Consciousness returned like a tide rolling in—slow at first, then all at once. Mike's eyes snapped open to darkness punctuated by faint, dancing red light. For a disorienting moment, he couldn't recall where he was or what had happened. Then memory crashed over him—the goblin attack, the tryclops, the explosive finale of their battle.

  He was lying on hard stone. Not the ground where he'd fallen, but somewhere indoors. The air smelled of smoke and ash, but also of cool earth and stone. Groaning, Mike pushed himself to a sitting position, surprised by the relative ease of the movement. His body ached, but not with the searing agony he'd expected after such a battle.

  Taking inventory, Mike patted himself down in the dim light. His clothes hung in tatters, burned and torn beyond any hope of repair. But beneath them, his skin was largely intact—where raw burns and lacerations should have been, he found only tender pink flesh. His head wound had closed, the gash on his side now just an angry red line. The familiar warmth of the level-up healing had clearly been at work, and at an unprecedented scale.

  "Four levels at once," Mike whispered, remembering the cascade of notifications that had flashed behind his closed eyelids. "Level nine now."

  He felt different—stronger, more alert, his mind sharper despite the lingering disorientation. The power boost was substantial, noticeable in a way the earlier advancements hadn't been. This wasn't just faster healing; it was a fundamental enhancement.

  A flicker of light caught his attention. The red glow came from a narrow stairway leading up—firelight, still burning somewhere above. Mike realized he was in the underground storage area beneath his shelter, presumably moved there by someone or something after the battle.

  Or perhaps he'd crawled here unconsciously in his final moments before collapsing? He couldn't remember.

  Climbing unsteadily to his feet, Mike made his way to the base of the stairs. His ancient hammer hung from his belt, but his woodworking ring was still on his finger—small mercies in the chaos. The stairs led upward to what had been the trapdoor entrance to his shelter, now blown completely open, the floorboards around it charred and partially collapsed.

  Mike emerged into the ruins of his home and froze at the destruction that greeted him.

  The shelter he'd so carefully constructed was largely gone, reduced to blackened support beams and ash-covered stone. Daylight streamed through what had been the roof, illuminating a scene of devastation. Beyond the shattered walls, the broader ruins of Crafter's Haven showed extensive fire damage—newer wooden structures had burned completely while older stonework stood blackened but intact.

  The most dramatic feature was the massive crater where he'd detonated the sap bomb beneath Rong—nearly twenty feet across and five feet deep, its edges fractured and scorched. Smaller craters pockmarked the ground where other explosions had occurred during the battle.

  And bodies. Goblin bodies everywhere, some burned beyond recognition, others clearly killed by traps or weapons. The stench was becoming noticeable in the midday heat."How long was I out?" Mike wondered aloud, his voice rough from smoke and disuse.

  The position of the sun and the state of the corpses suggested at least a full day had passed, possibly more. His stomach's hollow ache confirmed the theory.

  Scanning the horizon, Mike searched for any sign of the tryclops or surviving goblins. Nothing moved among the ruins except ash caught in occasional wind eddies. They had fled, then—taking their injured master with them, but unlikely to have gone far. They would return, perhaps with reinforcements.

  "First things first," Mike said, forcing himself to focus on immediate practicalities rather than future threats.

  The dead goblins needed to be dealt with before they attracted scavengers or disease. He'd need shelter again, more secure than before. Food and water remained priorities. And a proper assessment of what survived the fire would determine his next steps.

  Mike began with the grim but necessary task of gathering the goblin bodies. Despite his enhanced strength—noticeably greater than before—the work was exhausting and gruesome. The fallen warriors were equipped with various weapons and armor, most too small for human use but potentially valuable as materials. Mike set these aside as he dragged each corpse to a clearing at the edge of the ruins.

  He worked methodically, searching each body before adding it to the growing pile. Most carried only crude weapons or trinkets, but occasionally Mike found something useful—a whetstone, leather pouches in good condition, a few of those strange gemstones that seemed to have some value in this world.

  The most significant find came from what appeared to be a goblin officer, judging by its more elaborate armor. It carried a well-crafted hand axe with a stone head and ironwood handle—a proper tool rather than just a weapon, and sized for a larger creature, making it almost suitable for human hands.

  Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

  "This will help," Mike said, testing the axe's weight and balance. It was a bit light compared to what he'd have chosen back home, but the edge was keen and the craftsmanship surprisingly good.

  By late afternoon, Mike had gathered over thirty goblin bodies for burning. He'd also recovered a collection of weapons: several knives of various sizes, dozens of arrows, a few spears with stone or bone tips, and most surprisingly, a short sword. The sword was clearly not of goblin make—its metal blade was of superior quality, though sized for a smaller being, making it more like a long knife in Mike's hands.

  "Better than nothing," he decided, setting it aside with his other salvaged items. "Though I'm more likely to cut myself than any enemy."

  Using some of the unburnt debris and the remaining sap from his cached supplies, Mike constructed a funeral pyre for the goblin dead. He felt a strange, conflicted respect as he worked—these creatures had been enemies, yes, but they'd fought with courage and discipline. They deserved better than to be left for scavengers.

  As the pyre burned, sending thick black smoke into the late afternoon sky, Mike turned his attention to his own needs. Water was the first priority. The well in the plaza remained intact, allowing him to slake his powerful thirst. Food was a greater challenge—his stored supplies had largely burned, and hunting would have to wait until he had proper shelter again.

  The underground complex offered the most immediate solution to his housing problem. The storage chambers were intact, protected from the fire by stone and earth. They weren't comfortable living quarters, but they would provide security while he rebuilt.

