The fires burned low as the last goblin corpses turned to ash.

  Jonah climbed down from his vantage point, mind already cataloging priorities. Four hours until the second wave. Maybe less. The System's timing wasn't precise. It responded to participant readiness, pushed when people started feeling secure.

  They couldn't afford to feel secure just yet.

  "Martinez! Get me every person who's not on watch or wounded. We're building."

  The former Marine appeared from the medical station, eyebrows raised. "Building what?"

  "Fortifications. Choke points. Kill zones. That debris isn't scenery; it's construction material." Jonah pointed at the corrupted buildings surrounding the park.

  "We've got four hours—"

  "Then we work fast." Jonah was already walking toward the nearest collapsed structure, a two-story building that had partially merged with crystalline growths during System integration. "The first wave was a raiding party—a probing attack. The second will be larger. The third..." He paused, turned to face Martinez. "The third is an army: thousands of goblins, hobgoblin commanders, shaman circles instead of individual casters, and war beasts."

  Martinez's face went pale beneath the grime and dried blood. "Thousands?"

  Jonah resumed walking. "Give or take. We survive that, we can claim the settlement stone. Fail, and everyone here dies. So we build."

  Word spread fast. Survivors who'd been resting stumbled to their feet; those who'd been mourning set grief aside. Fear was a powerful motivator, and Jonah had just given them something more terrifying than the battle they'd barely survived.

  Within twenty minutes, he had three hundred people assembled near the collapsed building. Not enough, but it would have to do.

  "Listen carefully," Jonah said, projecting his voice across the crowd. "We're going to strip this building for materials: metal beams, sheet metal, anything we can use as barriers or weapons. I need teams of five. One person with experience in construction or engineering leads each team. Anyone with those skills, step forward now."

  A handful of people emerged from the crowd: the construction workers he'd noticed earlier, plus a few others—a civil engineer still wearing her badge covered in blood, a welder whose arms showed burn scars from years of work, and an architecture student clutching a salvaged notebook.

  "You six are team leaders. Pick four people each. Your job is to identify load-bearing structures, mark safe extraction points, and organize the hauling." Jonah pointed at the building's exposed framework. "I need those metal beams—as many as we can get without collapsing what's left."

  The teams formed quickly. People wanted direction and purpose.

  Jonah understood that need.

  It was easier to work than to think about dying.

  He moved among them as they began, correcting misplaced items, redirecting efforts, ensuring efficiency, and making sure the coordinators did right. His Construction knowledge came from Level 14, when humanity had built their first proper stronghold—crude by later standards, but the principles remained the same.

  "That beam's structural," he told one team. "Take the one above it first. Reduce the load before you extract."

  He moved to another group. "Use the crystals as leverage points. System integration fused them solid; they won't break."

  Within an hour, the first materials were emerging: bent metal beams, sheets of aluminum siding, twisted rebar that could serve as stakes. Not pretty, but functional.

  Jonah began the real work.

  He started with the northern approach, the most direct route from the corrupted buildings where goblins would likely mass. The terrain offered natural advantages: a slight rise where the old parking lot met the park proper and a drainage ditch that created a two-foot depression across forty meters.

  "Dig that ditch deeper," he ordered. "Another foot, minimum. Pile the dirt on the park side to create an embankment."

  "That'll take hours—"

  "Then start now."

  They keep forgetting we are in the system now. Everything is faster, and they are far stronger than anything they used to be. Somehow, we need to get them to understand this soon enough.

  He moved to the eastern flank, where the basketball courts provided an open killing field. The problem was width. Too much space for goblins to spread out, overwhelming any defensive line through sheer numbers.

  "Metal beams here and here." Jonah drove stakes into the ground, marking positions. "Angle them inward. Force anything coming from this direction into a narrowing corridor."

  "Like a funnel?" Sarah had appeared beside him, arms full of salvaged metal sheets.

  "Exactly. Goblins are pack fighters. They instinctively spread to encircle prey. We deny them that option and make them come at us in manageable numbers instead of a tide."

  She studied the stakes, visualizing the finished product. "Choke points."

  "Choke points, kill corridors, whatever you want to call them. The principle is simple: reduce the engagement front so our fighters aren't outnumbered at any single point of contact." Jonah took some of the metal sheets from her arms. "These go on the outer edges of the corridor, angled to deflect charges and prevent flanking through gaps."

