[Name your village.]
He read the words once. Then again. And again. Like fingers sifting through a pile of clothes, he rummaged through his mind, searching for a name that would mean something. A name that would carry weight.
In the end, he chose one that stirred his blood as it escaped his lips like a sacred whisper.
"Nydaros."
[Accepted.]
[World Announcement: Lord Archon has established his territory in the Pone Wilderness and has named his village Nydaros!]
[World Announcement: Lord Archon has established his territory in the Pone Wilderness and has named his village Nydaros!!]
[World Announcement: Lord Archon has established…!]
Sett's eyes flew open. Exposed. The moment the announcements rang through the world, the veil he had hoped to hide behind was torn away—ripped without mercy or consideration. The weight of every hungry, desperate, and bloodthirsty Lord now knew of him.
It was survive or die.
His jaw clenched. At once, a panel unfolded before his eyes, bathed in soft blue light that reflected in his pupils like the glow of cold steel.
Territory Name: [Nydaros]
Territory Rank: [Hold]
Settlement Type: [Basic Village]
Population: [0 / 100]
Loyalty: [81% | Rising – The people are loyal and morale is climbing.]
Build: [...]
He tapped on the [Build] option. Like petals unfurling beneath spring's sun, the menu blossomed open, revealing more than he expected.
[Build]
Village Protection Wall | -25 silver coins
Villagers' Abode ×2 | -30 silver coins
Farmland ×2 Plots | -50 silver coins
Well | -50 silver coins
Blacksmith's Forge | -5 silver coins
Tailor's Shop | -5 silver coins
Butcher's Shop | -4 silver coins
Market Square | -100 silver coins
Dark Crusader Class Change Barrack | -10 silver coins
[More…]
"It's a hundred silver coins, my lord." Swain's voice echoed beside him, ever composed, ever calculating.
Sett's gaze sharpened.
So that's the game...
That greedy Lord Ned had tried to sell a loaf of bread for a single silver coin. It was laughable now. Any lord who parted with silver that easily was either naïve or desperate—and desperation was in no short supply these days.
A crooked smile tugged at Sett's lips.
In times like these, even a single loaf was war.
But Sett had meat. Fire-roasted. Aromatic. Precious.
And if he could provide more, the other lords would shower him with coins, driven not by trust, but by hunger. And hunger made fools of kings and tyrants alike.
First things first—he needed soldiers.
With resolve, he selected the Dark Crusader Barrack. It disappeared from the list, and in its place, 10 silver coins vanished from his pouch.
Sett rose briskly from his chair and stepped outside the lord's residence. Ahead, over a hundred meters away, a shimmering curtain of white light stood like a veil between this world and the next. He approached, instinct guiding his hand to touch it.
[5 minutes to build.]
His eyes scanned the hazy silhouettes moving behind the veil—builders summoned by the system, faceless but efficient.
"Five minutes," he muttered, watching the curtain pulse with ethereal energy.
Then, a heavenly scent gripped him. Roasted meat. Fat-crisped. Seasoned by fire and desperation. His stomach roared a guttural rebellion.
Gu-gu!
His folded arms dropped to his belly.
When was the last time I ate?
"My Lord!" Nirelle called out, waving a large, golden-brown lap of rabbit. The juices glistened in the firelight, and Sett's pupils locked onto it like a hawk to prey.
He blinked twice, pulled himself together, and walked over, composure returned.
Inside the hall, Nirelle handed him the lap with a proud smirk, and the seven of them gathered around the two crude tables. It wasn't a feast—but it was theirs.
Sett took three full bites before his instincts told him he was being watched.
He glanced to the side.
All three dragons were staring.
Eyes fixed on the meat. Eyes that followed every bite.
"You've had your share," Sett muttered. "What more do you want?"
Keraunos rose onto his hind legs, roaring and flapping his wings. Ague stepped forward with hesitant longing, her gaze soaked in yearning. Aion simply tilted his head—but Sett knew that look.
It said: We caught that rabbit.
With a theatrical sigh, he carved out small chunks and tossed them toward the trio. They devoured them like starved wolves, and he grimaced with each bite he himself took—each one closer to the bare bone.
"Nirelle," he said as he dropped the stripped bone. "Scout the terrain with James and his father. The Pone Wilderness is rumored to have herbs—some edible. Focus on those."
She nodded with firm resolve.
Sett turned to the two men. One looked to be in his late twenties, the other early forties. That's how they appeared, at least. Age was tricky here.
"Will you swear yourselves to me as soldiers?" he asked. "You may refuse. I will not force you."
"We accept!!" both cried at once, eyes alight.
Sett exhaled, pleased. He understood what it meant for them. Elyria recognized four major classes: Lords, Spellcasters, Warriors, and Freemen. The lower ranks—peasants, serfs, laborers—were mere extensions of land and coin.
But to become a soldier? That meant elevation.
That meant stepping into the warrior class—perhaps even being knighted someday.
"Then follow me. To the barrack."
The group exited, curiosity etched on their faces.
Nestled at the heart of the clearing stood the newly-erected Wooden Barrack—a rugged structure of oak beams and iron-banded timbers. Its high-pitched roof bore sharp eaves like the brow of a knight's helm. Narrow slits doubled as arrow ports, and the sound of creaking wood spoke of readiness.
Before it lay the Training Yard—a simple arena bordered by a waist-high fence. Straw dummies lined the grounds, and racks of spears and wooden swords gleamed under the morning sun.
A staircase wound upward to the Command Balcony, where officers could oversee drills and inspections. But the heart of the building lay within.
Sett entered the Hall of Arms—a solemn chamber laced with quiet enchantment. Soft amber torches lit the walls. At the center stood an Altar of Vows, crafted from polished stone and inscribed wood.
Upon it floated the two scrolls , ethereal and ancient. As both men stepped forward, the scrolls burst into flame—swallowing their hands in white fire.
A dome of light enveloped them. One blink. Then two.
And it was done.
The light faded.
And two Dark Crusader Recruits stood tall before their lord.
Sett smiled.
The first true blades of Nydaros had risen.