  "Camp underground until I can rebuild properly," Mike decided, gathering what usable materials remained from his burned shelter.

  As darkness approached, Mike made one final assessment of his situation. The greatest loss had been his carefully constructed defenses—traps and barriers that had taken days to build were now ash and twisted metal. Reconstructing them would be labor-intensive, but necessary.

  Not everything was lost, though. The stone structures of the original ruins had survived with minimal damage—their ancient builders had used materials meant to endure. And to Mike's relief, the boom sap trees at the perimeter remained untouched by the flames, their valuable explosive sap still flowing into the collection vessels he'd established.

  Taking his salvaged items, Mike retreated to the underground chambers for the night. He fashioned a simple bed from materials found in storage and ate sparingly of dried provisions discovered in a sealed container. As exhaustion claimed him, his mind raced with plans for rebuilding, for creating defenses even more formidable than before.

  ---

  Dawn found Mike already working, his enhanced body requiring less rest than he would have expected after such exertion. The level-up benefits continued to surprise him—not just in healing and strength, but in stamina and mental acuity. Ideas for improved structures and mechanisms came more clearly now, his builder's instinct sharpened to something approaching intuition. "Level nine builder," he mused as he cleared debris from what would become his new central structure. "Whatever that means."

  His plan was straightforward: fortify a single building around the entrance to the underground chambers, creating a defensible core that could withstand another attack. From there, he would extend outward, rebuilding traps and surveillance points in concentric rings of security.

  Mike decided to focus on stonework rather than wood construction—the fire had proven the vulnerability of timber to both conventional and sap-based flame. Using the ancient hammer and his newly acquired axe, he began repurposing stone blocks from less essential ruins to reinforce his chosen building.

  The work was hard but satisfying. Mike found himself moving with greater efficiency, handling weights that would have strained him before. The ancient hammer seemed to guide his hands at times, subtle vibrations suggesting the best striking points to shape stone or split wood. His connection to it had deepened since the battle with Rong, as if the four-level advancement had enhanced their resonance.

  By the end of the first day, Mike had established a clear foundation for his new shelter. The underground entrance was secured with a heavy stone hatch of his own design, operable from either side but difficult to breach by force. The walls of the chosen building were partially rebuilt, gaps filled with shaped stone and what little intact timber he could salvage.

  The second day brought steady progress on the structure itself. Mike discovered that the goblin armor, while too small for him to wear, provided excellent material for reinforcing vulnerable points. He repurposed metal plates and leather strapping to create hinges, brackets, and bindings where needed. The building took shape—less comfortable than his previous shelter, perhaps, but significantly more defensible.

  On the third day, Mike turned his attention to perimeter defenses. Using his enhanced understanding of mechanical systems, he designed traps more sophisticated than his previous attempts—deadfalls with multiple triggers, pit traps with secondary impaling mechanisms, snares that would lift and hold intruders rather than just alerting to their presence.

  The axe proved invaluable for this work. While the woodworking ring enhanced his ability to shape and join wooden components, the axe allowed him to harvest and prepare raw materials with unprecedented speed. Trees that would have taken hours to fell before now came down in minutes under his strengthened swings. "Almost worth getting blown up for," Mike joked grimly to himself as he split logs with a single strike, the axe responding to his guidance like an extension of his arm.

  The fourth day brought improvements to his sap collection system. The explosive material had proven its worth repeatedly, and maximizing its production became a priority. Mike cleaned and repaired all the taps on the remaining trees, replacing collection vessels with more efficient designs. With careful management, he estimated he could produce enough sap for dozens of bombs within a week.

  By the fifth day after waking, Crafter's Haven—or at least Mike's corner of it—had begun to resemble a proper fortification rather than a hastily rebuilt ruin. The central building now featured a reinforced door, shuttered windows that could serve as archer's ports, and a partial second story that provided visibility across the surrounding area. "Not bad for a one-man construction crew," Mike said, surveying his work from atop the new observation platform.

  The perimeter defenses extended in a rough circle fifty yards out from the central building. Most were concealed, visible only to Mike's practiced eye. Some were lethal by design, others meant to delay or detain. All were more sophisticated than their predecessors, benefiting from his increased skill and the lessons learned in battle.

  As sunset approached on that fifth day, Mike allowed himself to truly rest for the first time since waking. Sitting on a stone bench he'd constructed outside his new shelter, he watched the golden light paint the ruins in warm hues. Despite everything—the attack, the fire, the constant threat of return—he felt a curious sense of accomplishment. He'd been transported to an alien world, faced monsters from nightmare, and survived. More than survived—he'd adapted, grown stronger, built something meaningful from nothing. The ache for home remained, the longing for Sarah and Jeremy a constant presence in his heart, but alongside it now existed something new: capability. Confidence.

  Mike turned the ancient hammer in his hands, studying the symbols etched into its surface. Some seemed almost readable now, as if the level advancements had begun to bridge the gap between his mind and this world's written language. Not comprehension, not yet, but a sense of potential understanding. "I'm getting stronger," he told the hammer, as if it might understand. "I'm learning. And when they come back—whatever they send next—I'll be ready."

  The sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows across Crafter's Haven. Mike returned to his shelter, securing the reinforced door behind him. Below, the underground chambers awaited with their mysteries and yet-undiscovered secrets. Above, the ruins held who knew what other artifacts and technologies. And beyond, somewhere in this strange world, perhaps there existed a way home. For now, though, there was work to be done. Defenses to complete. Skills to master. Strength to build.

  Mike Reeves, Level 9 Builder, had only just begun.