  They worked together for several minutes, positioning materials, testing angles. Sarah learned fast. Her Krav Maga background gave her an intuitive understanding of how bodies moved through space.

  "What about the west side?" she asked.

  "That's Derek's problem." Jonah's voice was flat. "His section, his defenses. I'll provide materials and advice. Whether he uses them is his choice."

  "You're giving him the worst position?"

  "I'm giving him the position furthest from my back." Jonah met her eyes. "He wants to prove he's a leader? Let him defend something. Succeed, and he earns legitimate authority. Fail, and we'll see how his people feel about his leadership."

  Sarah was quiet for a moment. "That's ruthless."

  "Practical. I can't watch him and fight goblins simultaneously. Distance solves that problem. Besides, the west approach has natural barriers. Those corrupted buildings create a maze that'll slow any assault. He doesn't need my fortifications to hold there. He just needs to not be stupid."

  The work continued.

  Jonah moved through the developing defenses, adjusting and improving, turning scattered survivors into something approaching a cohesive workforce. His Tactical Assessment skill fed him constant information: sight lines, approach vectors, potential weak points. He translated that information into instructions that even exhausted civilians could follow.

  The choke corridors took shape first. Metal beams planted deep, angled inward, forcing any attackers into increasingly narrow lanes. At the terminus of each corridor, he positioned shield braces. Heavy debris anchored to the ground where defenders could lock shields and present an unbreakable wall.

  "Turtle points. When the charge hits, you brace. Don't try to fight. Just absorb the impact. Let the walls channel enemies to you, then let the people behind you do the killing while you hold position." He explained to the fighters who'd hold them.

  "What if they break through?"

  "They won't. Not if you hold formation. The corridors are sized for three-shield coverage. Lock together, plant your feet, and nothing short of a hobgoblin war chief is pushing through. Trust your gear. Trust each other. That's what makes it work." Jonah demonstrated the positioning, showing how shields overlapped, how weight distributed through braced legs into anchored footing.

  The caltrops came next.

  Metal scraps twisted into crude spikes, scattered in patterns across the approach lanes. Not enough to stop a charge, but enough to disrupt the hasty speed they would come in, breaking them into piecemeal without enough momentum to hurt the human lines.

  Goblins wore minimal footwear. The spikes would slow them and turn organized assault into stumbling chaos.

  "Concentrate them here and here." Jonah marked positions in the dirt.

  "Leave clear lanes through the center... "

  "That's where we want them to go. Psychology and pain will do the funneling for us..."

  Trip lines followed. Salvaged wire strung ankle-height across secondary approaches, nearly invisible against the corrupted ground. Anyone who hit them at full speed would go down hard, creating obstacles for those behind.

  "Won't they just step over once they see people falling?"

  "Goblins don't think that clearly in combat. They see enemies, they charge. Individual casualties don't register until half the formation is down." Jonah finished securing a line. "By then, our ranged attackers should have thinned them enough to matter."

  Speaking of ranged attackers, the elevated platforms required more creativity.

  The playground equipment had partially survived System integration, though the metal slides now twisted at impossible angles and the swings hung from chains that seemed to extend into dimensional folds. Jonah ignored the corruption and focused on the structural elements.

  "That climbing frame is solid," he told the team assigned to platform construction. "Reinforce it with beams, add a railing for cover, and we've got an elevated archer position with three-sixty visibility."

  "It's fifteen feet up. How do we get down fast if things go wrong?"

  "You don't. That's the point." Jonah pointed at the surrounding area. "Elevated positions trade mobility for protection. You're above the melee, safe from ground assault as long as the line holds. If the line breaks completely, you're dead anyway. Being on the ground just means you die tired from running."

  It was brutal logic, but accurate.

  The team got to work.

  He identified three more platform positions: a bus stop shelter that could support weight with reinforcement, a partially collapsed wall that created a natural parapet, and a maintenance shed roof that offered excellent sight lines toward the eastern approach.

  Each platform got specific assignments: archers on the playground structure, covering the northern funnel; mages on the bus shelter, positioned to counter shaman attacks; and mixed ranged on the parapet, providing overlapping fire across the central defensive line.

  "What about fallback positions?" Martinez had been shadowing him, absorbing the defensive doctrine with professional attention.

