Chapter 10: Walls of Resolve
The morning sun, which had witnessed their meager triumph, now shone down on a palace buzzing with renewed, if still weary, activity. The immediate euphoria of survival had given way to a grim determination. Lykos stood at the heart of it all, his mind racing through blueprints of virtual strongholds, trying to translate them into the harsh reality of crumbling stone and desperate men.
His most pressing concern was the palace itself. The rusted gate, barely held by their desperate barricade, was a gaping wound. The walls, though thick, were ancient and riddled with cracks. This wasn't a fortress; it was a glorified ruin.
"Myron! Kydon! You two and the Laborers, focus on the gate first!" Lykos ordered, his voice sharper now, infused with the authority he was rapidly gaining. "We need to reinforce it properly. Find all the largest stones, the thickest timbers from fallen structures. We will use them to build a proper inner wall, just behind the gate. Something that won't give way so easily."
Myron, still a bit shaky but energized by the previous night's victory, nodded with newfound respect. "As you say, Prince! We will find what we can." The three summoned Greek Laborers, tireless and efficient, immediately set to work, their silent strength making quick progress where human hands alone would struggle.
They moved with an almost robotic precision, hoisting stones that Myron and Kydon could barely budge, and fitting them into place with surprising accuracy. Their "Memory" was sealed, meaning they lacked complex problem-solving skills, but their basic function—raw strength and obedience—was exactly what Lykos needed. They didn't complain, they didn't tire in the same way, they just worked.
Lykos turned to his two Greek Militia units. "You two, patrol the immediate perimeter of the palace. Stay vigilant. Report any movement outside the city walls. We need eyes everywhere." They saluted with their spears, their disciplined movements a comforting sight. Their primary function was combat, but vigilance was a passive expectation.
They were male, stoic, and their presence alone was a subtle reassurance.
"Elara, Forager, Kalypso, Theron!" he called to his other native recruits. "We cannot ignore food, but for today, defense is paramount. I need you to scout the inner palace.
Find any usable metal scraps, old ropes, broken weapons—anything that could be repurposed for defense or used as tools. Kalypso, your basket-weaving skill might be useful for carrying materials."
Kalypso, a woman whose calm demeanor was a balm to Lykos's frayed nerves, nodded, her practical gaze already scanning the immediate surroundings. Theron, surprisingly quiet but observant, followed her, his eyes darting to every potential resource. Elara, the experienced forager, hesitated. "Prince, the olive groves..."
"They will wait for a few hours, Elara," Lykos interrupted, firmly but kindly. "A full stomach means little if we are overrun. We fortify now, so we can forage safely tomorrow." He looked at the summoned Forager (female), whose Memory was sealed, and therefore, her direct opinions were not verbalized.
"You, with Elara. Your instincts will be useful in identifying useful materials inside the palace."
The summoned Forager simply nodded, her efficient practicality evident in her movements. She understood tasks, even without fully understanding the underlying strategic reason.
He turned to Homerus, who stood patiently beside him. "Homerus, your lyre saved us last night. Can you use your Ballad of Restoration? Myron and Kydon are exhausted. And if our new recruits have any aches, it would help them for the hard work ahead."
Homerus nodded, raising his luminous lyre. "Indeed, Prince. It is a slow healing, but a restorative one. It will aid in their endurance, mending the fatigue and minor strains of battle." He began to play a soft, flowing melody, its notes weaving through the dusty air like a gentle current.
As the music permeated the courtyard, Lykos saw Myron and Kydon visibly relax, some of the tension draining from their shoulders. He even felt a subtle easing in his own aching muscles. The summoned units, though seemingly unaffected by exhaustion, also seemed to move with a renewed, smoother grace, as if their internal gears had been oiled. It was subtle, but profoundly effective.
Homerus's Memory unlock had been the correct choice.
Lykos felt a pang of regret. He had only 5 System Points left. Not enough to summon a Greek Apprentice Builder (15 SP), who would be invaluable for this task. He needed more points, and quickly. But for now, he had to make do with what he had. He knew this feeling from games – resource scarcity, making tough choices. This was just a much higher-stakes version.
He joined the Laborers and citizens at the gate, pulling at a massive, dislodged stone. It was heavy, far heavier than anything he'd lifted in his previous life. Sweat stung his eyes, and his muscles screamed, but he pushed, straining alongside his men.
He might not be strong, but he could lead by example. He wasn't the lazy Prince Lykos anymore. He was Lykos, the leader who fought alongside his people, his hands raw, his body aching, but his will firm.
The improvised inner wall behind the gate slowly began to take shape. Stone by stone, timber by timber, a solid, if crude, new barrier rose. The Laborers were essential, their strength moving materials that would have taken dozens of exhausted men days to shift. Myron and Kydon, inspired by Lykos's personal involvement and Homerus's steadying music, worked tirelessly, their fear gradually replaced by a sense of purpose.
As the midday sun beat down, Lykos took a brief break, wiping the sweat from his brow. He looked at the crumbling outer city walls. They were beyond immediate repair. The focus had to be on creating a defensible core within the palace itself.
Every window had to be secured, every choke point identified. This was going to be a long, arduous process, a constant battle against decay and, undoubtedly, against more raiders. He thought about the potential for future attacks – not just scout parties, but full warbands. They needed stronger walls, more dedicated defenders, and even a system to warn them of approaching threats much earlier.
He leaned against a cool, stone pillar, observing his people. Elara and the summoned Forager were meticulously inspecting old storage rooms, their voices low as they discussed potential finds.
Kalypso was already weaving a sturdy, large basket from some dried reeds she'd found near an old, overflowing drain. Theron, surprisingly nimble, was scaling a half-collapsed wall, searching for old rope. Even the two Militia, patrolling diligently, seemed more alert, their presence a silent assurance.
The bond with his native recruits, he realized, was different from that with his summoned units.
The summoned were loyal by design, efficient, and direct in their purpose. But the natives – Myron, Kydon, Elara, Kalypso, Theron – they offered something deeper: an emotional connection, a raw human element. Their fear, their hope, their slowly building trust, was something he had to earn, and it made every scraped knuckle and aching muscle feel truly worthwhile. This was his kingdom-building in its most fundamental form, brick by painful brick.
By late afternoon, the inner wall behind the palace gate stood almost two man-heights tall, a rough but formidable barrier of piled stones and reinforced timbers. It wasn't pretty, but it was functional. They'd also managed to clear some of the larger debris from the courtyard, creating a more open space for maneuvers if needed. The sun began its descent, painting the sky in fiery oranges and purples, signaling the end of another grueling day.
Lykos looked at the fortified gate, then back at his exhausted but resolute group. They had faced death, survived, and begun to rebuild. It was a single spark in a vast darkness, but Lykos knew, with the conviction of a seasoned gamer, that every epic journey began with a single, crucial step. And he had just taken his. Tomorrow, they would secure their stomachs.