Doc woke to the familiar hum of Lux's morning greeting.

  Good morning, Doc. Current time: 06:47 local. Suit diagnostics complete. All systems nominal.

  He stretched, joints popping softly in the quiet chamber.

  Fish?

  Currently hunting with Kesh. Departed settlement perimeter approximately forty-three minutes ago. Heading northeast along the ridgeline.

  Doc nodded to himself. Fish had been restless past few days. A good hunt would settle her.

  He dressed methodically—underlayer first, then the EVA suit's flexible segments. The prosthetic arm responded instantly, fingers flexing as neural connections synced to his suit.

  Surface?

  Affirmative.

  Doc nodded took the elevator topside.

  Cold air hit him the moment the doors opened. The kind of cold that reminded him of Proxima's winter mornings—back when winter still meant something other than atmospheric recycling schedules.

  He walked toward the longhouse, boots crunching through packed snow.

  The structure stood solid against the mountain slope, smoke rising steady from the central chimney. Voices drifted from inside. The settlement was awake.

  Doc pushed through the door.

  Warmth wrapped around him immediately. The central hearth burned low but steady, casting orange light across the main hall. June stood at the cooking station, stirring something in a large pot. The smell of root vegetables and hearthgrain filled the space.

  Tavi moved between tables, carrying bowls to the workers scattered throughout the room. Tor sat near the fire, speaking quietly with two others Doc recognize but couldn't name. Brenn was at the far table, sketching something in charcoal on parchment.

  Marron sat near the eastern wall, bent over a leather-bound journal. His posture was careful—deliberate. One hand held a quill, the other rested flat against the page as if steadying something fragile.

  Doc's curiosity tugged.

  He started toward Marron.

  Jem looked up from where he'd been watching Marron work. The boy's eyes brightened immediately. "Doc! You're awake. Are you hungry?"

  Doc opened his mouth to answer.

  Jem was already moving. "I'll get you something."

  Marron glanced up, a faint smile crossing his face. "Enthusiastic, that one."

  "Noticed," Doc said.

  Marron gestured to the chair across from him. "Sit. Unless you're in a hurry."

  Doc sat.

  Marron's journal lay open between them. The page was covered in flowing script—neat, measured lines written in dark ink. Symbols marked the margins.

  Doc leaned forward slightly. "What are you working on?"

  Marron set the quill down carefully. "A magically binding contract."

  Doc blinked. "A what?"

  "Magically binding contract," Marron repeated. He tapped the page lightly. "It's a Merchant Guild skill. Allows us to create agreements enforced by ambient magical energy rather than legal authority."

  Doc processed that. "Enforced how?"

  "By the world system itself," Marron said. "Once all parties agree and the contract is activated, the terms become... permanent. If someone violates them, the magic responds. Discomfort at first. Fatigue. Difficulty concentrating. The severity escalates depending on how badly the terms are broken."

  Lux. Are you getting this?

  Affirmative. Analyzing. Magical enforcement through ambient energy suggests direct interaction with the world's metaphysical framework. Comparable to automated compliance systems, but organic rather than programmed.

  Doc studied the page more closely. The script wasn't just writing—it carried intent. Structure. Like code woven into language.

  "How does it work?" Doc asked.

  Marron leaned back slightly. "The contract must be clear. All parties present. Everyone agrees willingly—compulsion voids the whole thing. Once signed, I activate my class skill and the System locks in the terms. After that, violations trigger automatically."

  "No oversight needed?"

  "None," Marron confirmed. "The System handles enforcement."

  Doc considered the implications. A self-enforcing agreement system with built-in consequences for breaking terms. No courts or arbitration unless something went catastrophically wrong.

  Practical.

  Dangerous, too, if misused.

  "What are the limits?" Doc asked.

  "Plenty," Marron said. "Can't compel actions against personal safety or core beliefs. Can't override other magical bindings or class-based loyalties. Duration caps at one year. And I can only bind terms that all parties actually agree to—if someone's coerced or doesn't understand what they're signing, the magic won't take."

  "But you could bind a murder contract?"

  "If everyone agreed to it, yes," Marron said plainly. "The skill doesn't judge morality. It enforces agreements. That's why reputation matters. All contracts get registered with the local Guild hall—public record. You start brokering murder contracts, people notice. Clients won't work with you. Towns ban you. The Guild can revoke certification for contracts that damage their reputation, but the magic itself doesn't care if you're hiring someone to kill a monster or a person."

  "So the market regulates it."

  "Exactly. A merchant who brokers shady contracts gets a shady reputation. Most of us stick to trade, services, and standard adventurer work because that's where the steady money is. No point tanking your business over one sketchy deal."

