As dawn broke over the valley, the village transformed into a hive of activity. Arteja began training the villagers in basic spear techniques, using sharpened sticks and farming tools.
"Hold your stance firm!" Arteja barked at a young man who wobbled under the weight of his spear. She stepped behind him, adjusting his posture. "Spread your feet. Bend your knees slightly. If you lose balance, you're dead."
She moved from one villager to the next, correcting their grips, stances, and strikes. Arteja herself demonstrated the moves with fluid precision, her spear slicing through the air in practiced arcs.
"Attack me," she said suddenly, stepping in front of a burly farmer with a makeshift halberd.
The man hesitated.
"Now!" she snapped.
The man lunged forward clumsily. Arteja sidestepped with ease, her spear flashing as she hooked his weapon and yanked it free from his grip. She twirled the spear and stopped its point just inches from his throat.
"Do not hesitate," she told the group. "Hesitation kills. Commit to your strikes, or don't bother picking up a weapon."
Meanwhile, Corliss and Lirael directed the construction of trenches and barricades. Villagers worked tirelessly, their hands blistered from hauling wood and stone. Arteja checked on their progress periodically, offering advice on placement and reinforcing the weak points.
By evening, the village was a fortress. The main path into the valley was blocked by a series of barricades, and trenches lined the outer edges of the settlement. The villagers, though weary, now carried a glimmer of hope in their eyes.
Arteja stood at the highest point in the village, surveying their work. She felt a sense of pride in what they had accomplished, but she knew the true test was yet to come.