POV: Yaguro aka
The wind atop Korvath's northern wall was sharp enough to sting. Yaguro Aka stood with her cloak pinned tight at the shoulder, dark hair tied back, eyes scanning the line of stone ramparts stretching across the city's edge. Below, the training yard boomed with the rhythmic clash of practice weapons and shouted drills. The city had awakened not to markets or laughter—but to preparation.
"Positions!" Jitsumu Zankyō barked. His voice carried across the north wall like a hammer striking steel. His team moved with the discipline of a honed blade—fifteen soldiers in perfect formation, shields overlapping, stance anchored against imagined siege. Their breathing synchronized, a single organism made of many arms and wills.
To the west, through the drifting dust of training marches, Yakesake Yakitori's troop drilled at double pace. Their movements were rougher, louder, built on raw muscle and aggressive spirit. Yaguro watched Yakesake's sword flash into the air, cutting arcs as he demonstrated a counter-charge maneuver.
"He leads with force of personality," she murmured to herself. Effective, if unpredictable.
Further east by the gate, Hanah Kyouka directed a quieter unit—ten soldiers and a cluster of lower-ranked adventurers. She moved among them like a steady flame, healing staff in hand. When one recruit stumbled, gasping, Hanah placed a palm lightly to their shoulder. Warm light pulsed—refreshing stamina, steadying breath—then the training resumed.
And at the southern gate, the city's least experienced fighters rotated in and out in steady shifts—mixed adventurer teams, spears and shields where once only merchants and hunters had stood. Their courage wavered, but it held.
Walls of iron, yes. But these were walls of flesh too—tired, frightened, and desperately trying to become something more resilient.
Yaguro turned away, heading down the stairwell. There was no time to admire the progress. The true burden lay below.
---
The guildhall basement was a cavern of chaos.
Stacks of lumber, stone tiles, rope, and spare bedding filled every hallway. Civilians crowded the construction areas, some hammering and lifting, others arguing loudly with the supervisors. The air vibrated with frustration and fear—fear of war, fear of plague, fear of being trapped underground.
"Why must we hide?" one man shouted, red-faced. "If there's danger, we should flee, not dig ourselves into a tomb!"
"A quarantine? That means the sickness is real!" cried a woman clutching her child. "You're not telling us everything!"
"Hush," snapped an older laborer. "It's orders from Commander Iroko. Question less, move faster!"
The argument was seconds from exploding.
Yaguro stepped into their midst. The crowd quieted—not because of rank, but because Yaguro rarely spoke loudly, and when she did, it meant the situation had crossed a line.
"Listen." Her voice cut through the tension like a cold blade. "If we run, we scatter. If we scatter, we are prey. Korvath is our home. A wall only stands if those behind it refuse to break."
Her gaze traced the fearful faces one by one.
"These shelters are not graves. They are lifelines. If the walls fall, this is where your children will survive. If supplies fail, this is where rations will be shared. If the city burns, this is where we rebuild."
She did not sugarcoat. She did not promise safety. She simply told the truth.
The crowd steadied. Hands returned to tools. Hammers resumed their rhythm.
Yaguro knelt briefly to help brace a support beam. Strength in action often spoke louder than orders.
---
Later, in the guild accounting chamber, the scent of ink and parchment replaced dust and sweat.
Hokuto Chika, the newly appointed Chief Logistics Officer, stood at the center of a table buried under supply ledgers. Beside her worked three others—Nishi Sayuri, Higashi Sora, and Minami Haruko—each scribbling furiously, calculating grain intake against ration cycles.
"We have two weeks of secure reserves," Hokuto reported. "Three if we stretch to starvation-level distribution. Orleaf's supply caravan arrived, but only half of what we requested. They're struggling too."
Yaguro nodded. "So Korvath cannot sustain a siege."
"Not indefinitely."
"And morale?"
Hokuto sighed. "Tenuous. But holding."
Yaguro leaned her palms onto the table. The wood creaked under her weight.
"Then we work. And we do not falter."
Because walls of stone can be rebuilt.
But walls of flesh—hearts, trust, resolve—once cracked, were far harder to restore.
In the quiet that followed, the calculations resumed, and Korvath continued its grim preparation.
The city was not ready.
But it was trying.
And sometimes, that was the beginning of survival.