Chronicles of Vearth-Chapter 45: The Weight of Command

[Leav POV]

The morning air was thick with the scent of earth and sweat as the camp stirred to life. Soldiers were already at work—some sparring, others hauling supplies. The sound of hammers striking metal echoed from the smithing area, where Bout was overseeing weapon production. Our settlement, though still in its infancy, was growing. But so were the challenges ahead.

I stood atop the newly reinforced ramparts, watching the land beyond our borders. The wilderness stretched endlessly, filled with both opportunities and threats. Our walls were stronger now, but they wouldn't hold forever against a larger force. We needed more than just defenses—we needed true infrastructure, a stable economy, and a military that could stand against greater foes.

The weight of command pressed heavily on my shoulders. This wasn't just about survival anymore. It was about building something lasting.

Down below, Yorl led a group of warriors through a series of brutal combat drills. His movements were sharp, precise—a testament to how much he had grown. His once reckless fighting style had been refined into something more controlled, more lethal.

"Keep moving! The moment you stop, you're dead!" he bellowed, shoving a recruit backward before swinging his axe in a wide arc. "Your enemy won't give you a second chance!"

Frot was nearby, overseeing the scouts. His focus was on precision—silent takedowns, quick escapes, and mobility. Unlike Yorl's frontline warriors, these fighters were trained for speed and deception. Frot demonstrated a rapid disarming technique, his dagger flashing in the light.

"Sloppy," he muttered, kicking a goblin lightly in the ribs after he failed to counter a strike. "Do it again, and this time, move with intent."

Bout, ever the craftsman, was deep in the smithing area, inspecting the latest batch of weapons. He ran his fingers along the edge of a newly forged blade, nodding in approval before handing it to a waiting soldier.

"We're running low on quality iron," he muttered as I approached. "If we want better weapons, we'll need to start mining our own ore."

Another issue added to the growing list. I exhaled, nodding. "We'll send a scouting party to locate potential sites. Prioritize securing a reliable resource flow."

He grunted in agreement, wiping the sweat from his forehead before returning to his work.

Trek had taken charge of the fortifications, ensuring that the walls were properly reinforced and that lookout positions were manned at all times. He greeted me with a nod as I walked the perimeter.

"The walls will hold against small raiding parties, but against a real army?" He shook his head. "Stone will be the key."

I agreed. The wooden reinforcements were temporary. If we wanted a true stronghold, we needed proper walls. Stone, however, required both labor and resources. This tied directly into our need for mining operations.

"What about food?" I asked.

"Sufficient for now, but if we grow any larger, we'll need farmland," Trek admitted. "Hunting is only a short-term solution. Farming means stability."

Farming. Another necessary step toward establishing a true settlement. We had been surviving off foraging, hunting, and scavenging, but that wouldn't sustain us forever.

"We'll clear some land and start planting," I decided. "We can't rely on what little nature provides."

Trek smirked. "You're thinking like a leader now."

I wasn't sure if that was a compliment or not.

While we were making progress, the outside world was not idle. Reports had come in from scouts—small enemy patrols were spotted on the outskirts of our territory. They weren't attacking, but they were watching.

"Their numbers are small," Frot reported. "For now. But that won't last."

I narrowed my eyes. "They're testing us."

"Most likely," he agreed. "Seeing if we're worth taking seriously."

That meant it was only a matter of time before a real assault came. We needed to be ready. Our forces were growing, but we still lacked cohesion at a large scale. Training would need to intensify, and strategies would have to be refined.

"How much time do we have?" I asked.

Frot hesitated. "A few weeks, at best. Less if they get impatient."

I clenched my jaw. Not enough time, but it never was.

Before the night ended, I pulled up my status, reviewing my growth.

[Leav - Goblin Tactician]

Level: 14

HP: 135/155

MP: 55/65

Stamina: 140/200

Strength: 26

Agility: 27

Endurance: 24

Intelligence: 34

Perception: 22

Leadership: 27

Skills:

Tactical Insight (Lv. 2)

Swordsmanship (Lv. 3)

Sprint (Lv. 2)

Adaptive Mutation (Passive)

Growth Mutation (Passive)

Commanding Presence (Lv. 2)

Evasive Footwork (Lv. 3)

Formation Mastery (Lv. 1)

Evolution Progress: 14/25

I was getting closer to my next evolution, but I still had work to do. My strength had grown, but it wasn't enough. Not yet.

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Tomorrow, we would push harder. The army would train, the fortifications would be strengthened, and plans would be set in motion. The road ahead was treacherous, but I had chosen this path.

We would be ready.