I was still red-faced when I stepped out of the cabin.

  I refused to address the subject.

  Morgana was extraordinary by every metric I could measure — combat, healing, tactical intelligence, capacity to act without instruction. And there was the dimension I was deliberately not measuring, because measuring meant giving it attention, and attention was a resource I couldn't afford to waste while Sparta was still fragile. Survival first. Always.

  I went straight to the stable.

  The egg was there — large, with a shell of dark blue-grey that shifted slightly depending on the angle, and almost metallic veins running across the surface as though the shell were mineral as much as organic. The internal vibration I had felt before was more defined now. More rhythmic.

  "Zeus, how long until it hatches?"

  [ Analyzing egg structure… 72 hours. ]

  "Three days. What creature is it?"

  [ Analyzing… ]

  Silence.

  [ Analyzing… ]

  A few more seconds.

  [ Creature unidentified. ]

  I frowned.

  Zeus had access to a vast database — incomplete by nature, given that the Oasis aggregated creatures from dimensions no system had fully catalogued, but sufficient to classify the overwhelming majority of what existed in the region. A random egg implied unpredictability regarding species. But not even a family classification or point of origin was concerning in a way I couldn't yet name precisely.

  Or it was exactly the kind of thing that made that gift so valuable.

  "Inform me when you can identify it. Analyze my stockpile."

  [ Current stockpile: 200 assorted minerals. 150 wood. ]

  Two clear choices.

  Expand production — more workers, more extraction, a more solid economic base for what would come later. Or reinforce defense — repair the damaged palisade, add towers, close the blind spots the battle had exposed at considerable cost.

  The territory was empty — no Alpha, no dominant pack, nothing claiming the area. Power vacuums in the Oasis were filled in two ways: weaker creatures arrived first, drawn by the absence of threat, or something strong arrived directly, drawn by the opportunity. The first scenario I could manage. The second depended on how much time I had before it happened.

  I had already been lucky enough. Continuing to bet on it was not an option.

  "Zeus. Repair the palisade, build one tower integrated into the wall near the castle, and two houses."

  Balance. More workers for production, more defense to absorb whatever came. Slow. Stable. The kind of choice that didn't impress on any axis but kept me alive on all of them.

  The new tower was integrated directly into the palisade — fused to the structure, not positioned inside it. The previous battle had cost blood to teach something that should have been calculated beforehand: internal towers created blind spots. Coordinated creatures found those spots without needing intelligence — only instinct and time. Towers on the wall closed that vector before it needed to be managed.

  With the two new houses, I reached fifteen workers. I produced additional axes and pickaxes in the forge. Extraction speed nearly doubled.

  By the end of the day, I was out of materials.

  But I had fifteen workers, seven towers distributed between castle and mines, and accelerated production. The territory had taken a step. Small, but solid.

  ?

  When darkness fell, I climbed the reformed palisade and positioned myself near the new tower.

  The Lord was the territory's energy source — less intelligent creatures were drawn to that before anything else. I knew that. Positioning myself at an elevated, visible point was calculation, not bravado.

  "Morgana, do you sense anything?"

  "No, Lord… perhaps no creatures have entered the territory yet."

  "I hope it stays that way."

  The night was long. The only sound was the constant echo of workers inside the wall — wood falling, pickaxes on ore, the mechanical rhythm of things that didn't sleep. Every snap of a branch beyond the palisade tensed the body before the analysis arrived. The silence between sounds was worse than any declared attack.

  When the sun began to rise, I finally breathed with relief.

  Combat was simple. The body knew what to do. Constant anxiety was another category of wear — silent, without result, consuming reserves I would need when the real danger arrived.

  Before lying down, I made the choice I had been postponing all day.

  "Zeus. Evolve the castle."

  [ Analyzing available materials… Initiating structural evolution to level 2. ]

  There were other options. Attack, utility, expansion — each with valid arguments for the current stage. But the castle was the foundation of everything, and with it evolved I would have more internal space, more structural slots, and access to the construction I really needed to unlock.

  The barracks.

  While the structure began to transform — stones rearranging themselves with the naturalness of something that had always known its final form — I went to bed.

  If I survived the next two nights, Sparta would stop being fragile.

  It would start being dangerous.

  ?

  It was late afternoon when I woke.

  The castle was still in transformation — stones moving with that deliberate slowness of processes that had no hurry because the result was already determined. The workers continued the cycle without pause. The sound of wood and ore was almost comforting now, associated with progress rather than urgency.

  "Zeus. How long to build the barracks after the evolution?"

  [ Estimated time: 18 hours after upgrade completion. ]

  Eighteen hours.

  I closed my eyes for a moment. The barracks was the only construction that would fundamentally change my defensive capability — with it, I could invoke warriors, knights, archers. Nothing extraordinary at the initial level: basic equipment, mediocre training, without any of the qualities that made heroes like Morgana irreplaceable. But unlike towers, they could move. They could be positioned, reallocated, strategically sacrificed if necessary.

