quiet, I'll need your office keys."
Harold raised an eyebrow. "You're not even pretending to wait a week?"
Margaret smiled just faintly. "No, my Lord. I'm not."
Harold smirked faintly at her answer, then stood and moved around the desk, reaching for the door.
"That's enough treason for one morning," he said lightly. "Go ahead and send Mark and Evan in."
Margaret gave a small nod, the faintest glint of amusement in her eyes as she passed him. "Of course, my Lord. I'll make sure to lock up your terrifying secrets behind me."
As the door shut softly behind her, Harold let out a breath and rubbed the back of his neck. He took a moment to straighten the stack of slates, clearing a space on the desk.
A few seconds later, the door opened again.
Mark stepped in first, boots thudding softly against the plank floor. Evan followed a beat behind, quieter, more watchful.
"You wanted to see us?" Mark asked.
Harold gestured to the chairs opposite the desk. "Yeah. Come in. Shut the door."
They did.
Harold waited until it clicked shut, then folded his arms over the desk and looked between them.
"I've got something I want to talk to you both about."
Harold went over to the other table that used to hold a terrain model of the village and pulled over the box taken from the dungeon to the north.
"I wanted to explain what this is — and why it's so important."
Mark and Evan leaned forward slightly. Both of them were soldiers at heart, and the scent of something new and dangerous drew them like blood in water.
Harold set the carved totem down on the desk with a soft clack. It was small — maybe eight inches tall — shaped like a hobgoblin in a war mask. Stylized, but still ominous in a way that didn't quite fade, even in daylight.
"This," Harold said, tapping the top of the totem with a finger, "is why dungeons are so important to us."
Mark frowned. "Looks like a relic."
"Close," Harold nodded. "But no. This is a Dungeon Totem — and it's a thousand times more rare. You only get one out of maybe a thousand dungeon runs, give or take. And only a Lord can use it."
Evan tilted his head. "Use how?"
Harold leaned back slightly. "Once it's charged with ambient mana — about a month's worth, unless we find a way to speed that up — I can activate it. That triggers something called a Totem Quest line."
Mark raised an eyebrow. "What kind of quest line?"
"A special one," Harold said. "The totem creates an instanced quest for up to five adventurers, bound to the Lord's territory. It's tied to the dungeon it came from — so in this case, goblins. You'll fight harder versions, there'll be a story line, new mechanics. It won't just be a standard monster clear."
He paused, letting it settle.
"I don't know all the details. I've only heard about these in my last life. They're rare. But from what I've gathered: if your team completes the quest, each member gets to choose a perk from a unique pool — tied directly to the dungeon type. Any perk that showed up in the dungeon is on the list, up to the rarity of the totem."
Evan's eyes lit up. "Perks like…?"
Harold nodded. "No full list, but think something like Warren Tactician — bonuses in tunnel fights, better trap detection, improved dark vision. Minor alone, but if we build squads around them?" He smiled faintly. "We can start developing more powerful teams. Or just reward the people doing the most dangerous work."
Mark glanced down at the totem. "And it disappears after?"
Harold shook his head. "No. After a successful quest, the original dungeon evolves."
That made them both straighten.
"And the Lord gets to choose how it advances. Bigger, more dangerous, better rewards. Every time we complete a quest line from that dungeon, it grows. "
Mark gave a low whistle. "And we'd be the ones who shaped it."
"Exactly," Harold said. "You don't just fight it — you forge it."
Evan pointed. "And what's the totem do for you?"
Harold picked it up again, turning it in his hands.
"Once completed, totems can be displayed in the Lord's Hall, like relics. And when they are, they grant a small passive buff — to me, and to all adventurers in our domain. It depends on the dungeon. But if the team doesn't complete the quest, nothing happens and the totem will disappear."
He held it up.
"This one came from a goblin den. Its buff might be something like improved trap resistance, or a small bonus to evasion. On its own, not much. But if we're clearing dungeons as often as we can? And we collect enough of these?" He set it back down. "It'll stack up."
"So every dungeon we clear…" Evan began.
"Might drop one of these," Harold finished. "And if it does — it becomes part of our legacy. But again: the drop rate is horrendously low."
There was a beat of silence as that sank in.
Then Harold added, "I was going to give this to my sister and her team. But Vera earned it. Sniping that kobold commander off the back of that lizard? That was one hell of a shot. I'd like to invest in her team — see how far they can go."
"This one's almost done gathering mana," Harold said, tapping the totem again. "I think it'll be ready in the next few days."
He looked between Mark and Evan.
"Why don't you both talk to Vera and her team. Explain what this is — what they're about to do. And I'll let you know the moment it activates."
Mark gave a short nod, already making mental notes. Evan looked fired up.
Harold's tone sharpened just a touch, more command than conversation now.
"You have my full authority to outfit Vera's team with whatever the territory can provide. If they need arrows, we make arrows. If they need potions, rations, gear — get it to them."
He leaned forward slightly.
"We don't let them fail this quest because they ran out of anything. Understood?"
Evan nodded immediately. "Understood."
Mark gave a short grin. "We'll make sure they're ready."
Harold sat back, gaze resting on the totem once more.
"Good. Let's make sure this one counts."