Margaret sat at her desk in Harold's outer office, a steaming cup of bitter black coffee beside her. The slate in front of her wasn't what held her attention — it was the faint blue shimmer of the system panel hovering just above it, translucent text spilling down like a coded report.
She flicked her fingers, sorting the incoming messages, filtering them by the secure tag Hale always used when replying to her. There. A single post in a buried general thread — innocuous to anyone else. She opened it and scanned the header.
"Morning Smoke Report — Wind Shear Across Plains."
A nonsense title. A code phrase. Meaning: Change of plan. High urgency.
Her eyes narrowed. She reached into her drawer and pulled out the cipher slate — thin strips of wax overlaying etched columns, the decode method they'd devised for urgent messages from the field.
Line by line, she began to work through it, murmuring under her breath as she translated the message aloud.
"Advance force crossing immediately. Mana-users only. Rafts for arms, armor, and supply. Swimming crossing to hit trail fast. Main force to cross at ford north, then reverse course and converge south. Goal: intercept and extract civilians at range, disrupt pursuers. Leave no one behind. Kill Kill Kill"
Margaret blinked.
Then blinked again.
She stood up so fast her chair scraped hard against the floor.
"That reckless, glorious bastard!" she hissed, half in awe, half in fury.
Beth, who'd been reading over logistics at the other desk, looked up sharply. "Hale?"
Margaret waved the decoded slate. "He's sending his entire mana-capable cohort into the river.They're going to strip off their armor, float it on rafts, and swim across to move south right now — while the rest of the legion hard marches north to the ford and doubles back from the far side."
Beth blinked. "That's... insane."
Margaret jabbed a finger at the message. "It's brilliant. He can get a relief force to the refugees much faster that way if they can all use mana to move much faster."
She turned and practically stormed toward Harold's door.
Beth called after her. "Wait, where are you going?"
Margaret shot a look over her shoulder. "To tell Harold that his warhound is trying to outmaneuver gravity."
It was still morning, but the sun was full over the eastern treeline now, gleaming off the wide, steady current of the river. Ten rafts bobbed gently at the shoreline, each loaded with armor bundles, weapons, and supplies. The soldiers who would drag them across stood barefoot in the wet grass, most stripped to undershirts and pants.
A few dozen paces back, the rest of the Legion waited in formation — tanaka hitched, gear packed, ready to move the moment the river team launched.
Parker stood at the edge of the water, adjusting the line on his raft for the third time. "You remember that river crossing on the Mekong?"
Hale glanced over, expression flat. "The one where you lost your boots halfway and blamed it on a fish?"
"That one," Parker said, grinning. "Still the worst crossing I've ever done."
Hale gestured to the wide river in front of them. "Not for long."
Parker grimaced. "Guess I'll make new memories."
A splash sounded to their left, where two younger legionaries were awkwardly trying to balance their kit on a raft. One of them — gangly, shoulders hunched — looked about ready to bolt.
"Man, I dunno about this," the nervous legionary muttered. "This seems wild. Swim a river, run a week south, then march it back north? And we have to fight some horses? This is gonna suck."
His buddy snorted and tightened the cinch on their pack. "Not gonna suck worse than doing drills all day and getting screamed at by Captain Hale."
"Hey—"
"Plus," the second legionary cut in, grinning now, "we're rescuing people."
The first legionary blinked. "Yeah?"
"You know what that means, right?"
The first legionary frowned. "What?"
The other elbowed him lightly. "There are gonna be women in that group. Scared, grateful women. We're about to be heroes, Jenkins. Think about it."
Jenkins stared for a second, then slowly nodded. "Oh. Ohhh. Yeah, okay. That's not so bad."
"Get your ass in the water, Jenkins!" Parker roared across the bank. "Before I come over there and teach you to swim using your spine!"
Jenkins yelped and jumped into the river like it had bit him.
Hale raised an eyebrow at Parker. "You always this charming before breakfast?"
Parker shrugged. "Only when I've got to motivate the intellectual elite."
"They're sharp as ever," Hale said dryly.
"Sharp as a marble, more like," Parker muttered, then stepped to his position beside the nearest raft.
Hale stepped forward and shook Parker's hand. "You know the plan. Find them, secure them, and hold until we arrive."
Parker saluted and turned toward the water, voice loud and sure.
"Let's go! We've got civilians to save!"
The raft was already mostly packed — tight bundles of gear lashed down, bows wrapped in oilcloth, ration bag balanced for weight distribution. The river's edge gurgled softly nearby, and the splash of Legion boots hitting water echoed faintly from farther upstream.
Sarah stood just off the bank, slate in hand, eyes narrowed at the glowing system panel hovering in front of her.
"Forum update," she muttered, voice flat. "Public post from Harold."
She read aloud, tone dry:
"Directive: All adventurers assigned to the River Clearing Operation are ordered to remain within designated quest boundaries. Southward movement into unassigned territory is prohibited. Respawn protections will not apply. That means you Sarah."
— Lord Harold, The Landing
She let the silence sit for a moment.