  Doc nodded slowly. A system with built-in economic incentives rather than top-down enforcement. That made sense.

  Jem returned, setting a bowl of soup in front of Doc. Steam rose from the surface, carrying the scent of ashroot and something faintly sweet.

  "Thank you," Doc said.

  Jem smiled and hurried off again.

  Doc picked up the spoon, but his attention stayed on Marron's journal. "Why now?"

  "Edda's orders," Marron said. "We're formalizing trade with Threeburrow. Regular shipments both ways—crops and tools from us, froststones and materials from them. A contract ensures both sides honor the terms."

  "Makes sense," Doc said.

  Marron dipped his quill again, adding another line to the page. "It's about trust. A magical binding contract says we're serious. That we'll show up, deliver what we promise, and expect the same in return."

  Doc took a sip of soup. Warm. Grounding.

  Marron continued writing, his hand moving with practiced ease.

  Doc watched him work, the room humming with quiet morning activity around them.

  A magically binding contract.

  Another variable. Another system to understand.

  But for now, Doc just ate his soup.

  Doc finished his soup and set the bowl down, the warmth settling in his chest. He stood, nodding to Marron, and headed for the door.

  Outside, the settlement buzzed with activity.

  The trade wagon sat in the clearing, its frame loaded with crates and bundles. Snow Tusk stood harnessed at the front, his massive frame steady as Tanna adjusted the straps.

  Doc walked toward the wagon.

  Tor and Brenn carried crates full of differing tools from the storage area, stacking them carefully in the wagon bed. Two other workers Doc didn't recognize hauled canvas-wrapped bundles, their breath misting in the cold air.

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  Edda stood near the wagon's side, directing them with calm authority. She pointed toward the northern corner of the bed. "Those go there. Secure them against the frame—nothing shifts if Snow Tusk moves fast."

  The workers nodded and adjusted their loads accordingly.

  Edda noticed Doc approaching and waved him over.

  Carl stood beside her, surrounded by a small cluster of equipment. Several bronze-cased radios sat in a neat row on a crate. Next to them rested a compact toolbox and what looked like spare battery casings.

  Doc stopped beside them. "Morning."

  "Doc," Edda greeted. "Good timing. We're finalizing the Threeburrow shipment."

  Doc glanced at the radios. "Those going too?"

  "They are," Edda confirmed. "A deal was brokered over the radio. Kraggir was impressed enough to request a few radios in exchange for more froststones and future mining access."

  Doc raised an eyebrow. "That was fast."

  "Calen did most of the talking," Carl said. He looked pleased with himself. "He and Kraggir hit it off. Turns out Kraggir's got a skill for spotting value in materials—combines well with Calen's energy-reading abilities."

  Edda nodded. "Marron confirmed Threeburrow is isolated. They don't have regular access to traders, and their location makes communication difficult during harsh weather. If the radios work reliably, it establishes a permanent line of contact."

  Doc considered that. A permanent link to Threeburrow meant early warnings, coordinated trade, and potentially faster response times if either settlement needed help.

  Made sense strategically.

  "Good call," Doc said.

  Carl shifted his weight, adjusting one of the radios on the crate. "There's one issue, though. We'll probably need to do a tech demo when you get there."

  Doc blinked. "A what?"

  "A tech demo," Carl said matter-of-factly. "You know—show them how the radios work, explain the different frequencies, demonstrate range limits, that kind of thing."

  Doc stared at him for a moment, processing what he'd just heard. "Where'd you pick up that term?"

  Carl pulled the data tablet from his satchel, holding it up. "Right here. Lux transferred a bunch of technical documentation. One section was labeled 'Field Deployment and User Training Protocols.' Had a whole chapter on tech demos."

  Lux.

  Yes, Doc?

  Did you include Federation deployment terminology in Carl's tablet?

  Affirmative. The documentation provided context for proper equipment introduction and user instruction. I deemed it relevant.

  Doc exhaled slowly, pinching the bridge of his nose. Of course Lux did.

  Carl didn't seem to notice Doc's reaction, already scrolling through the tablet. "I talked to Calen over the radio last night. He said he'd get everything ready on their end, but he asked if you could help with the demonstration."

  Doc glanced at the radios again, then back at Carl.

  A tech demo.

  In a goblin-kobold-gnoll settlement.

  Using Federation corporate sales terminology.

  The absurdity of it hit him all at once, and he had to suppress a laugh. This was his life now. Product demonstrations in fantasy mining settlement. User training protocols for people who thought "frequency modulation" was probably a spell.

  "Yeah," Doc said, unable to keep the amusement out of his voice. "I can help."