  The garrison was a construction that existed as a faster alternative — but it was frustrating under any honest analysis. Limited to the castle's radius, poorly equipped, too costly for what it offered. The construction manual itself classified it as low priority, and I hadn't found any argument to disagree.

  "If anyone survives and stands out, I'll invest."

  Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author's consent. Report any sightings.

  Those invoked by the barracks evolved through combat — the same logic that had brought me this far. Survival as a filter. Whoever passed through the filter deserved the investment.

  I took advantage of the remaining daylight and went to the market.

  Before entering, I removed the ring and tucked it inside my uniform. Lesson learned, it wouldn't be repeated.

  ?

  The place was fuller than last time.

  Holograms in constant motion, voices layered on top of each other in strata that took me a few seconds to begin separating. There was a different energy today — more agitated, with groups formed at specific points in the hall instead of the distributed chaos I had encountered before.

  I didn't move immediately.

  I observed.

  The most valuable information in the market was never at the counters. It was in the side conversations — in what Lords said too loudly, in what they whispered too close to others to be casual, in the groups that closed ranks when someone approached. Counters sold data. Conversations leaked context.

  And context was what I needed.

  [Unknown_334]: Quadrant 19 fell completely yesterday.

  [Unknown_891]: I heard. A hydra appeared near the eastern coast too.

  [Unknown_981]: Someone's selling medium nectar stones in quadrant 22 below market value. Anyone know why?

  [Unknown_112]: Territory in collapse. They're liquidating before losing everything.

  [Unknown_334]: Whoever buys will profit. Or will buy the problem along with it.

  I processed the information in parallel while continuing to sweep the hall.

  Quadrant 19 eliminated. Hydra on the eastern coast — which would explain creatures being displaced toward the interior. Nectar being sold below value by a territory in collapse. The market as a thermometer of what was happening beyond the radius I could monitor.

  Then I heard my quadrant.

  [Unknown_557]: I heard the Wendigo Alpha in quadrant 24B went down.

  [Unknown_203]: Went down? What do you mean, went down?

  [Unknown_557]: Someone cleared the area. Entire territory is empty now.

  [Unknown_891]: Who would do that in a D quadrant? [Unknown_557]: Someone from the great houses, probably. Only they would have reason to.

  [Unknown_981]: Or someone who doesn't know what they're doing and got lucky.

  I remained motionless.

  The temptation to react was real — hearing speculation about yourself and not correcting it required a specific kind of discipline. But showing interest meant revealing identity, and revealing identity now would mean handing out information for free to whoever could use it against me.

  I processed what I had heard.

  My territory was on the radar. The absence of an Alpha in a D quadrant was unusual enough to generate conversation — and conversation in the market meant Lords were calculating whether it was worth investigating. "Great houses" was their hypothesis, which gave me room: nobody was looking for a nameless colony conscript.

  For now.

  The window was small. I needed to be established enough before someone arrived at the right conclusion.

  I kept listening.

  ?

  [Unknown_990]: Have you heard about the Centurial in the northern sector?

  [Unknown_441]: It destroyed a complete human territory. With an established Lord inside.

  [Unknown_990]: The Supreme Lords are moving, but too slowly.

  [Unknown_203]: We should unite and eliminate that bastard before it advances.

  [Unknown_990]: Impossible without coordination. And coordination here is the rarest thing that exists.

  I approached the group.

  There were four of them — one with ornate armor that communicated resources and survival time unequivocally, far beyond my initial uniform. The other three at varying stages of development, but all with the body language of people who had spent enough time in the Oasis to stop pretending they weren't constantly calculating.

  "Excuse me… do you know which quadrant this conflict is happening in?"

  The four analyzed me with the speed of Lords accustomed to evaluating threat and opportunity simultaneously. The one in ornate armor let his gaze settle on Morgana — slowly enough not to be casual.

  [Unknown_990] "A newcomer…"

  He smiled with the kind of confidence that comes from having enough power to never have been held accountable for what he says.

  [Unknown_990] "How about you strip your heroine and I'll tell you?"

  My blood boiled.

  It was always like this — some Lords treated invoked heroes as disposable property, as though the bond were ownership and not alliance. Inside the market, we were all projections. Nothing could be done beyond choosing how to respond.

  I breathed deeply.

  "I understand. Good afternoon."

  I turned my back.

  "Hey!" — another from the group called out. — "You seem to be doing well for a newcomer. Pay for the information and I'll tell you properly."

  I ignored it. Not because the information wasn't worth having — it was. But because accepting that kind of negotiation established a pattern of relationship I didn't want to establish with any of them.

  As I walked away, the insults came. I let them pass.

  "Hey, kid."

  I turned.

  An older man was approaching — thick beard, tired eyes with the specific layer of attention that exhaustion can't erase in someone who has survived long enough to learn to pay attention. No ornate armor. Without the kind of presence that announced power before opening its mouth.

  The kind of Lord who had survived by being underestimated.