Mira snorted from where she crouched by the raft. "Aw, he mentioned us. I feel special." She flicked a piece of damp rope over her shoulder and stood. "Also, we're already halfway across the river in our hearts, so... bit late, isn't it?"
Theo frowned, his shield slung across his back, arms folded. "He's not wrong, though. No quest means no protection. If one of us goes down out there—"
"We don't come back," Jace finished, leaning lazily against a pack, chewing something like a stalk of grass. "Yeah, we get it. But how many times do we have to say it? We didn't come here to play it safe."
Sarah nodded once. "They're civilians. That's all that matters right now."
Theo looked at her for a long beat, then gave a small nod. "Alright. Just wanted to make sure we weren't pretending this was some heroic walk in the woods."
Jace gave a half-smile. "Heroic run through centaur infested plains, more like."
Mira rolled her eyes. "I'm sure we'll be fine, we've already outran some calvary once We can do it again.."
"Noted," Sarah said dryly. "We follow the river south. The legionaries that crossed will move fast — we don't need to catch them, just stay on their trail. If they run into something they can't handle, we'll know."
Theo adjusted his belt and pack. "We don't even know where the refugees are exactly."
Sarah pointed upriver. "They'll move toward water eventually. We'll find them. Or Centurion Parker will."
Jace pushed the raft forward with one boot, watching the water lap at the side. "You think Harold's actually mad?"
Sarah didn't answer right away. Then she gave a tired sigh.
"Harold's always mad," she said. "But he's also not wrong. He needs us alive. But I'm not staying behind and pretending I didn't see that post from those people. I won't."
Mira clapped her on the back. "That's our fearless boss. Let's go do something stupid and noble."
Jace gave a dramatic bow. "South it is. Into the wild."
One by one, they stepped into the river — waist deep, towing their gear raft behind them.
The current was steady, but they moved with purpose, following the fading splash of Legion rafts ahead, the sun already rising behind them.
Harold stood at the center of the Lord's Hall, his hand braced against the edge of the large planning board they'd mounted to replace the old terrain model. Lines marked out the Landing, the river village site, and the southern routes. Colored markers tracked moving units, supply lines, and priority tasks. It was quiet, save for the shuffling of aides and the occasional clipped voice from across the hall.
Margaret stood nearby, scribbling quick notes onto her slate as reports filtered in.
"Caldwell's finalizing the provisioning plan for the depot," she said, not looking up. "He's meeting with the section heads this afternoon to coordinate food storage and ration prep. We'll be using part of the intake crew he's been training."
Harold nodded. "Tell him I want the numbers conservative. Let's plan for ten days of food for three hundred people."
"Already told him," Margaret said. "He's diverting extra containers for fish traps and passive gathering, too."
Another aide stepped in, handed off a note, and hurried back out.
Harold glanced at it. "Raul's departure was on time. He estimates six days to clear and shape the route south to the river village site."
"One construction crew is with him," Margaret added. "And a logging team from Lira's people — they'll harvest and prep structural wood along the route. Admin teams follow tomorrow morning by tanaka wagon. They'll assist Raul until they reach the site."
"Good. Set aside some of the milled lumber for shipment once the road's passable." Harold shifted his slate and drew a line across the river. "Any update from Parker?"
"He crossed with the forward unit two hours ago. They're burning mana and moving fast. He estimates they'll intercept the refugees in three days — not seven like the main force. Hale's team should reach the ford by now. They'll cross and head south immediately."
Harold grunted. "Tell Parker I want daily reports."
Margaret smirked faintly. "Already ahead of you."
Another aide jogged in with a fresh slate.
"More healing brews from Elia's teams are being prepped," Margaret said, skimming. "She's asking that we start collecting used vials."
Harold chuckled. "She's getting some spunk. That's good."
Margaret's expression sobered. "No new posts from the refugees. They've gone dark."
"Smart," Harold muttered. "If I were chasing them, I'd be scraping the forums for trail markers."
She hesitated — just long enough to make him look up.
"And Henri?" he asked.
Margaret handed him a slate. "Meltdown. Full public post. Threatened you directly — says any attempt to 'interfere in the affairs of another rightful lord' will be treated as aggression."
Harold snorted and tossed the slate onto the desk. "Good. That means he's scared."
Margaret stepped closer, voice low.
"There's one more issue."
Harold stilled. "What now?"
"It's Sarah," she said. "I know you made a public post warning all adventurers not to follow the legion south."
Harold nodded. "Yep. And I fully expected her to ignore it."
He tapped a finger against the board — quiet, thoughtful.
Margaret's voice dropped further. "One of my people had an eye on her. Lost her an hour ago. His best guess is she already crossed the river. She's tailing the forward team."
Harold's face tightened.
"No respawn coverage," he said quietly. "No quest to anchor them. And they can't move like the legion. They're alone out there."
He stared down at the map. South — far south — past the river, deep in those red-marked wilds, there was a thread of movement he couldn't track.
He closed his eyes. Exhaled.
"Damn it, Sarah."