The northern district of Stonebridge lay quiet under a cloudless night sky. Mike crouched behind a low stone wall, studying the Zengrid diplomatic annex through his newly acquired spyglass. The three-story stone building featured narrow windows and a single visible entrance guarded by two figures with the distinctive three-eyed silhouettes of Zengrids.

  "Six guards total," Mike whispered as Trolley and Kirgen huddled beside him. "Two at the entrance, two patrolling the perimeter, two more visible through windows on the second floor. East side has the fewest sight lines."

  "Professor Linden is being held on the second floor, east wing," Kirgen confirmed, nervously checking the small vial of acid concealed in his sleeve – their emergency distraction if things went wrong.

  Mike collapsed the spyglass with a soft click. "The transfer team arrives at dawn. Four hours to get in, locate the professor, and get out."

  He checked his hammer and the woodcutter's axe strapped across his back, ensuring both could be drawn silently when needed. The weight of the weapons had become comforting over months of survival in this harsh world.

  "Everyone remember their positions?"

  They nodded, the plan having been thoroughly discussed during their approach. With a final glance at his companions, Mike moved away, circling toward the eastern side of the building while Trolley headed west and Kirgen remained at their observation point, ready to create the necessary diversion when signaled.

  Mike moved with practiced silence, staying in the shadows and avoiding the patrol routes he'd memorized during their surveillance. His body had adapted to this world's dangers; where once he'd been just a construction foreman, months of survival had honed him into something far more dangerous.

  He reached his first objective—a service entrance partially concealed behind stacked crates bearing diplomatic seals—without incident. The door featured both a conventional lock and what appeared to be some kind of alarm mechanism with thin wires running along the frame.

  Mike studied the lock briefly, then made his decision. No time for subtlety. He extracted the small hammer from his belt—the ancient tool that had saved his life countless times since arriving in this world. With a precision born from months of combat and survival, he struck the lock housing exactly where the bolt met the frame. The impact was controlled but devastating, metal crumpling inward with a muffled crack that barely carried beyond the immediate vicinity.

  The lock mechanism shattered, internal components falling apart as Mike pushed the door open just enough to slip inside, then closed it silently behind him. The approach was crude but effective—a direct solution to a problem where finesse might have cost precious time.

  He found himself in a narrow service corridor lit only by small oil lamps spaced at irregular intervals along the walls.

  "In position," he whispered to the communication crystal attached to his collar—one of Trolley's market purchases, designed for short-range transmissions.

  "Confirmed," came Trolley's voice, barely audible through the device. "Western approach secured. Awaiting signal."

  Mike moved through the service corridor with calculated steps, his boots wrapped in cloth to muffle sound against the stone floor. His path took him toward a maintenance stairwell Kirgen's Academy contact had identified as the least monitored access point to the upper floors.

  The stairwell, when he reached it, proved exactly as described—a narrow spiral of stone steps illuminated by the same small oil lamps as the corridors. Mike ascended slowly, pausing at each turning to listen for movement above. Halfway up, his communication crystal vibrated against his collarbone.

  "Patroller approaching your position," Trolley warned. "Hold until clear."

  Mike froze mid-step, pressing himself into a shadowed alcove where the darkness was deepest. Moments later, the distinctive click of Zengrid footwear sounded above him, descending with measured pace. The guard passed within arm's reach, its three eyes focused forward, completely unaware of the intruder pressed against the wall beside it.

  "Clear," Mike whispered once the footsteps had faded, resuming his ascent.

  The second floor corridor branched in three directions from the stairwell exit. According to Kirgen's information, Professor Linden was being held in a secure room at the eastern end. As Mike oriented himself, he noticed thin tripwires barely visible in the dim light—primitive but effective alarm triggers that would alert guards to any unauthorized movement.

  With practiced precision, Mike stepped over the first wire, ducked under a second, and carefully navigated around a pressure plate embedded in the floor. Each obstacle was methodically overcome, his months of setting traps at Crafter's Haven having taught him exactly how such mechanisms functioned.

  He reached the fifth door on the left—the professor's likely location according to their intelligence. Unlike standard guest quarters, this door featured reinforced hinges and what appeared to be a complex locking mechanism rather than a conventional key hole.

  "Target acquired," Mike murmured into his crystal. "Security exceeds initial assessment. Proceeding to phase two."

  "Understood," Trolley replied. "In position at water main. Ready. Awaiting your signal."

