Things were pretty quiet for the next two days.

Until, with all sorts of, inevitably, they suddenly were very much not.

Scar had kept the development of Anchorfall on an alarmingly brisk schedule. Barely an hour after I'd stumbled back from the Dungeon, still basking in the satisfaction of my new subclass and also having shown a literal god who was the daddy, the ground beneath us began to tremble.

It was a slow, unstoppable roar as if Mother Earth herself – and I wasn't even sure they had that myth here –was stretching out and pushing upward to make room. And then, stone by stone, the wall rose.

A seven-foot-high barrier of grey, perfectly square stones climbed up all around us, section by section, until Anchorfall, and a good portion of the surrounding forest was encircled.

It wasn't a casual stack of stones either; baby had back. The blocks looked like they were hewn from some primordial rock, each one massive and with a soft blue glow, as though it was enchanted. Trust me, there was no moss or chipping here, just the square, unyielding sight of a monolithic stone 'Do be so kind and leave us alone, thank you very much.'

If Minecraft did impenetrable stone barriers…

And, at the centre of the wall, on the path leading into the woods, stood a spiffy new gatehouse. It had two equally huge wooden doors, all bound with iron, and above it, an archway which formed a giant tower. Pleasingly, I saw there was a space up there for the Steam Cannon that was hoovering up a colossal amount of resources to move through its various stages.

Once that was finally complete, the only way to approach Anchorfall would be under some very unfriendly, and hot, fire . . .

But the steam cannon wasn't our only defence, no siree. Guarding the gate were two figures straight out of a dark fantasy fever dream: armed Shadow knights, clad in grayscale armour and silent as the grave. Their design was hardly naturalistic, seemingly being made of blocky polygons, with each articulated segment moving on its own. I couldn't help but notice that they bore an uncanny resemblance to the Knight from the Maker's final challenge...

Their visors were narrow slits, giving the impression of eyes without ever actually revealing any. And each held a gleaming halberd which themselves were angular and strange, shifting slightly as if re-rendered every time you glanced away.

Although I tried hard not to stare, I was sure I could see lines of code flickering just beneath the surface of their armour, in a strange mesh of magic and mathematics. It was like looking at a system's code struggling to keep form.

I designated the one on the left Holdthedoor and the one on the right Openthedoor. Because, you know, why wouldn't I?

And the growth of the wall was only the first of Scar's projects to reach completion over the next few days. The second was a Fishing Hut, which sprang up about five hundred yards beyond Anchorfall's perimeter. Almost as soon as the hut settled into place, a massive body of water materialised beside it.

I couldn't help but feel this was all a little "chicken before the egg" here, but no one else seemed particularly phased by this turn of events. Apparently, "lake-second logistics" was a feature, not a bug, in Scar's grand design. Especially as, with no discussion at all, one of Scar's men - an older bloke I was fairly sure I hadn't exchanged a single word with before - strolled into the hut, there was a resounding ding, and out he came, somehow transformed into the spitting image of Long John Silver. A scraggly beard had joined his weather-beaten face, he'd lost one leg, and he very much looked ready to rock. I absolutely expected a parrot to appear on his shoulder, demanding crackers.

The second his limping form reached the edge of the water, a rowing boat pinged into existence and, without so much as a second glance, the good Captain was out on the water, rowing to the middle of Lake Lochness. The soft ding of a notification let me know that "Fish" was added to our list of available resources.

Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

Oh, and the final improvement that had sprung up over the last couple of days was that we had proper housing now, too. This, actually, was the cause of my first real argument with Scar. Because while everyone else was moving into these sensible, uniform wooden cubes built right into Anchorfall's north wall - seriously, the spirit of Ikea was practically carved into the woodgrain - I ended up with my own… well, the tag above it calls it 'The Lofty Perch'.

And it's huge.

Like a proper Pride and Prejudice mansion. And it is not a tasteful country estate sort of mansion, either. This place had turrets. Turrets.

"Mate, this is so not necessary," I said, gesturing wildly at the monstrosity of luxury being constructed in the back corner of the village, worryingly close to the Well of Ascension. "Why can't I have a house like everyone else? You're making me look like that sort of aristocratic prat who lounges around in finery while the villagers toil. Next thing I know, I'll be sporting a twirly moustache, laughing ominously, and demanding my nightly tribute from the village virgins."

"Odd you went to that last one, really," Lia said.

"Eli, calm down," Scar said. "Shocking as it may be for you to understand, but this isn't actually about you at all. It's about maximising our available bonuses. We're just beginning to scrape the bottom of the construction queue for this stage of development, so we need to push the envelope a little. 'The Lofty Perch' -" he said the term with an oddly reverent sigh - "unlocks additional build options for the village. And you moving in there gives us access to things we'd otherwise have to spend weeks grinding for."

"Well, you live there then!" I said. "You're the Steward of this place."

"I'll move in!" Dema piped up from her cot in the Medical Hut, where she was still trying to recover from the mashing Berker had given her..

"No," Scar said firmly. "It has to be the Village Master. Which, in case anyone is wondering, what with your consistent absences, is actually you, boss."

I looked up as my Shadowborn workers, who had been hammering away with unnervingly cheerful efficiency, added the finishing touches to my… residence.

It wasn't just huge, it was practically its own biome. Stone walls towered up in ridiculous proportions, with high, arching windows that overlooked absolutely nothing of note, unless one had an intense fascination with mud. At the top of it all, spires jutted out, practically screaming, "Here resides the Biggest Tool in Anchorfall."

"Look, this feels like a boss-fight-waiting-to-happen situation," I said out, squinting up at "The Lofty Perch" title. I half expected a prompt to pop up: Would you like to purchase the Throne of Oppression? Available for 5000 gold.

"See it as a necessary evil, Eli," Scar said. "The building comes with a bunch of skin upgrades we can use, and there's all sorts of new options available. The Maker will always reward 'Centralised Authority,' thus, the more ostentatious the Village Master's residence, the more bonus points we can actually accumulate."

Yeah. That sounded on brand for the god I'd dealt with in the Dungeon. "So, we get rewarded for indulging in architectural vanity?"

"Correct," Scar confirmed. "A fancy house adds points for Prestige, which means more upgrades for the rest of us. Think of it like you're being a tyrannical overlord here for the greater good. The beginning of a benevolent dictatorship, if you will."

"Don't think of it as you living in luxury while the rest of us slum it," Lia added. "Think of it as you reluctantly slumming it in a giant upgrade button."

Then all of the shadow workers stepped away, and my new dwelling was completed: a fanfare sounded as a notification blared across my vision.

[System Notification] Settlement Upgrade: The Lofty Perch Activated

Resource Yield: +10%

Build Queue Capacity: +2

Specialist Building Slots: Unlocked

Your dominion rises. Let them come.

Scar nodded approvingly. "See? Now we can build the Tavern and Training Grounds. If we can find a blacksmith, we'll even be able to throw up the Forge. Trust me, the amount of grinding we'd have needed to do to reach this stage of development organically would have been a pain in the backside."

"Fine," I said, relenting. "But if I find one twirly moustache in there, I'm burning this place down."

"Fair enough," Scar replied, clapping me on the back. "Just remember, mate, it's not about the house. It's about what it unlocks."

I sighed, watching the last few touches settle on the structure and feeling like the world's most judgmental bird perched atop a gilded cage.

And it was right at that moment, of course, that an Imperial army rocked up.

Oh, and a substantial Rebel force.

Oh, and several thousand angry dudes under the banner of 'The Crusade of the Eternal Flame'.

Good times.

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