Chapter 48 (Patreon)

The door thudded open against its stop as Harold stepped through into the Tactical Operations Center, and the noise hit him like a living thing.

Voices overlapped in tight, controlled bursts. Charcoal scratched across slate—fast, steady strokes. Boots shifted. They turned, stopped, then moved again as runners came and went through the narrow lanes between tables. The air smelled of damp wool and ink. There was a faint tang of sweat that came from men working without pause.

“Attention in the TOC!”

The call snapped through the room.

“Attention in the TOC!” voices echoed back in uneven unison as men straightened where they stood, hands coming off boards and maps.

Harold didn’t break stride.

He moved past them, cutting through the organized chaos to the center of the room, where the basin map stretched across a long, reinforced table. The map displayed terrain features in relief, with settlements, roads, and river crossings depicted in varying shades and textures. It had grown since his last visit—new canvas sections stitched along the edges extended its reach, while older markings had been scraped away and marked anew with clean lines. Wooden pegs and carved tokens denoted unit positions, and thin cords of dyed thread traced specific supply routes between settlements. Small, weighted tags, each labeled with recent data, hung from the far edge, where notes had been added more quickly than they could be formally recorded.

Along the walls, boards stood crowded with figures.

Troop counts by village, and their supply tallies.

At the far end of the room, the tribune in charge of the TOC stood over a smaller operations board. One hand braced against the edge. The other moved markers with quick, decisive motions. Hale’s former aide. He had the same habit as Hale—leaning in just slightly, as if the map might shift if he didn’t anchor it.

The man looked up as Harold approached, straightening fully. "Lord Harold." The tribune’s voice cut clean through the noise.

Harold gave him a short nod and stepped up to the main map.

The basin spread out beneath his hands.

One section of the map—just north of the river crossing—was dense with fresh marks: bold new lines overlapped in a concentrated cluster, indicating rapid unit movement. Newer pegs and colored thread highlighted recent advances, standing out sharply against the worn surface and older tokens nearby.

Harold rested his fingertips on the edge of the table and leaned in slightly.

“Update from Captain Hale!”

The tribune stepped around next to him, preparing to update the map based on the report he had just received.

"What is it?" Harold asked, not looking up from the map.

The tribune didn’t hesitate.

"Knights have cleared forward resistance, with two losses," the tribune reported, voice carrying clean across the room. "Captain Hale reports successful disruption of enemy screening and blocking elements. Cohort advanced under cover of action and stole a march on the gobs."

A clerk stepped in beside the main board, already reaching for a marker.

"New position," the tribune instructed, tapping the slate once before glancing up. "Mark it."

The clerk moved fast. A carved token—used to represent unit positions—shifted north along the raised river strip, stopping just short of a group of pegs and symbols indicating the village and surrounding terrain features. The thin leather cord representing supply lines was adjusted to reflect the shortened route, with a weighted tag relabeled for updated logistics.

Harold stepped closer.

“How far?” he asked.

"Four hours from the objective," the tribune replied.

That pulled a few looks from the surrounding clerks.

Harold reached out and steadied the edge of the table with one hand as he leaned in, eyes tracking the new position. The distance closed faster than it should have.

"That far? He must have pushed through the night," Harold mused.

“Yes, my lord, he pushed as far as he could.”

The tribune continued reading.

"Captain Hale reports the cohort will halt short of the objective. One full day allocated for rest and recovery. Scouts have been deployed to assess the settlement and any fortifications present. His next decision point will be based on what information the scouts bring back. He is trying to bring the main force of the goblins out of the fort," the tribune explained.

Another clerk began writing on a sideboard, stylus in hand, into the large wax tablet mounted on the wall.

"Knights reinforced with near Tier One legionaries will continue forward operations," the tribune added. "Harassment of patrols and disruption of enemy movement remains ongoing."

A low murmur moved through the room.

Harold didn’t join it, and he examined the board. He exhaled slowly through his nose.

“Good,” he said.

The word didn’t carry far, but the tribune heard it. His shoulders eased just a fraction before he turned and began issuing quiet corrections to the boards around him.

Harold stayed where he was, eyes still on the northern section of the basin. “That is abnormally fast for a Nest like this to form; something else is going on. This kind of pressure shouldn't be present; any other lords would be wiped out if this happened in their region. Thank goodness for the rivers splitting the basin, or we would never be able to control the spread of the goblins. But what could have happened for a Nest to form that quickly?”

“As much as I know, I’m really finding out how much  I don’t know.” His thoughts raced as he tried to figure out what was going on.

Harold stepped away from the main table and moved along the wall where the less certain reports were pinned.

These boards didn’t carry the clean order of the main map. Notes overlapped when newer information was added before the old could be cleared. Some entries were marked with a simple line. Others circled. A few had been struck through entirely as unverified but stacked in a different pile.

He reached out and lifted one free.

The note was a couple of days old, and Harold could see Margaret's initials at the bottom, showing that she had read it.

Multiple sightings — large padded paw prints with claw markings.

Suspected clawed beasts slightly smaller than tatanka.

Speed exceeds that of foot scouts, as there have been no sightings.

Harold’s hand began to shake as he read the report and the memories it brought back.

Clawed mounts. “Sh-!”

His eyes drifted back to the map without really seeing it.

Blackjaw Mountains. The memory came up uninvited.

There had been a coalition of Lords formed to dive deep into the Blackjaws as they wanted to establish villages in there. It was the first time the Lords in the region had found out that an organized force was calling the range their home. And they were renowned for their black jaws. But they were also renowned for their mounts.

Wargs.

He was part of the coalition because Sarah had gotten dragged into it. He had followed her out on some of the scouting runs, which was when he was first really starting to learn how to manipulate his perks. A little over a year into his time in Gravesend. But that day, he stayed in the section of camp meant for the camp followers and adventurers.

