The morning alarm came three hours too early.
Allen jerked awake to the sound of snapping timber and a guttural roar that vibrated through his chest cavity. His system interface blazed crimson across his vision before his eyes could even focus.
[URGENT SURFACE THREAT DETECTED] [Hostile Entity: Orc Scout Party] [Composition: 3x E-Rank Orc Scouts] [Levels: 12, 13, 15] [ETA: 4 Minutes] [Threat Assessment: Village Destruction Likely]
Four minutes. Allen rolled off his straw pallet, grabbing his boots. The village wasn't ready for this. They'd been fighting goblins and bats underground. Surface raids by mid-tier orcs were a different product category entirely.
He burst out of his hut into gray dawn light. The Basic Farm's fence lay splintered. Geralt was running toward the center of the village, blood on his face, screaming about green monsters in the treeline. Lina stood on the roof of the Basic Workshop, her bow drawn, arrow pointed at shadows moving in the forest.
"Perimeter breach!" Allen shouted. His voice carried the sharp authority of a man who'd just realized his quarterly projections were on fire. "All hands! Defensive positions!"
The orcs emerged from the treeline like trucks with legs. Twelve feet tall, shoulder muscles bulging under rusted plate armor scavenged from some ancient battlefield. Three of them. The smallest carried a spiked club the size of a small tree. The largest, Level 15, wore a helmet made from what looked like a bear's skull.
[Skill Available: Defensive Protocols] [Class Requirement: Administrator] [Effect: Temporary structural reinforcement +25% durability, Militia combat efficiency +15%] [Duration: 20 Minutes] [MP Cost: 60/130]
Allen didn't hesitate. He activated the skill, feeling his mana reserves drain like a battery hitting low power mode. Golden light flooded the village. The rickety palisade they'd built weeks ago glowed faintly, wood hardening, nails tightening their grip. The militia—Will and Jonas—straightened their shoulders, their grips on spears suddenly surer.
"Defensive Protocols active!" Allen called out. "Twenty-minute window! Make them count!"
The Level 15 orc roared and charged the main gate. Its club slammed into the reinforced palisade. The wood held, splintering but not breaking. Without the buff, that hit would have sent logs flying into the village center.
"Gray!" Allen spun toward the forge. "Armor status?"
The dwarf was already moving, her hammer in one hand, a rivet gun in the other. She'd developed a field repair technique over the past week—bolting iron plates to leather straps while the wearer stood in place. "Will's breastplate took a glancing blow! Jonas needs a shoulder strap replaced!"
"Do it on the fly!" Allen commanded. "Mobile maintenance!"
Gray grunted and grabbed Will, spinning him around like a doll. She hammered a new iron plate onto his back while the militiaman kept his shield raised toward the gate. The Level 12 orc had joined the assault, pounding at the weak point where the palisade met the smithy wall.
Allen activated his Logistics Map. The minimap showed three red blips, circling the village like sharks. They were looking for gaps, testing defenses. Classic siege behavior. These weren't dumb dungeon mobs. These were tactical units.
"Lina!" Allen pointed toward the half-built structure they'd been planning to finish next week—the raised platform they'd intended for bird watching. "Tower! Now!"
Lina didn't argue. She sprinted, leaped, and scrambled up the scaffolding. The height gave her line of sight over the palisade. She nocked a Puncher arrow, the heavy iron head gleaming.
"Priority target! Level 15!" Allen ordered. "Armor Piercing! Go for the knee joints!"
The arrow screamed through the air. It struck the lead orc's left kneecap, punching through the scavenged plate armor. The beast howled, stumbling, its charge momentum broken. Black blood sprayed across the dirt.
"Hit confirmed!" Lina called down, already reloading. "Mobility reduced by forty percent!"
"Status rotation!" Allen yelled. He was burning MP fast, maintaining Defensive Protocols while simultaneously running Threat Assessment. The interface showed him the orcs' aggro patterns, their attack cooldowns, their weak points glowing yellow. "Gray, rotate to Jonas! Will, brace for impact!"
The Level 13 orc had found the gap. It slammed a shoulder into the smithy wall, stone cracking. Gray shoved Jonas sideways, hammering a quick patch of scrap metal over the breach. The militiaman thrust his spear through the gap, catching the orc in the throat. The beast gurgled but didn't fall.
"Phalanx formation!" Allen commanded. He'd drilled this. They'd practiced it in the evenings after dinner. "Pike wall! Execute!"
Will and Jonas dropped their spears into a horizontal line, butts braced against the ground, points angled upward at forty-five degrees. The Level 12 orc, wounded and angry, tried to climb the palisade directly above them. It impaled itself on three iron spearpoints.
The weight nearly broke the line. Will's boots skidded in the dirt, his face purple with strain. "Can't hold!"
"Defensive Protocols buff still active!" Allen shouted. "Use the structure! Let the wall take the weight!"
The militiamen shifted, letting the orc's corpse hang on the palisade, pinning the spears but not the men. Gray darted in, her hammer ringing as she drove nails through the orc's foot into the wood, pinning it like a butterfly to a board.
The Level 15 orc leader saw its pack mate die. It roared, a sound that scared birds out of trees for miles around. It raised its club for a two-handed overhead smash that would shatter the gate regardless of magical reinforcement.
"Focus fire!" Allen screamed. "All DPS! Now!"
Lina fired three arrows in rapid succession. One to the throat, one to the eye slit, one to the already-wounded knee. The orc stumbled. Gray grabbed a spear from the dead orc and hurled it with dwarven accuracy. The blade caught the leader in the armpit, where the plate armor didn't meet.
The beast collapsed against the gate, dead, sliding down to sit like a grotesque statue.
Silence.
Well, not silence. Allen's ears were ringing. His MP bar flashed red at 15/130. Defensive Protocols flickered and died, the golden light fading from the walls. The palisade was cracked, splintered, but standing.
Will and Jonas leaned on their spears, gasping. Gray wiped black orc blood from her face with her sleeve. Lina climbed down from the tower, her quiver empty, her hands shaking.
Allen walked to the gate. He kicked the dead orc leader. It didn't move.
[COMBAT VICTORY: Orc Raiding Party Defeated] [Reputation Gained: +45 Regional Recognition] [Settlement Stability: 68% → 74%] [Building Unlocked: Watchtower] [Watchtower Effect: +30% ranged attack range for defenders, early warning system for surface threats]
"Post-mortem," Allen wheezed, leaning against the gate. "In ten minutes. After we confirm no more hostiles."
Gray was already checking the orc armor. "This plate is salvageable. High-grade steel. I can retrofit it for Will and Jonas."
"Do it," Allen said. "And start drafting plans for that Watchtower. We're not getting surprised like this again."
Lina sat down hard in the dirt. "Level 15. We killed a Level 15."
"Through proper resource allocation and defensive positioning," Allen corrected. He was already thinking about the upgrade path. "Next time, we won't need to get lucky."