  Carl nodded, satisfied. "Good. Should be straightforward. Just need to show them signal tuning and explain battery maintenance."

  Edda nodded. "Thank you. Your presence will help smooth things over. They already trust you after the draugr incident."

  Doc nodded, still trying not to smile.

  Lux, for the record—next time you're compiling educational materials, maybe flag the anachronistic terminology.

  Noted. Though I would argue the concepts remain applicable regardless of cultural context.

  That's not the point.

  Understood, Doc.

  Marron finished the last line of the contract, checking the phrasing one final time. He set it aside, letting the ink dry, then rolled it carefully and stepped out toward the trade wagon.

  Snow Tusk stood harnessed at the front, breath steaming in the cold air. The wagon sat loaded—crates of healing tonics, preserved food, tools, and radios carefully wrapped tucked beneath canvas. Marron approached, tapping the edge of the contract roll against his palm.

  Edda stood near the rear gate, reviewing inventory notes. Marron offered her the contract. "Last check."

  She unrolled it, eyes scanning the terms. Her expression remained neutral as she read the document, a good sign Marron hopes.

  While she read, Riona emerged from the cave entrance carrying a wrapped bundle under one arm.

  Carl spotted her first and waved her over. "Riona!"

  Marron noticed Doc standing nearby. The two of them watched as Riona reached the wagon and set the bundle down carefully.

  Carl glanced at Doc, then Marron. "We should send a few rifles. I fixed the battery issue with the new mana stones you brought back from the village."

  Doc unwrapped the bundle. Three rifles lay inside, bronze-cased and gleaming. Marron stepped closer, studying them.

  Marron picked one up. The weight felt balanced but alien. "How do they work?"

  Doc tilted his head slightly. "I'll show you while we're traveling back to the village."

  Marron nodded. "Good enough."

  He trusted Doc would follow through—had no reason not to.

  Setting the rifle down, Marron turned back to the wagon. Time for final checks.

  He circled the vehicle slowly, inspecting every joint and strap. The frame sat solid beneath the cargo. Canvas secured tightly over the goods. Snow Tusk's harness adjusted properly—no chafing, no loose buckles.

  Marron opened the rear gate and scanned the interior.

  His Ledgerkeeper's Intuition skill activated without conscious thought.

  The inventory checked out: medical supplies, preserved food, radios, various tools.

  Everything accounted for.

  The wagon's enchantment pulsed faintly beneath his awareness—Lightload and Expanded Hold working in perfect harmony. Cargo that should've weighed down Snow Tusk sat light and manageable, packed efficiently in a space that shouldn't fit half this much.

  Marron allowed himself a brief smile. The wagon had become an extension of his skill, responding to intent as much as instruction.

  Edda walked over, contract in hand. "The magical contract looks fine."

  Marron nodded, closing the rear gate. He ran his hand along the wagon's edge one last time, double-checking the latch.

  "We're ready to go."

  Edda inclined her head. "We should have one last meeting before you depart. Kesh is on his way back."

  Marron glanced toward the treeline. No sign of the hunter yet, but Edda's word was enough.

  He secured the final tie-down on the canvas, smoothed the duck-flag hanging from the rear pole, and stepped back.

  The wagon sat ready. The contract sat ready. The team would be ready once everyone gathered.

  Edda turned toward the longhouse. "Let's go."

  Marron followed, Snow Tusk huffing softly behind them. The settlement moved with quiet efficiency—people finishing tasks, securing tools, preparing for another departure.

  Inside the longhouse, the inner circle began assembling. Ironha entered first, Lina trailing behind. Dulric arrived next, still smudged with forge soot. Carl and Riona stepped in together.

  Marron took his place near the center table, contract roll in hand, and waited for Kesh.

  Kesh arrived moments later, Fish padding beside him. The wolf's coat still held traces of snow from their morning patrol. They settled near the table without ceremony, Kesh leaning against the wall while Fish went over to sit near Doc.

  Edda waited until everyone stilled, then spoke.

  "The mission hasn't changed." Her voice carried through the longhouse, steady and measured. "You returned for medical supplies, yes. But our strategy remains the same."

  She let the words settle before continuing.

  "We now know our location—we are located in far north of the Northern Territories. If we're going to survive here long-term, we need more than what Threeburrow can provide."

  Edda placed both hands on the table, meeting each person's gaze in turn.

  "Glasshold is our next objective."

  Marron pulled out his maps and smoothed them flat across the table

  "I've charted what we know," Marron said, smoothing the edges flat. His finger traced a line that showed their route to Threeburrow, then extended northeast in rougher, less certain strokes. "This is based on information from Kraggir. He's provided details on the route to Glasshold itself."