  "I see you still don't understand how things work around here."

  "And you are…?"

  "Lord Robinson."

  He studied me for a second — not the way the other one had, assessing resource and hierarchy. The way of someone deciding whether the investment of a conversation was worth the return.

  "And you?"

  "Leonidas."

  He nodded — with the recognition of someone filing information away, not of someone who already knew it.

  "You want information about the Centurials. But nobody talks for free here — the shouting is just bait for newcomers." — a pause. — "There's a better way."

  "Which?"

  "The counter sells information with filters. Radius, time period, relevance. You can refine it until you reach exactly what you need without paying for what's useless to you."

  I blinked. I knew the counter sold information — but not that the filter system was at that level. It was the kind of detail available to anyone who knew to look for it, and that I had glossed over by not knowing I needed to look. Morgana probably knew. And hadn't said anything. Sometimes I wondered whether there was some restriction that prevented heroes from passing certain information to their Lord — a limitation of the bond I hadn't yet mapped. Other times I wondered if she simply preferred that I stumble into the problems that would teach me not to stumble into them again. Neither answer was comfortable.

  "That's something anyone who didn't come from a farm would know." — he said, without cruelty. Just fact.

  That landed differently than an insult.

  "Why tell me?"

  He looked at the market ceiling for a second — with the expression of someone verifying an answer they had already formulated, not searching for a new one.

  "It took me weeks to find out. If I can spare someone like me from wasting the same time…" — he made a vague gesture. — "I feel like I've done something good."

  And he disappeared without waiting for a response.

  I stared at the space where he had been.

  "Someone like me." — he had said. Which meant he knew. Or had calculated with enough information to get close to certainty.

  Robinson was a variable I needed to map better. He had given useful information, refused any counterpart, and disappeared before I could formulate a question. In the Oasis, that pattern had a name: investment. The question was figuring out in what.

  But for now, the information he had given was real and useful.

  I went straight to the counter.

  ?

  "I want information about the vicinity of my territory."

  [ Synchronizing data… 13 pieces of information registered in the last 30 days within a 100 km radius. ]

  The price appeared. One hundred wood and minerals per piece of information.

  My stomach turned.

  "Reduce to 20 kilometers. Last 7 days."

  [ Result: 4 pieces of information. ]

  Still expensive. If I bought two, I wouldn't have enough resources for the barracks. And without soldiers, everything else was a paper castle — structure without active defensive capability when the tower protection wasn't enough.

  "Damn…"

  The attendant spoke before I closed the menu.

  "Lord Leonidas, may I suggest an alternative form of payment? Nectar Stones are accepted as universal barter."

  I stopped.

  Of course.

  I had been locked into calculations of raw materials — wood, stone, iron — as though they were the only currency that existed. In the Oasis, every Lord wanted Nectar. It was the only thing with recognized value independent of quadrant, race, or stage of development.

  "How many pieces of information per low-grade Nectar Stone?"

  [ Current exchange rate: 1 low-grade Nectar Stone per 1 piece of information. ]

  I had four small stones. Exactly the value needed for the four available pieces of information.

  I stared at the numbers for a few seconds.

  Four stones were the direct result of the battle against the Snarlers — blood, acid, and near-death condensed into objects the size of marbles. Turning that into information that may or may not be useful was a bet with a real cost and an uncertain return.

  But information about what was happening around my territory was exactly what I had lacked in the last battles. I had reacted to each threat without context. With context, I could anticipate.

  While I deliberated, another idea surfaced.

  "Zeus. Can I see who was summoned alongside me?"

  [ Yes. I have access to names and visual records of conscripts from the same cycle. Do you wish to view them? ]

  "Show everyone."

  The images began to scroll. Faces I didn't recognize — tense, fearful, ambitious, with all the variations of how different people process the same impossible situation. My own face appeared among them. I didn't remember having that picture taken — perhaps on the first day, perhaps the second. It didn't matter. Lords who were probably already dead. Lords who were probably already established. Lords I might cross paths with at some point for reasons none of us had chosen.

  "Stop."

  The image froze. A girl with a smile that didn't belong in the Oasis — without fear, without the tension the place imprinted on everyone I had seen until then. The kind of face someone carries when they haven't yet understood where they are, or when they have understood and decided it wouldn't change anything.

  I knew that face.

  "Jamine Bloodline."

  Family searching for news. Rivals calculating advantage. Lords who had bet on the survival of specific conscripts. If there was anyone willing to pay for information about the current cycle, there was one name that would concentrate that interest more than any other.

  I knew something none of them knew.

  Jamine Bloodline was dead. Converted — what remained of her had tried to kill me inside a cave before becoming food for something I preferred not to revisit. What had survived from that was a ring tucked inside my uniform and the memory of a face that now looked at me from the projection with the smile of someone who didn't yet know what was coming.

  I stared at her for a few seconds.

  "Is there any bounty on the whereabouts of Jamine Bloodline?"