  "Three lines." Jonah drew in the dirt with his boot, sketching the layout. "Line A is the perimeter—the choke points, turtle stations, forward positions. That's where we meet the initial assault."

  He drew a second line. "Line B is twenty meters back: prepared positions with fresh fighters. When Line A takes too many casualties, we execute a controlled retreat. Line A falls back through gaps in Line B, and Line B becomes the new front while Line A recovers at the medical station."

  Then the third line. "Med Line: final fallback. This is where Rebecca sets up, where the wounded and non-combatants shelter. If we're fighting here, things have gone badly for us. But even that doesn't mean hopeless. The Med Line holds long enough for Line A and B survivors to reform and counterattack."

  Martinez studied the diagram. "Layered defense. Standard doctrine for outnumbered forces."

  "Standard because it works. The goal isn't to kill every goblin, but to kill enough that they break before we do." Jonah scuffed out the drawing. "Goblins have morale. They're not mindless. Push hard enough, make them bleed enough, and they'll retreat to regroup. We just need to survive until that happens."

  Jonah needed all hands on deck instead of thinking about glory, so he kept his intention of finding and killing the leaders to himself.

  "And if they don't break?"

  "Then we die." Jonah's tone was matter-of-fact. "But I've seen goblin armies crack before. They're aggressive, not suicidal. Cost them enough bodies and even their leaders will call retreat."

  This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

  He didn't mention that he'd also seen goblin armies that didn't break, that swept through defenders like water through sand, leaving nothing but corpses. Those armies had shamans who could bolster morale magically, war chiefs who executed deserters, and commanders who valued objectives over survival.

  He was betting this first-level army wasn't that sophisticated—not yet.

  The anti-shaman preparations required specialized attention.

  "Spotters on every elevated platform," Jonah instructed the ranged team leaders. "Your primary job is identifying magical threats, not killing goblins. Shamans glow when they're casting. You see that glow, you call it out immediately."

  "Then what?"

  "Suppression teams respond: three mages assigned to each sector. When a shaman is spotted, all three hit it simultaneously. You don't need to kill it; you need to interrupt the cast. Shamans can't channel magic and dodge attacks at the same time."

  "What if there are too many?"

  "Then we use a brace call." Jonah gathered the defenders who'd be on the front lines. "When you hear 'Brace! Shaman!,' you turtle up. Shields high, tight formation, heads down. Most shaman magic needs direct contact or clear sight lines. A shield wall blocks both. You take the hit, you survive, you resume fighting."

  He demonstrated the timing. "Spotters call the sighting. Suppression teams engage. If they can't stop the cast in time, they shout 'Brace!' and everyone hunkers. Three-second window between call and impact. Use it."

  The preparations continued.

  Two hours in, resistance emerged.

  Jonah was positioning the final barriers on the northern approach when Derek approached with two other men. Leaders of their own factions, based on the body language of people trailing behind them. One was a thick-necked man in his forties, former bouncer maybe, who'd gathered a group through intimidation similar to Derek's approach. The other was younger, lean and calculating, with the eyes of someone who'd spent time in places where weakness got exploited.

  "We need to talk." Derek's voice carried challenge.

  Jonah didn't stop working. "Talk."

  "This fortress you're building. Who decided you're in charge of defenses?"

  "Nobody. I decided, and I started building." Jonah hefted a metal beam into position. "Anyone who wanted different defenses was free to build them. Nobody did."

  "Because you had everyone working on your plans before we could organize alternatives."

  Jonah finally turned to face them. "Yes. Is that a problem?"

  The thick-necked man stepped forward. "Problem is, you've got our people building walls around your positions. Protecting your section while ours get scraps."

  "Your section has the western approach. Natural barriers, limited assault vectors, defensible terrain. You don't need the same fortifications because you don't face the same threat density."

  "That's convenient reasoning."

  "That's tactical reality." Jonah met each of their eyes in turn. "The north and east will take the heaviest assault. That's where the approach is easiest, where the goblins can mass forces. The west is secondary and behind us, the south is a non-factor. Different positions, different preparations."

  The calculating younger man spoke for the first time. "And you decided that without consulting us."

  "Did you want to be consulted?" Jonah's tone sharpened. "Two hours ago you were organizing burial details and trying to count your survivors. I was building defenses. Now you want input on decisions I've already implemented?"