  Mike studied the door's security features with a builder's eye, assessing its construction and weak points. The lock was too complex to manipulate conventionally, and the door too sturdy for direct force. But a builder knew that every structure had its weakness—often not in the obvious defensive elements, but in the connections between components.

  "Kirgen," he called softly into the crystal. "Execute diversion in thirty seconds."

  "Acknowledged," came the scholar's response, tension evident even in that single word.

  Mike positioned himself flat against the wall beside the door, extracting his hammer and the small vial of acid from his belt pouch. He uncorked it carefully, the sharp chemical smell making his nose wrinkle. Twenty seconds. Mike checked the corridor in both directions, confirming it remained empty. Ten seconds. He readied the acid near the door's hinges. Five seconds. A deep breath to steady his hands.

  The distant sound of breaking glass followed by shouts marked Kirgen's diversion—the scholar had "accidentally" knocked over an expensive vase by the main entrance, loudly claiming diplomatic immunity while demanding to speak with "his colleague" supposedly visiting the facility. The distraction was designed to draw attention downward and forward, away from the upper rear sections where Mike operated.

  Immediately, Mike applied the acid to the top hinge pin, the caustic liquid eating through metal with a quiet hiss. He signaled Trolley through the communication crystal.

  "Now," he whispered urgently.

  Across the building, Trolley activated her sabotage of the main water valve she had located during her approach. The effect rippled through the structure almost instantly—the pressure dropping, causing pipes to groan and guards to investigate the sudden failure of the building's water system.

  Mike didn't hesitate. The instant distraction spread, he struck the weakened hinge with his hammer—a precise, brutal impact that shattered the compromised metal. A second strike to the lower hinge, equally devastating. Before the guards could respond to the water system failure, he drove his shoulder against the door with controlled force. The broken hinges gave way, the door falling inward rather than swinging open.

  Mike caught it before it could crash to the floor, easing it down with controlled strength. He slipped inside the room, finding a middle-aged woman with silver-streaked auburn hair sitting on a narrow bed, her posture alert despite her apparent captivity.

  "You're not Zengrid," she observed in a low, measured voice.

  "Professor Linden?" Mike confirmed, already checking for additional security inside the room.

  She nodded once, rising from the bed with surprising fluidity. "Kirgen sent you? He survived?"

  "He's outside creating a diversion," Mike explained quickly. "We have approximately two minutes before the guards realize something's wrong and investigate."

  The professor's eyes narrowed with quick calculation. "The corridor is monitored, the stairwells guarded, and there are at least nine Zengrids in the building, including a warlock. How exactly do you propose we escape?"

  Mike allowed himself a thin smile. "Not through the door."

  He moved to the room's single window—narrow but large enough for a person to pass through if necessary. The glass was reinforced and sealed shut, designed to prevent exactly the escape he envisioned. This, however, was where his builder's expertise proved invaluable.

  Mike didn't bother with subtlety here either. He wrapped his hand in a thick cloth from his pack, then drove his hammer directly into the corner of the window pane where the structural integrity was weakest. The glass cracked but didn't shatter—special glazing designed to resist impacts. He struck again at the precise spiderweb center of the initial fracture, applying force with calculated precision.

  The window broke with a muted crack rather than a shatter, the security glazing failing exactly as he'd intended—breaking into large pieces rather than dangerous shards, many still held in place by the internal safety layer.

  "Efficient," Professor Linden commented dryly, watching as Mike cleared the remaining glass from the frame with methodical precision.

  Mike produced a coil of specialized rope from his pack—designed specifically for urban navigation with a self-securing grapple that attached to solid surfaces without tools or noise.

  "Twenty feet to a maintenance ledge, then another fifteen to ground level," he explained, securing the rope to a sturdy bed frame with a builder's precision. "The outer patrols focus on entrance points, not walls. We'll have approximately thirty seconds of exposure before reaching cover."

  The professor's expression remained neutral, but something like approval flickered in her eyes. "Lead on."

  Mike's communication crystal vibrated against his neck—the pre-arranged signal that Trolley was proceeding to their rendezvous point. Everything was proceeding according to schedule, though the hardest part still lay ahead.

  "I'll go first," he decided, squeezing through the window opening with surprising grace for his size. The rope held firmly as he descended hand over hand, years of construction site experience making the maneuver second nature despite the darkness and height.

