The first light of dawn spilled gently across the village, painting the simple wooden huts with hues of gold and amber. A soft mist clung to the low-lying fields, weaving between the patches of earth that the villagers had tilled with sweat and hope. The air was cool, filled with the scent of pine and fresh dew, but beneath the calm morning lay a restless energy.
The man stood at the village's center, gazing out at the faces gathered before him. Men and women, young and old, some with rough hands calloused from years of farming or crafting, others with weary eyes haunted by loss. They were no warriors, not yet. But they had survived. They had hope. And today, he would begin to shape that hope into strength.
"Today, we begin something new," the man said, his voice steady but calm, carrying easily across the crowd. "We cannot rely on walls and luck alone. We must learn to defend ourselves. We will become a village not just of survivors, but of warriors."
Murmurs ran through the crowd — some skeptical, some eager. He could see in their eyes the flicker of old fears and the faint glimmers of determination.
"Training will be hard. It will test you. You will fall, but you will get up. We have no choice."
He scanned the crowd and spotted Jaric, a tall man with the sharp eyes of a hunter, and Lira, a young woman known for her skilled hands and quick mind. Both nodded, stepping forward to volunteer as helpers.
The training grounds were little more than a clearing behind the village's northern fence. Uneven and littered with stones and broken branches, it was far from ideal. Still, it was enough.
The man began with the basics — how to hold a spear, how to stand balanced and ready, how to move without losing footing. Wooden practice weapons, crudely fashioned from fallen branches and sharpened sticks, were distributed to those willing to learn.
At first, it was clumsy. Men and women stumbled, their strikes awkward and uncertain. Some laughed nervously at their own mistakes, others bit their lips in frustration.
"Guard your side!" the man called out, demonstrating the proper position again. "Don't forget — your defense is just as important as your attack!"
Jaric moved smoothly, a natural born hunter adapting quickly to the new form. Lira watched carefully, correcting others' stance with patient hands.
But not everyone adapted as fast.
An older man, whose back bent with years of labor, struggled to hold his spear steady. He shook his head, but the man caught his eye and gave a nod of encouragement.
"You're doing fine. Every step counts."
As the sun climbed higher, the village buzzed with the sound of clashing wood and sharp commands. The man's mind raced with plans and worries.
He knew the villagers were fragile — physically and emotionally. Their hearts were scarred from the raids that had nearly wiped them out. Training them was more than just teaching skill; it was rebuilding hope, restoring pride, and forging unity from despair.
The System quietly ticked in the background, calculating experience points from every swing, every successful parry, and every moment of endurance.
Training EXP +70Base EXP +110
He felt the subtle energy pulse — a reminder that this power was his alone to wield. No other lord had such a System, no other army would grow so quickly once the multipliers kicked in.
Days passed in a blur of training drills and rebuilding. The villagers slowly improved, their stances steadier, their strikes surer. Some found joy in the challenge, others fought silent battles with doubt.
One afternoon, as the sun warmed the clearing, a young woman named Mara tripped and fell while trying to parry a thrust. Her face flushed with embarrassment, but when the man helped her up, she smiled weakly.
"It's harder than it looks," she admitted.
"That's why we practice," he replied. "Every failure is a step toward success."
Jaric grinned, offering encouragement. "You've got the spirit. Keep at it."
The man nodded to himself. This was what leadership meant — patience, understanding, and unwavering faith.
The fragile peace shattered one evening when scouts burst into the village, breathless and wide-eyed.
"Raiders are moving toward us. They'll be here by dawn," one scout warned.
Panic swept through the villagers. Many looked to the man for guidance, their faces pale and uncertain.
He stood firm.
"Prepare yourselves. This will be the first test of what we've learned."
He organized the villagers quickly, assigning archers to the walls and spearmen to the gates. The militia was small but determined.
When the raiders charged under the pale light of dawn, the battle was brutal and raw.
The villagers fought fiercely, the training barely enough to keep them alive. Spears thrust forward, arrows flew, and desperate cries echoed. The man was everywhere at once — rallying fighters, plugging gaps, calming fears.
When the battle ended, the raiders driven off, the village was battered but alive.
The System surged with energy, awarding experience.
Troop EXP +290 (x2.3 battle multiplier)Base EXP +580
The man saw the subtle changes — stronger stances, faster reactions, and above all, a new confidence in the eyes of his people.
But he also saw the cost. Wounds needed tending, spirits needed lifting, and the village remained vulnerable.
In the quiet aftermath, the man walked among his people, helping bandage wounds and listening to stories of bravery and fear.
The village had taken its first steps toward survival, but there was still a long road ahead.
Soon, the System indicated they were nearing base level 6 — the milestone that would bring the arrival of heroes, champions unlike any the village had ever seen.
The man's gaze drifted toward the distant hills, where the unknown awaited.
This was just the beginning.