  "We want to know we're not being set up."

  "To fail?" Jonah laughed, and it wasn't kind. "If any section fails, we all die. The defensive line is only as strong as its weakest point. I have no interest in sabotaging positions I need to hold."

  Derek's jaw worked. "Pretty words. But you put me on the furthest position. Away from the center, away from support."

  "I put you where you can't stab me in the back while I'm fighting goblins. You want to earn trust? Hold your line. Prove you're an asset instead of a liability. Then we can discuss repositioning."

  Tension crackled between them. The thick-necked man's hand drifted toward his weapon.

  "Don't." Jonah didn't move, didn't reach for his own blade. "I beat Derek and three of his people in open combat. I killed the goblin raid leader and its shamans. If you want to test whether you're better than them, go ahead. But understand what happens after."

  "You threatening us?"

  "I'm explaining consequences. You attack me, maybe you win. Then you get to explain to everyone watching why you killed the person who's been keeping them alive. Get to lead defenses you don't understand against an army you're not prepared for." Jonah's expression didn't change. "Or we can skip the posturing, accept that I have knowledge you need, and focus on not dying."

  The younger man studied him with those calculating eyes. "What do you want?"

  "For you to hold your positions when the attack comes. That's it. I'm not trying to build an empire. I'm trying to survive and help humanity survive whats to come. You help with that, we have no problems. You don't, we have significant problems. Simple."

  Silence stretched between them.

  Derek's knuckles were white on his weapon hilt.

  The younger man spoke first. "I'm Chen Wei. My people hold the south section. What do you need from us?"

  Jonah felt something ease fractionally. One ally, at least. "Ranged support. Your section has good sight lines to the eastern approach. When things get heavy there, I need your archers adding pressure. And the left flank with me."

  "Done."

  The thick-necked man grimaced but nodded. "Garrett. West-south junction. I'll coordinate with Derek on coverage."

  Two allies, conditional but useful.

  Derek was last. His eyes promised violence deferred, not forgotten.

  "I'll hold my line," he said finally. "But this isn't over."

  This has to be the third time he said the same exact thing? Does he not have any other lines?

  Jonah shook his head at the thought.

  "It never is. Now go prepare your positions. We've got maybe two hours before the next wave."

  They dispersed, gathering their followers, heading toward their assigned sections. Jonah watched them go, tracking body language, cataloging threats.

  The confrontation had been inevitable. Leaders needed to establish themselves. They needed to be seen challenging the dominant figure. By letting them voice concerns publicly and then addressing those concerns reasonably, he'd given them face without surrendering authority.

  Politics. Even in the apocalypse, there is always politics.

  The work intensified as the deadline approached.

  People who'd been hesitant early on now threw themselves into the construction. Word had spread about the third wave. About the army waiting beyond. Fear pushed them past exhaustion, trembling muscles, and bleeding hands that came from moving debris for hours.

  Jonah found himself directing less and working more.

  The final touches required precision, and he couldn't trust precision to people running on terror.

  He was securing the last trip line when three figures approached him. These moved differently than Derek's faction. Purposeful, but respectful of space, waiting to be acknowledged rather than demanding attention.

  Jonah finished his work before turning to face them.

  A teenager, maybe sixteen, with hollow eyes and dried blood still crusting their sleeves, the one he'd seen holding their dead sibling. Behind them, two adults: A woman in her thirties with the focused intensity of someone who'd found power and wanted more, and a man closer to Jonah's age whose hands crackled with barely contained electrical discharge.

  "You're the one giving orders." The teenager's voice was flat, emptied by grief. "People say you know things, know how to survive."

  "Maybe." Jonah assessed them automatically. The teenager carried a sword with surprising comfort—natural grip, balanced stance—a fighter. The woman radiated mana, her core larger than most first-day mages managed. The man with electrical hands had clearly unlocked some kind of lightning specialization, raw power seeking direction.

  All three wore the subtle signs of System integration done right. Tier 1 classes, he could tell from the attribute distribution, the way stats enhanced movement without the telltale overcorrection of higher-tier immediate bonuses.

  Talented. Genuinely talented, and he didn't recognize any of them.

  These three should have made names for themselves, should have risen through the ranks like Liam would have. Where did they go in my timeline?