  The maintenance ledge—a narrow outcropping designed for window cleaning access—provided momentary stability as he signaled the professor to follow. She moved with unexpected agility, navigating the tight window gap and rope descent with minimal assistance. As she reached the ledge, Mike was already securing the second length of rope for their final descent.

  "Ten buildings east, third alley on the right," he instructed as they reached ground level, collecting the specialized rope that would leave no evidence of their escape route. "Move quickly but naturally. Running attracts attention."

  This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  Together they slipped into the shadows between buildings, leaving the diplomatic annex behind. Mike's enhanced awareness guided their path through blind spots in the patrol routes, avoiding the increased security presence that had responded to Kirgen's diversion at the front entrance.

  They had covered perhaps half the distance to their rendezvous point when alarm bells sounded from the Zengrid facility—the professor's absence had been discovered. The sound echoed through the empty administrative district, followed by increased activity as guards emerged from the building to establish search patterns.

  "Change of plan," Mike decided, noting new patrol formations forming ahead. "This way."

  He led them through a narrow passage between two government buildings, emerging onto a side street that connected the administrative district to a residential area. The change in environment was immediate—ornamental trees lined the street, providing additional shadow cover, while the building designs shifted from imposing uniformity to more individualized structures.

  As they turned into a service alley, a lone Zengrid guard appeared at the far end, its three eyes scanning methodically. Mike pushed the professor into a recessed doorway, pressing himself against the wall of the adjoining building.

  The guard advanced slowly, clearly having heard something that caught its attention. Three-fingered hands rested on the strange weapon at its belt—a device Mike had seen discharge energy bolts during previous encounters with Zengrids.

  When the guard was five paces away, it paused, head tilting as it sensed something amiss. One hand moved to a communication crystal at its collar, preparing to report.

  Mike exploded into motion, closing the distance with two silent strides. His hammer struck with devastating precision—first to the wrist reaching for the communication crystal, shattering bones and preventing the alarm, then immediately to the throat, crushing the guard's windpipe before it could vocalize a warning.

  The Zengrid's eyes widened in shock, hands clutching futilely at its throat as it tried to draw breath through the crushed windpipe. It reached desperately for its weapon, but Mike's third strike—a powerful blow to the temple—dropped it to the ground with terrible finality.

  He dragged the body into the shadows, movements economical and practiced as he secured the corpse behind a stack of empty crates. There was no satisfaction in his eyes, only cold efficiency—this wasn't the first life he'd taken since arriving in this world, and likely wouldn't be the last.

  "We need to move," he told the professor, who had watched the encounter with academic detachment. "That one was reporting in regularly. They'll notice its absence soon."

  "Northwestern military training?" she asked as they continued their escape, studying his movements with professional assessment.

  "Construction worker," Mike corrected, wiping his hammer clean before returning it to his belt. "I built things, before."

  "Impressive adaptation," she observed, matching his pace without further comment.

  They reached the rendezvous point—a small courtyard behind what appeared to be a merchant's residence—where Trolley emerged from behind a decorative shrub, her detection array in hand as she scanned for pursuit.

  "Professor Linden," she acknowledged with a respectful nod. "Your reputation precedes you."

  "And you're clearly Central Province trained," the professor responded, gesturing to Trolley's device. "Standard detection array with non-standard modifications. Impressive work."

  Their professional assessment of each other was interrupted by Kirgen's arrival—the scholar slipping into the courtyard from a different entrance, his scholarly disguise discarded in favor of nondescript traveling clothes.

  "Professor!" he exclaimed, voice thick with emotion as he approached his former mentor. "When they told me you'd survived, I could barely—"

  "Save the reunion for later," Mike interrupted, already checking their exit route. "The alarm's spread beyond the annex. We need to move before the city guard establishes checkpoints."

  He could sense increased danger throughout the district as Zengrid guards coordinated with Stonebridge security forces. Their violation of neutrality protocols—rescuing a prisoner from diplomatic custody—would trigger maximum response once fully understood.

  "Agreed," Trolley said, her detection array showing concerning patterns. "Guards converging from multiple directions. We have perhaps fifteen minutes before all exits are covered."

  "Then we don't use conventional exits," Mike decided. His gaze moved upward, assessing the buildings surrounding the courtyard with a builder's precision. "The scholar's quarter connects to all districts through secondary routes—maintenance passages designed to bypass congestion during academic events."

  Professor Linden followed his line of sight, immediately understanding. "The service tunnels. Yes, they're minimally monitored since they require specific access credentials."

