Once the decision was made, hesitation vanished.
At dawn the next day, as weak sunlight struggled through the thick fog of the Blackwood Forest, the outpost had already transformed into something entirely different.
A construction ground.
A battlefield in preparation.
"Everyone who can still move—over here!"
Colin stood at the center, his voice calm, almost cold—but impossible to ignore.
The eight surviving werewolf women gathered in silence. Even Linna, who once doubted him, stood among them. Their faces were pale with exhaustion, their eyes bloodshot—but beneath that fatigue burned something harder.
Resolve.
"Our first task isn't the walls," Colin said. "We dig."
He stepped outside the gate and drew a wide arc across the ground—three times wider than the original shallow ditch.
"Uncle Goff," he continued, "take two people and follow this line. I want a trench deep enough to break a warhorse's legs. Steep inner walls. Stakes at the bottom."
Simple.
Brutal.
Effective.
"Linna," he turned, "you're strong. Take three people into the forest. Cut hardwood—thick trunks. We need logs. A lot of them. And bring back stones."
"The rest of you—follow me."
Without waiting, he moved.
The most critical work began at the walls.
At first glance, the old stone barrier looked solid—thick, imposing.
But Colin knew better.
It was fragile.
Badly joined. Weak at the seams.
He had pierced it himself before.
"Tear it down," he ordered.
The words stunned them.
"Colin… this—"
"No time to explain."
He drove his blade into a gap, prying a stone loose.
"Out with the old. We rebuild properly."
And so they began.
What followed was something none of them had ever experienced.
Not survival.
Not scavenging.
Construction.
Real construction.
Colin translated the knowledge in his mind into the simplest possible actions.
"Don't tie wood with rope—cut grooves. Make them fit into each other like this!"
He demonstrated crude mortise-and-tenon joints, his hands rough but precise.
"They'll hold stronger than rope ever could!"
"The foundation—dig deeper! Gravel first, then drive stakes. The wall stands because the ground holds it!"
"Mix mud with grass and water—fill every gap between stones. No empty space!"
To them, it sounded like a foreign language.
But they followed.
Not because they understood—
But because they could see it working.
Piece by piece.
Stone by stone.
The outpost became a living machine.
Women dug until their hands bled.
Trees fell under relentless effort.
Mud was mixed, carried, pressed into place.
Hammering echoed through the forest, sending birds scattering.
Lina took control of everything behind the front lines.
Logistics.
Food.
Water.
She rationed strictly, ensuring no one collapsed. Warhorse meat was smoked into jerky. Containers were filled. Nothing was wasted.
Even in exhaustion, order held.
Goff, after finishing his trench work, retreated with a small group to craft weapons.
Captured tools became their advantage.
Hardwood was shaped into bows.
Sinew twisted into strings.
Wooden shafts tipped with bone and iron became arrows.
Crude—
But deadly.
And at night—
Colin worked on something else.
Something no one else saw.
Deep within a hidden cave behind the outpost, he and Goff labored in silence.
"This used to be a storage room," Goff muttered, torchlight flickering across stone. "Solid rock behind this wall."
Colin tapped the surface with his sword hilt.
Listened.
"No," he said quietly. "Not entirely."
He pointed to a corner.
"We dig here."
"A tunnel?"
"Not a tunnel," Colin corrected. "An escape path. Just enough for one person."
Their last line of survival.
So while the others slept, the sound of digging continued—low, steady, stubborn.
Time blurred.
Days passed like breaths.
Day one:The trench took shape. The old walls were gone.
Day five:A new foundation rose—stone, mud, and timber. Gateposts stood like the beginnings of something greater.
Day seven:The trench became a killing pit, lined with sharpened stakes.The walls rose—taller, thicker, reinforced.Firing slits carved into place.Above, logs and stones were stacked, waiting.
They were exhausted.
Bodies covered in mud and cuts.
Hunger gnawing constantly.
But no one complained.
Because they could see it.
What they were building.
This wasn't just a wall.
It was survival.
It was defiance.
It was hope—made solid.
At dusk, Colin stood atop the half-finished battlements.
Below him—
The outpost had changed.
No longer fragile.
No longer temporary.
It was becoming something else entirely.
A fortress.
One born from desperation.
One that would demand blood.
He glanced back.
His people sat together, eating in silence. Worn. Dirty. But different.
The fear that once hollowed them out was gone.
In its place—
Unity.
Strength.
Something unbreakable.
Colin exhaled quietly.
Even more than the walls—
That gave him confidence.
His gaze turned toward the distant direction of Westwind City.
The enemy would come.
That was certain.
Seven days remained.
The countdown had already begun.