  The answer came with bitter clarity: The First Human War.

  The chaos that consumed the early days when factions fought each other as much as they fought monsters. Talented people dying in pointless conflicts, their potential extinguished before it could develop. It consumed every isolated bubble as though the system had a hand in it happening.

  Jonah had a suspicion that might be closer to the truth than he was willing to admit.

  How much did we lose? How many like these three fell to human blades instead of goblin ones?

  "What do you want?" he asked.

  "To join." The teenager's chin lifted slightly. "My brother—" Her voice caught, but they forced through it. "My brother died because our group had no organization, no defenses, people running in circles while goblins picked us off. Your section lost people too, but less—proportionally less."

  "I noticed."

  "Teach me.Teach me how to fight so that doesn't happen again. I'll follow orders. I'll dig ditches or carry debris or whatever you need. Just teach me. I don't want to lose anyone again."

  The heat and intensity in her words nearly drove Jonah a step back.

  The woman stepped forward. "Same request, different motivation. I unlocked Fire Mage through the tutorial—basic, I know—but I can feel there's more. The way you directed your mages during the battle, the suppression tactics, the coordination... that's not beginner knowledge."

  "It's not."

  "Where did you learn it?"

  "Does it matter? I have knowledge. You want access to it. The source is irrelevant if the information is accurate."

  She accepted that with a nod.

  The man with the electrical hands spoke last. "I'm not good at following orders. Never have been. But I'm worse at dying, and I figure you're my best chance at avoiding that. Saw these two whispering about joining you and thought, why not." His grin was sharp. "Point me at targets, tell me what to hit, and I'll hit it. Everything else is negotiable."

  Three recruits.

  Three talented people choosing competence over ego.

  Jonah should have felt satisfaction. Instead, he felt the weight of responsibility settling heavier on his shoulders.

  Did humanity have so many capable people that died during the First and Second Human Wars? How much did we ruin our potential in those early days? These three are as talented as Liam.

  The First War was happening now. Or rather, it wasn't happening, because he'd established order early enough to prevent the fracturing. Derek's faction existed, but was contained. Other leaders had emerged, but within a structure that emphasized cooperation over dominance.

  The Second War was different.

  Level 3. When the scattered pockets of humanity finally reconnected, when portal networks opened between survival zones, when groups that had developed in isolation suddenly encountered each other. The clash of cultures, of leadership styles, of resource disputes, and everything else that made humanity fight over things.

  That war couldn't be prevented. Too many people, too many factions, too much accumulated grievances that could not be overlooked. It would happen on a scale that made this pocket's conflicts look like playground shoving in relation to a world war.

  But maybe, just maybe, if he built a strong enough foundation here, if he developed enough capable people, if he established patterns of cooperation that survived contact with the wider human population...

  Maybe he could limit the damage.

  A hopeful dream, but I'm no idiot. Best to gather as much talent and then get out of the danger zones. Recruit and defend until it all blows over and we make it to the fourth floor.

  "Names," he said.

  "Alexa." The teenager said. "Alexa Oliver."

  The fire mage let up a candle fire on her finger. "Miranda Cole."

  "Jackson." The lightning user grinned again. "Justin Jackson. The rest isn't worth remembering."

  "Alright. Alexa, you're with Liam. He's my strongest melee trainee. Watch him, learn from him, ask questions, and make sure you don't die on us. Miranda, find Rebecca at the medical station. She'll coordinate you with the other mages, but I want you on suppression duty when the wave hits. Jackson—" Jonah paused. "How fine is your control?"

  "Getting better. I can hit a target at twenty meters without frying everything around it. Mostly."

  "Mostly isn't good enough for suppression work. You're with me on the shock troops. When the line needs help, we respond together."

  Jackson's grin widened. "Sounds like fun."

  "It won't be."

  They dispersed to their assignments. Jonah watched them go, tracking their movements and evaluating potential.

  Three new pieces on the board.

  Three chances to save talents that his timeline had wasted.

  I need to keep a lookout for more people like them. I don't want to be too late and only discover a potential talent after they're dead.

  The final hour before the second wave became a blur of last-minute preparations.

  Defenders practiced their positions, running through the movements until muscle memory began forming, aided by the system. Ranged units tested sight lines, adjusting positions for optimal coverage. Medical teams staged supplies at predetermined points, ready for the casualties everyone knew were coming.