  "Can you secure us entry?" Mike asked, calculating their limited options.

  "My academic authorization should still function for the older systems," she confirmed. "We'll need to reach the main conduit junction near the central library."

  They moved quickly through back alleys and service corridors, avoiding main streets where the spreading alarm had increased security presence. Mike led with practiced efficiency, his movements displaying none of the hesitation or uncertainty that might have marked him as an outsider in this world.

  At one junction, he held up a hand, signaling the group to halt as he detected movement ahead. Through the darkness, two city guards approached, conducting a building-by-building search of the area.

  "No way around," Trolley whispered, her detection array confirming the lack of alternative routes.

  Mike assessed the situation with cold calculation. The guards hadn't noticed them yet, but discovery was inevitable if they remained in place. Combat would create noise, alerting nearby search teams. A distraction might work, but could increase overall security awareness in the area.

  "Professor," he whispered, "your academic credentials. Would they respect them?"

  She understood immediately. "Yes. Academic neutrality supercedes standard security protocols during information-classified events."

  "Then you and Kirgen will approach them directly, claiming to be conducting emergency research collection related to the disturbance. Trolley and I will circle behind while they're focused on your credentials."

  The professor nodded, straightening her worn academic robes and adopting the imperious posture of a senior faculty member on official business. Kirgen followed her lead, arranging his features into the earnest expression of a dedicated assistant.

  They emerged from hiding and approached the guards directly, Professor Linden immediately launching into a precisely calibrated mixture of academic jargon and administrative authority that kept the guards off-balance and defensive. While their attention was fully engaged, Mike and Trolley slipped past unseen, using the shadows of nearby buildings for cover.

  The group reunited several blocks away, the professor's academic status having not only secured their passage but extracted valuable information about checkpoint locations from the unwitting guards.

  "They're establishing a perimeter along the main avenues," Professor Linden reported. "But the academic passageways remain unmonitored due to jurisdictional limitations."

  "Then that's our route," Mike decided.

  They reached the scholar's quarter without further incident, the distinctive architecture—tall, narrow buildings with multiple balconies and connecting bridges—providing both cover and navigation landmarks. The access point to the underground passage network proved to be a small, unassuming service door in the rear courtyard of the central library.

  Professor Linden approached the authentication panel with confidence, placing her palm against its surface and reciting what sounded like a catalog reference number. The panel glowed briefly before the door unlocked with a soft click.

  "Academic emergency protocols," she explained as they entered the dimly lit passage beyond. "Designed for evacuation of rare materials during catastrophic events."

  The tunnels beneath the academic quarter were surprisingly well-maintained—stone-lined corridors with regular oil lamps and clear directional markings at intersections. Mike led with caution nonetheless, aware that even authorized passages might be monitored during city-wide security alerts.

  "The safe house is directly connected to this network," Kirgen explained as they navigated the underground maze. "Originally designed to shelter visiting scholars during political instability in Stonebridge's early days."

  After several tense minutes of careful progress, they reached a junction where the passage widened into a small antechamber. A sturdy door marked with academic sigils stood at the far end—their destination according to Kirgen's directions.

  The door opened as they approached, revealing Kirgen's authentication had been pre-registered in the security system. They entered quickly, the door sealing automatically behind them.

  "Status assessment," Mike requested once they had settled in the common area of the safe house.

  "City-wide alert has been issued," Trolley reported. "Guards established at all major intersections, focusing on exit points and transportation hubs."

  "The transfer team scheduled for dawn will arrive to find their prisoner missing," Kirgen added. "That will escalate the situation significantly."

  Professor Linden sipped a hot beverage with remarkable composure for someone who had just escaped captivity. "They'll petition the Stonebridge Council for emergency search authority, claiming violation of diplomatic protocols. Standard procedures would grant them limited access to residential and commercial districts, but academic zones maintain stronger autonomy protections."

  "How long before those protections are overridden?" Mike asked, mentally calculating timeline scenarios.

  "Twenty-four hours minimum," the professor replied. "The Academy maintains independent jurisdiction under the original Stonebridge charter—a privilege even diplomatic emergencies cannot immediately override."

  "So we have a day to retrieve the Configurator and exit Stonebridge," Mike concluded, the tactical challenge crystallizing in his mind. "The Mechanism Quarter where we left it will be under heavy surveillance by now."

