The sunlight hit different after three hours of goblin guts and cave dust. Allen squinted, wiping soot from his forehead as he and Lina emerged from the mine's mouth, the fifth floor victory still ringing in his ears like a successful server migration at 4 AM. His HP sat at a comfortable 150/150, but his MP was scraping bottom at 5/110, that dry, empty feeling like finishing a triple espresso and crashing hard.
Lina clutched her shoulder where the captain's blade had kissed her, the wound already closing thanks to Tilly's poultices, but the bloodstain on her tunic told the story of their narrow escape. She slumped against a boulder, fishing for her water skin with trembling fingers.
"Don't get comfortable," Allen said, checking his system interface. The red countdown was gone, replaced by something better. "We've got incoming."
A chime cut through the forest quiet. Not the urgent blare of a goblin raid, but the pleasant ding of a notification email.
[Skill Unlocked: Territory Recruitment] [Effect: Passive attraction of displaced persons within 10km radius] [Current Status: 5 Refugees Detected - Arrival ETA: 2 Hours]
Lina perked up. "Five? That's more than double our current headcount."
"Series A funding just walked in," Allen muttered, already pulling up the village audit. Population: 4. After today, they'd hit 9 total. A 125% growth quarter. His old startup clients would kill for those metrics.
They limped back to Fallen Stone Village, finding the place transformed by their absence. The Hunter's Blind had snared two rabbits overnight. Brok had used the ore from Floor 4 to patch the forge's chimney. Even Geralt's farm plot showed green shoots poking through the cracked earth.
Allen called the team together. "Standup's going long today. We've got interviews."
Tilly looked up from her stew pot, confused. "Interviews, sir?"
"Human capital acquisition. Five people just got displaced by the goblin activity up north. They're walking here because our Territory Recruitment skill pinged them. We need to assess, assign, and onboard before sunset."
Two hours later, they arrived. Five bedraggled figures stumbled out of the treeline, clutching sacks of salvaged possessions, eyes hollow with the thousand-yard stare of people who'd watched their homes burn.
Allen sized them up instantly. His Territory Appraisal skill painted data tags above their heads like floating LinkedIn profiles.
[Marcus - Human Male - Level 2 - STR 12 / DEX 8 / INT 6] [Elena - Human Female - Level 1 - STR 6 / DEX 14 / INT 9] [Thom - Human Male - Level 1 - STR 9 / DEX 7 / INT 11] [Will - Human Male - Level 3 - STR 11 / DEX 9 / INT 7] [Old Mae - Human Female - Level 1 - STR 4 / DEX 6 / INT 13]
Allen walked a slow circle around them, feeling like a Silicon Valley hiring manager at a career fair. "Line up. No need to kneel or bow. I'm not a lord, I'm an administrator. You want shelter, food, and safety. I want productive assets. Let's see if we can make a deal."
Marcus, a barrel-chested miller with hands like shovels, stepped forward. "I lifted grain sacks for fifteen years. I can work."
"Strength twelve," Allen noted aloud. "Agriculture Department. Primary labor, farming support, heavy lifting. We need those fields turned before the frost. Geralt will supervise."
Geralt straightened, suddenly looking like a department head instead of a starving farmer. "Aye. I can use him."
Elena, a wiry teenager with quick eyes, fidgeted with her sleeve. "I sewed. I fixed clothes. I... I move fast?"
"Dexterity fourteen. Production Department. Crafting, sewing, tool maintenance. We need leather armor patched, arrows fletched, bags sewn. Tilly will coordinate your workflow."
Tilly nodded, wiping her hands on her apron. "Need someone to mend the hunting gear, that's for sure."
Thom, a scrawny youth with ink-stained fingers, barely met Allen's gaze. "I can write. I kept accounts for my father's shop before the goblins came."
"Intelligence eleven. Administration Department. Scribe, inventory tracking, resource accounting. I need someone who can read my system outputs and keep written backups. You'll report directly to me."
Old Mae cackled, revealing three remaining teeth. "I'm too old for labor, young man. But I know herbs. I know which mushrooms kill you and which fix you."
"Intelligence thirteen. Medical support, secondary agriculture. You'll assist with the farm's herb garden and brew antidotes. The wolf spiders on Floor 3 taught us we need a pharmacy, not just a kitchen."
That left Will. Level 3, balanced stats, haunted eyes. He carried a notched spear with the grip of someone who'd used it.
"You've fought," Allen said.
"Lost my village three days ago," Will replied, voice flat. "Killed two goblins before I ran."
"Defense Department. Militia. You'll train with Lina, learn perimeter security, and join our next dungeon delve as muscle. We need bodies between our DPS and the enemy."
Will's eyes sparked. "You'll arm me?"
"We'll arm everyone," Allen corrected. "But you'll earn it through training, not charity."
By sunset, the village population hit eight. Allen established three distinct departments, creating an organizational chart in his system interface that looked suspiciously like a mid-tier tech company's org tree. Agriculture handled inputs. Production handled manufacturing. Defense handled risk mitigation.
The system chimed again.
[Building Unlocked: Basic Farm] [Requirements: 8 Lumber, 2 Laborers, 1 Supervisor] [Effect: Food Production +3 Units/Day, Population Cap +5]
Allen assigned Marcus and Geralt to break ground immediately. No time for bureaucracy. They marked a 20x20 plot west of the workshop, using the goblin pickaxes to turn the soil.
That night, Allen sat by the fire, updating his asset ledger. Food reserves: 18 units with the new arrivals. Burn rate: 8 units per day. They'd starve in two weeks without the Basic Farm coming online.
"Resource Forecasting says we hit a shortage next Thursday," he muttered to Lina.
"Then we clear floors six through eight before Thursday," she replied, sharpening her bowstring. "Get more loot. Mor
"Exactly. Sprint planning starts now."