  Jonah moved through it all, correcting, encouraging, demanding excellence from people who'd never faced organized combat before yesterday.

  "Tighter formation on that shield wall. You're leaving gaps."

  "Spotters, I want vocal confirmations every thirty seconds. No silent posts."

  "Suppression teams, check your mana reserves. If you're below fifty percent, rotate to reserve and let someone fresh take position."

  The defenses weren't perfect and couldn't be, not in four hours with untrained labor and salvaged materials. But they were better than nothing, leagues better than the open-ground slaughter of the first wave.

  Whether "better than nothing" would be enough remained to be seen.

  Martinez found him as the final preparations concluded. "People are nervous."

  "They should be."

  "They're also looking to you." The former Marine's voice carried weight. "Whatever happens, they're going to follow your lead, react how you react. If you show fear, they'll panic."

  "I know." Jonah checked his mana reserves. Near full, the cultivation exercises paying dividends. His ribs still ached, but functional pain rather than debilitating. "I've led people before, Martinez. This isn't my first time carrying that weight."

  "Where?"

  Jonah turned to face the northern approach. "Doesn't matter. What matters is what happens next."

  He climbed onto the raised platform at the defensive line's center, a stack of debris reinforced into a command position. From here, he could see the entire northern front, plus most of the eastern approach. The other sections were visible in his peripheral vision; their preparations were complete or as complete as they'd get.

  "Everyone in position! Ranged units, verify your targets. Melee, shields ready. Medical teams, prepare for casualties." His voice carried across the defenders.

  People moved, settled, braced, and found strength in those beside them.

  Fear was visible in every face, in the white-knuckled grips and rapid breathing.

  But they held position nonetheless.

  Jonah felt something then, a flicker of pride despite the circumstances. These were civilians: office workers and students, construction crews and laborers, some military but even they were specialized forces. They had no training and no experience.

  No reason to believe they'd survive, and yet they were staying anyway.

  Maybe humanity wasn't as doomed as his darker thoughts suggested.

  The horn sounded.

  Deep and resonant, made to create panic and drive a wedge of fear through their throats. The same sound that had preceded the first wave, but louder now. More horns, overlapping, building into a chorus that pressed against the eardrums.

  People flinched.

  A few whimpered, the memory of the first wave still fresh in their minds.

  "Steady. Eyes forward. Wait for visual confirmation." Jonah shouted.

  Shadows moved in the corrupted buildings to the north. The tree line to the east rustled with hidden motion. Faint sounds of armor and feet. Guttural voices coordinating something.

  Then the first goblins emerged.

  Not charging or attacking like the first wave had

  immediately, instead, they stood outside of the lines range attacks and watched.

  A line of them, maybe fifty, stepping out from cover to stand at the edge of the defensive perimeter, just out of ranged attack distance. Yellow eyes gleaming in the afternoon light.

  More appeared behind them. And then more. The tree line disgorged green bodies in a steady stream, forming ranks, spreading to cover the northern approach entirely.

  Jonah counted then lost count.

  He started again.

  Two hundred. Three hundred. Four hundred visible, with more still emerging, but it did not cross the seven hundred mark.

  A raiding party. Larger than the first wave, but not the army he'd warned about.

  The goblins made no move to attack. They simply stood, watching, yellow eyes fixed on the fortifications with something that might have been assessment, evaluating what humanity had built. It was smart.

  Jonah's hands tightened on his sword hilt.

  Smart enemies were more dangerous than aggressive ones, but he understood well that they were still goblins and their tactics were limited. Their leaders could only herd them to do so much before the general mass ended up going on instinct instead.

  "Hold positions! They want us to react first. We don't. Wait for them to get into range and don't waste anything," he said. A few were already gathering mana, and he had to stop them before they wasted their energy and came up dozens of feet short.

  The silence stretched for some time as the two forces watched each other: human defenders on one side, goblin army on the other, separated by seventy meters of killing ground and the crude fortifications of desperate people.

  Somewhere in the goblin ranks, a drumbeat started, slow and rhythmic.

  It made Jonah's chest vibrate with every bang. "Steady! Steady!"

  The defenders were getting restless, and then it happened.

  The second wave finally began.

  The goblins charged.