  "The storage vault in our room should keep it safe," Trolley pointed out, "but physical retrieval will be challenging once they identify our lodging location."

  "Which they inevitably will," Kirgen added. "Stonebridge maintains thorough visitor records."

  Mike considered their options, calculating various approaches with tactical precision. "We split responsibilities," he decided finally. "Kirgen and Professor Linden remain here under academic protection, consolidating their knowledge of Crafter locations. Trolley and I retrieve the Configurator and acquire transportation for departure."

  "Unnecessarily risky," Professor Linden objected, her academic demeanor giving way to evident concern. "You've already taken substantial risk extracting me. Further exposure increases capture probability exponentially."

  "The Configurator is our primary mission objective," Mike reminded her. "Your rescue was an opportunity target that aligned with our larger goals." He turned to Kirgen. "The professor's knowledge of Crafter ruins makes her an invaluable resource for our overall mission. Ensure she remains secure until we return with the Configurator."

  Kirgen nodded, straightening slightly under the responsibility. "The safe house has emergency exits if the situation deteriorates. We can reach the northern university complex through underground passages if necessary."

  "Good." Mike turned to Trolley. "Rest cycle, then we move at first bell when commercial activity provides maximum cover for our approach."

  As the group separated to the chambers for needed rest, Mike found Professor Linden following him into the corridor.

  "You're not typical resistance operatives," she observed quietly. "Your tactical assessment, equipment utilization, and execution precision exceed standard protocols."

  Mike studied her with newfound appreciation for the analytical mind that had earned her reputation as the Academy's foremost expert on corruption patterns. "We're... a specialized team."

  "Clearly." Her eyes narrowed slightly. "The hammer at your belt—unusual design. And your companion's technical modifications show influences beyond standard methodology."

  Rather than respond directly, Mike asked a question of his own. "What did the Zengrids want from you, Professor?"

  Her expression shifted, professional curiosity giving way to grim determination. "My knowledge of Crafter sites. I've spent decades mapping the locations where their influence still manifests."

  Mike's interest sharpened immediately. "Crafter sites like the Haven?"

  "Precisely." She glanced around to ensure they weren't overheard. "The Zengrids are massing an army because they found one. A significant one."

  "How significant?"

  "Major enough to draw the Emperor's personal attention." Professor Linden's voice dropped lower. "I overheard my guards talking. Apparently Warlock Rong rushed in prematurely and nearly got himself killed. Now Emperor Borgath isn't taking any chances—he's sent one of his Inquisitors to handle the situation."

  Mike felt his muscles tense at the mention of Rong—the three-eyed commander he'd fought at Crafter's Haven months ago. "And the army?"

  "They've been pulling in as many troops as they can gather," she continued. "Forces reassigned from multiple territories, specialized units, siege equipment. According to what I heard, they're planning to march on the site in just under a month."

  "Did you learn which site?" Mike asked, his mind racing. If Rong had attacked Crafter's Haven and nearly died, then retreated to report to his Emperor...

  "The guards were careful with specifics," she admitted. "But from the fragmented descriptions, it aligns with one of the locations I've documented in my research—a Crafter facility with defensive capabilities far beyond what's been encountered previously."

  The implications were clear. Crafter's Haven—their base, their sanctuary—was the target. And an army led by an Imperial Inquisitor would be vastly more dangerous than the goblin force Rong had commanded during their first encounter.

  "How much time did you say we have?" Mike asked, his tactical mind already calculating what they'd need to do once they returned to the Haven.

  "Less than a month. Twenty-seven days, if the schedule I overheard remains unchanged." She studied his face carefully. "You know which site they're targeting, don't you?"

  Before Mike could decide how much to reveal, Trolley appeared in the corridor behind them, her expression making clear she'd been listening to the exchange.

  "We should rest while we can," she announced, deliberately interrupting their conversation. "Tomorrow will require full alertness."

  The professor accepted the interruption with professional grace, though her eyes lingered on Mike's hammer with renewed interest before she returned to her assigned chamber.

  "The Haven?" Trolley asked once the professor was out of earshot.

  Mike nodded grimly. "Has to be. Rong knows exactly where it is now."

  "Then we need to move faster than planned. The Configurator, the professor's knowledge, and a quick exit from Stonebridge."

  "And then back to warn Morin and Nott," Mike agreed. "Twenty-seven days isn't much time to prepare for an Imperial army."

