The dawn broke slowly over Rimuru, casting long shadows across the village as the last embers of the previous night's celebration smoldered in the square. The festival had ended, but the feeling of fleeting peace lingered like the cool morning mist. Padrino Penduko stood at the window of his modest home, watching as the villagers returned to their daily routines—ignorant of the storm on the horizon.
He turned away from the window, his mind running through the mental list of tasks he had prepared for the day. If Rimuru were to survive what was coming, they needed to move quickly. Galdros was relentless, and Padrino knew that the village couldn't count on Earlshide's protection any longer.
As he grabbed his worn-out sword—a weapon more symbolic of his past life than of any real use—there was a sharp knock at the door. It creaked open, and Marko stepped inside, his expression serious.
"They're gathering at the training grounds," Marko said, his voice low but determined. "The strongest of the villagers, just as you asked. But… we're going to need more than just strength."
Padrino nodded. "I know. We need strategy, discipline, and numbers. This is only the beginning."
Marko stepped forward, unfolding a rough map he'd sketched of the village and the surrounding areas. "I scouted the perimeter again this morning. If we fortify the northern ridge and dig trenches near the riverbank, we can funnel any advancing forces into chokepoints. It'll slow them down and give us the advantage."
Padrino studied the map, impressed as always by Marko's attention to detail. "Good. We need to start training them in formations—no more scattered fighting like they did against the bandits. Rimuru isn't just a village anymore; it's our stronghold."
Marko raised an eyebrow. "You sound like a king already."
Padrino let out a dry chuckle. "If I'm to lead these people, I have to start thinking like one. But there's still much to do before I can wear any crown."
At the training grounds, the once-peaceful clearing had been transformed into a makeshift camp for drills and exercises. Villagers, young and old, lined up, clutching farming tools, hunting spears, and crude wooden swords. Hinata stood among them, her presence commanding yet gentle, offering words of encouragement as she moved through the crowd. Her role was more than just that of a healer or mage—she had become a symbol of hope for many.
"Padrino!" A young voice called from the side. It was Benji, one of the younger villagers who idolized him. The boy was barely of age but had taken it upon himself to join the training. His eagerness made Padrino smile, though it also weighed heavily on him. The village's future was in the hands of such children.
Padrino approached the group and called out, "Listen up! Today isn't about learning how to fight—it's about learning how to survive." His voice carried authority, and the crowd fell silent, attentive. "The enemy we face is bigger, stronger, and more organized. But what we lack in size, we will make up for in unity. Every one of you has a role in protecting Rimuru, and today, we start preparing for that."
The villagers exchanged uncertain glances. They had seen their fair share of bandits and wild animals, but this was different. War was coming.
"Marko will lead the drills," Padrino continued, gesturing to his friend. "Follow his commands as if your life depends on it—because one day, it will."
Marko stepped forward, his sharp eyes scanning the crowd. "I'm not here to teach you how to swing a sword better. I'm here to teach you how to stay alive when you're outnumbered. Every decision you make on the battlefield can be the difference between victory and death."
He pointed to a group of men who were struggling with their stances. "Your footing is wrong. If you can't stand firm, you'll be on the ground before you know it. Watch again."
Marko's voice cut through the morning air as the drills began. Padrino watched, impressed by the dedication the villagers showed, despite their inexperience. But his attention soon shifted as he noticed Hinata moving away from the group, heading toward the nearby forest.
She was carrying her staff, its faint light illuminating the trees ahead as she walked. Padrino hesitated for a moment, then followed her, weaving between the trees until he found her at a secluded spot near a small brook. She was kneeling on the ground, eyes closed, her hands glowing with a soft, golden light. The air around her shimmered as if touched by magic.
"Practicing?" Padrino asked quietly, stepping closer.
Hinata opened her eyes, the glow fading as she looked up at him. "Something like that," she said with a small smile, though there was a sadness behind it.
He knelt beside her. "You've been distant since last night."
Hinata sighed, running her fingers over the cool water of the brook. "I keep thinking about the last time we faced danger. When we fought those bandits… I couldn't save everyone, Padrino. My magic—it's strong, but it's not limitless. And now, with a war coming… what if I fail again?"
Her vulnerability surprised him. Hinata had always been the strong one, the one who kept them all going even when things looked bleak. Padrino placed a hand on her shoulder, feeling the tension there.
"We all have our limits," he said softly. "But you've never let them stop you before. Rimuru wouldn't be standing if it weren't for you. And it won't fall, not as long as we stand together."
Hinata met his gaze, her expression softening. "It's not just about Rimuru. It's about what we'll have to become. You and I—we're not just villagers anymore. If we want to protect our home, we'll have to become something more."
Padrino nodded, understanding the weight of her words. They weren't just defending their village—they were preparing to build a kingdom. But with that came sacrifice, hard decisions, and a path that would lead them into the unknown.
"I'll be ready," Hinata whispered, standing tall once again. "No matter what."
By midday, the villagers were exhausted but more disciplined. Marko had drilled them relentlessly, and it showed in their stances, their focus. Still, Padrino knew this was just the beginning. Training the body was one thing; preparing the mind for war was another.
As the sun reached its peak, Padrino called for a halt. "Good work today. Rest now, but keep in mind—this is just the first step."
Marko, sweating but energized, approached. "They're raw, but there's potential here. Give us a month, and they might actually be able to hold their own."
"A month?" Padrino muttered, his eyes scanning the horizon as if searching for an unseen enemy. "I hope we have that long."
Marko frowned. "You think Galdros will move sooner?"
Padrino's jaw tightened. "I don't know. But we need to be ready—because when they come, we won't get a second chance."
Marko nodded grimly. "Then we push harder. There's no time to waste."
Padrino turned, watching as the villagers dispersed, their faces a mix of determination and exhaustion. The seeds of strategy had been planted, but war was unpredictable. They would need every ounce of strength, wisdom, and unity they could muster to survive the trials ahead.