He had heard the horn sound out a warning. The next thing he knew, there were the sounds of violence and the crashing of broken timbers. The wargs had circled the army through areas they knew. There were enough soldiers there to man the rough walls they had built, but not enough to ward off a full assault. The wargs breached quickly and tore through the camp. Only when enough adventurers and a couple of lords responded did the attack slow.

Harold’s jaw tightened, they shouldn’t be here.

The Blackjaw Range sat far from the basin. This area had been mostly peaceful, and he didnt remember a nest ever emerging here. Things were changing beyond his control. “I need to control more relics and gain more powerful perks after we control the basin.”

“How can Hale counter them? Infantry formed into their blocks can probably hold them. If they don’t break on the first impact. If their optios kept them steady. It would be close, though.”

“Knights could meet speed with speed, force with force.”

Everyone else—they were just too fast.

He exhaled slowly as he thought about what he could do. Post something on the forum to warn him? Harold’s fingers tapped once against the wood.

No...Hale already knew.

They had spent too many evenings going over what Harold knew. If something were to happen to him, he had spent hours talking to Hale about the things out there. There was no version of this where Hale walked into it blind.

"Leave that one up," Harold ordered, not looking at the clerk nearby. "Mark it for confirmation priority."

“Yes, my lord.”

The slate was pinned back into place with a sharp tap.

Harold turned away from the board and stepped back toward the center of the room.

Adeline approached and handed him a report about the southern village, finding a large cave system that ran deep into the earth. For now, they would close it until they had the manpower to delve into it after the current crisis, but Harold already knew where it would go.

“Attention in the TOC!”

The call came again, louder this time, cutting across the steady churn of voices and movement.

“Attention in the TOC!”

Harold turned before the echo finished.

A clerk stood and pushed through the room to the tribune, one hand gripping a slate where he had transcribed the report. His sole job was to browse certain forum threads where they were posting coded updates to each other. One of the threads must have just been updated.

"From Councilor Mark," the clerk announced.

The tribune took the slate and scanned it once, then stepped forward so his voice would carry.

"Report from Haven," the tribune called. "Councilor Mark confirms arrival ahead of projected timeline."

A clerk was already moving, hand hovering over the southeastern edge of the basin map.

"Mark it," the tribune directed.

A token shifted.

Down near Haven, just across the river line, a fresh marker was placed. The clerk tied it in with a thin length of leather thread, which now traced a crossing point on the map that Harold had previously only encountered in planning documents. The map’s color and tactile features made the new route and token stand out vividly, visually connecting the new position to the river and village.

"Councilor Mark reports successful crossing to the southeast," the tribune continued. "Adventurer forces are now operating in force beyond the river."

A low ripple moved through the room. That was almost twelve hours ahead of the projected timeline.

Harold stepped in. His eyes dropped to the southern portion of the map.

Henri’s projected line of march had already been marked days ago—a steady push toward the river, across from where Haven was. A small carved rook sat along that path, its position updated to reflect Henri’s approximate location and updated twice since the last report. He was screening heavily with his own adventurers, making it hard to find his exact location. And Harold was loath to risk his adventures until now. Haven had generated the quest, and more than 60 adventurers had joined. The game was on.

Harold traced the distance with his eyes. He was four days out.

Maybe less if Henri pushed hard. “If they move fast, they’ll meet him two days out from the river,” Harold said.

The tribune nodded once. “If they choose to engage.”

Harold didn’t answer that.

He leaned in slightly, studying the threads stretched across the map. “Do we not have updates on the centaurs reflected on here?”

The tribune froze for a moment, then replied. “My lord, the reporting on the centaurs is sparse since the southern village has been emplaced, and the adventurers on the other side have avoided them. We suspect they are engaged with Lord Henri’s force, and the few reports we have gotten from the long-range adventures support the conclusion, as they have seen large clashes between the two forces.”

“Hm, it is unlike the centaurs to allow themselves to be engaged like that when they can maneuver around a slower force like Henri’s. I’d like those reports reviewed and for us to keep an eye out for them. They are one of three forces we can't account for right now.”

The tribune looked confused for a moment before realizing it would just be better to ask rather than be ignorant. “Sir, what are the other forces?”

Harold snorted to himself and looked at the man. Hale had a lot of confidence in this man for a reason, but he had expected more. Still, everyone was new to this.

Harold replied. “The thresher king and the lizardman force that destroyed that village.”

Understanding dawned in the tribune's eyes, “Of course, My lord, thank you.”

For a moment, he let himself consider his remaining moves.

He could march south. Take the guard and the century stationed here. Move fast to reinforce Haven. Meet Henri in the field and contest the crossing.

The thought had weight and appeal, but it would only solve short-term problems. Not the long-range ones he was preparing for. There were about 500 soldiers in Henri’s force, which he needed to fold into his force. The plan was good; he needed to trust the plan.

And if he moved, there would be no reserve here. No one to answer if something went wrong in another village. They were all undermanned.

Harold exhaled quietly.

“No,” he said.

The word didn’t carry far, but it settled the thought.

He stepped back from the table.

“They’re in position,” he said, more to himself than anyone else. “They’ll do what they can.”

The tribune glanced at him but didn’t interrupt.

Harold looked once more at the map—north, where Hale sat just short of the village. South, where Mark and Evan moved to intercept something that had no intention of stopping.

He had placed his pieces.

There was nothing left to adjust without breaking something else.

He turned away from the table.

“Keep me updated,” he said.

“Yes, my lord.”

Harold paused at the door, the noise of the TOC rolling behind him.

He had made his move. He had to trust the men in the field to finish it.