  Alone in the narrow room provided for him, Mike removed his weapons and equipment with methodical care. The hammer received special attention—its surface checked for damage, the wood handle wiped clean of any residue from the night's activities. What had once been merely a construction tool had become a weapon of necessity—balanced perfectly for both building and combat.

  As he completed this ritual maintenance, a familiar warmth suffused his body—the distinctive sensation of advancing within the game-like system that governed his development in this world. A notification appeared in his vision:

  ```

  [LEVEL UP: 16 ACHIEVED]

  Experience gained through successful infiltration, combat victory, and tactical leadership.

  CLASS: Builder

  LEVEL: 16 (0/34,000 to Level 17)

  PRIMARY ATTRIBUTES:

  - Strength: 20 (+1)

  - Dexterity: 17 (+1)

  - Endurance: 21 (+1)

  - Intelligence: 17 (+1)

  - Wisdom: 15

  - Charisma: 12 (+1)

  SKILLS:

  - Hammering (26): Master efficiency in using hammer-type tools (+1)

  - Sawing (22): Expert precision in cutting materials

  - Joining (26): Master-level ability to connect different materials

  - Layout (24): Expert spatial planning and design (+1)

  - Athletics (19): Advanced physical coordination and stamina (+1)

  - Measurement (25): Expert precision in calculating dimensions

  - Wood Cutting (21): Expert ability with axes and timber preparation

  - Trap Design (20): Expert mechanical trap construction (+1)

  - Material Identification (16): Advanced recognition of building materials

  - Boom Sap Handling (17): Advanced ability with explosive materials

  - Tactical Positioning (7): Enhanced awareness of optimal positions (+2)

  - Efficient Recovery (5): Accelerated healing during rest periods (+2)

  - Structural Analysis (8): Instantly assess structural integrity (+1)

  [LEVEL 16 SKILL SELECTION AVAILABLE]

  Choose one skill:

  - Impact Resistance: Reduce damage taken from physical attacks by 15%

  - Infiltration: Enhanced ability to move undetected through guarded areas

  - Fortification Design: Advanced knowledge of defensive structures and siege countermeasures

  TITLES:

  - Void Ripper Slayer

  - Haven Defender

  - Crafter Aspirant

  - Void Hunter

  - Shadow Walker (New!)

  ```

  Mike stared at the skill options, weighing each against both immediate needs and the looming Zengrid threat. Impact Resistance would certainly help in direct combat, and Infiltration would make tomorrow's mission to retrieve the Configurator safer. But with an Imperial army marching toward Crafter's Haven in less than a month...

  "Fortification Design," he whispered decisively.

  The familiar warmth intensified, concentrating briefly in his mind before spreading outward. Suddenly, Mike could visualize defensive structures with unprecedented clarity—angled walls to deflect siege weapons, overlapping fields of fire, choke points that could funnel attackers into kill zones. Knowledge of fortress architecture from Earth's history blended with his understanding of this world's materials and threats, forming a comprehensive grasp of defensive engineering that simply hadn't existed in his mind moments before.

  ```

  [SKILL ACQUIRED: Fortification Design (Level 1)]

  You can now analyze terrain and design optimal defensive structures to resist siege and assault. Includes knowledge of counterworks, killing fields, and strategic resource placement.

  ```

  The knowledge settled into place like it had always been there, instantly accessible and intuitively understood. Mike found himself mentally redesigning Crafter's Haven's defenses, identifying critical weaknesses and envisioning solutions that would transform the ancient ruins into a fortress capable of withstanding Imperial assault.

  It was the right choice. With Professor Linden's warning of the approaching army, they would need every advantage possible. The ancient Crafters had built Haven with defense in mind—now Mike could enhance those foundations with both modern Earth engineering principles and this world's unique capabilities.

  Mike settled onto the narrow bed, his mind racing despite his body's exhaustion. Twenty-seven days to prepare for an Imperial Zengrid army. Twenty-seven days to transform Crafter's Haven from a simple sanctuary into a fortress capable of withstanding siege. The challenge would require every skill he'd gained, every level he'd advanced—including this new Fortification Design skill that might prove the difference between survival and annihilation.

  As sleep finally claimed him, his final thoughts were of Sarah and Jeremy—the family that still anchored him to Earth despite his growing adaptation to this world. Everything he'd become, every level gained and skill improved, served the dual purpose of survival here and the hope of eventual return home.

  But first, he had a fortress to build—and an empire to defy.