  New markings covered the parchment—elevation changes, terrain notes, distances calculated in Marron's precise script, but clearly drawn from secondhand knowledge rather than personal experience.

  "Kraggir says the route goes further northeast from Threeburrow," Marron continued, tapping the extended line. "Four days travel, maybe five depending on weather. The terrain gets rougher—more elevation changes, and there are ice fields past the third ridge we'll need to navigate around."

  He traced an alternate path that skirted the ice fields. "Adds half a day, but Kraggir was clear—don't try to cross directly."

  Tanna leaned forward from where she sat. "What about the approach to the city?"

  "Main road comes in from the south," Marron said, indicating the route on his map. "Well-traveled, according to Kraggir. Guard posts at regular intervals once you're within five miles of the walls."

  "Imperial guards?" Edda asked.

  "Mixed. Imperial and northern clan both." Marron tapped the gate markings he'd sketched based on Kraggir's description. "They're used to trade caravans. Kraggir's contacts should smooth the way, but we'll still need proper documentation."

  Doc spoke up from his seat, voice calm. "Kraggir trust these contacts?"

  "He does," Marron said. "And he's giving us letters of introduction to merchants in the city—people he's dealt with before. The Merchant's Guild operates there. I can use their resources to learn more once we're inside."

  Kesh pushed off from the wall and moved closer to the table. "What about threats on the road?"

  "The main route sees regular traffic," Marron said. "Merchant caravans, clan scouts. Kraggir says it's as safe as anything gets up here—but we all know what that means."

  Marron traced the route again, his expression tightening with something beyond physical concern.

  "The dangers—draugr, beasts, whatever else haunts the ridges—those aren't what worry me most." He glanced at Doc. "Between you and Maz, I'm confident we can handle most threats."

  His finger stopped midway along the drawn line.

  "What concerns me is communication."

  He straightened, addressing the table. "We've established relays at Threeburrow. They're working. But once we push toward Glasshold, we'll be stretching thin. If something happens—if we need help, or if the settlement needs us—those radios are our only line."

  His gaze settled on Carl.

  "What's the actual range on these relays?"

  Carl shifted, fingers drumming once against the table's edge as he considered. "The handheld units can reach maybe... five, six miles on clear terrain. Less in bad weather or rough elevation."

  He paused, recalculating mentally.

  "The relay stations boost that significantly. Based on the prototype design, each relay should extend coverage another fifteen to twenty miles, depending on line of sight."

  Marron glanced down at his map, measuring the distance between marked points.

  "If the map's accurate," Carl continued, "and Threeburrow's relay holds, you shouldn't need another station until you're close to Glasshold's outskirts. Maybe within ten miles of the city walls."

  Edda felt the familiar pull of Settlement Design stir in her chest. She closed her eyes briefly, letting the skill map the logistics.

  Relay points. Signal arcs. Coverage zones layered across terrain.

  The vision stabilized.

  "We should test the range as you travel," she said, opening her eyes. "Don't assume the relays hold at maximum distance. Check in regularly—every few hours if possible. Note where the signal degrades."

  She met Marron's gaze directly.

  "If you need to establish another relay before reaching Glasshold, do it. Don't wait until you're out of range."

  Marron nodded. "Agreed."

  Doc leaned forward slightly. "We'll mark fallback points. If communication drops, we know where to retreat to restore contact."

  "Good," Edda said. "And if something happens at the settlement, we'll handle it."

  Marron rolled the maps carefully, securing them with a leather cord. "Then we're set. Final checks, then we move."

  Doc rose from his seat, Fish standing with him. Tanna followed a moment later, and Marron gathered his materials.

  The rest followed them out of the the longhouse, their voices fading as they moved toward the wagon.

  Edda remained seated.

  The room felt larger without them. Quieter.

  She placed her hands flat against the table, feeling the grain beneath her palms.

  Marron wasn't worried about danger.

  But Edda was.

  Not the travel or the terrain. Not beasts or Imperial guards waiting at Glasshold's gates.

  The draugr horde.

  Over a hundred undead, coordinated, led by something stronger. She felt something off about the whole situation but couldn't quite pinpoint what.

  Edda's fingers curled slightly against the wood.

  The settlement had walls now. Fighters. Supplies. But walls could be overwhelmed, fighters could fall, and supplies ran out.

  She drew a slow breath, forcing the tension from her shoulders.

  The expedition to Glasshold mattered—trade, allies, information. But so did preparation. If the dead came for them again, they needed to be ready.

  Edda rose, smoothing her robe with one hand.

  There was work to do.

  Thanks for reading the Chapter!

  Chapter 74 drops Friday!