Rewrite That Witch
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Chapter 1046: A New Recruitment Notice

“Thump, thump, thump.”

Uncle Bucky and Sanko from next door came to Good’s mud hut before full light and knocked.

“Good, you up? We should go!”

“A moment!” He swallowed the last of his porridge, wiped his mouth, and looked across at the girl making the bed. “I have to leave.”

She looked up. “Why won’t you let me come?”

“I’ve told you a dozen times. You’re too young for work here.” He pulled on his coat with more impatience than he meant to show. “Stop bringing up what you did back in Wolfheart. Do you want to go back to that? Stay home. I’ll bring you something good for lunch.”

Her eyes brightened. “Popcorn—”

“Too expensive. An egg pancake is more than good enough. Or are you saying you don’t like a nice pan-fried runny egg?”

The girl’s mouth watered.

“Stay at the house. Understood?” He paused at the door. “What’s your name now?”

“Rachel.”

“And what do you call me?”

A brief hesitation. “Bro—Brother.”

“Good. Don’t forget it.” He wrapped a linen cloth around his neck and pushed out into the cold.

The wind hit his face sharp and clean. The temporary residential area was already alive—rows of mud huts stretching across the snowfield like frozen waves, wisps of smoke rising from each one. Through the smoke, the vague shape of the city showed on the other side of the river, quiet and composed, as if it were still sleeping.

“What are you looking at? Come on!” Bucky and Sanko shouted from a few dozen paces off.

“Coming!” He shut the door and ran to them.

A new stone road along the Redwater River had opened recently. Fifteen minutes from the residential area to downtown Neverwinter—about two thousand meters—on a flat surface that did not require cautious steps in the snow. Good and his neighbors still set out early. They wanted to reach the central square before the new recruitment notice went up.

They gathered companions along the way. Other immigrants, most of them headed in the same direction. The temporary residential area stretched so far Good had never seen its end. His neighbor said the mud huts used to be built inside the city until the city ran out of room, and since then new huts went up every year for new arrivals. No one knew the exact count anymore.

What Good knew: nearly everyone on this road was looking for work.

“Thought about what kind of job you want?” asked Bucky.

“Something easy—snow sweeping, de-icing, that kind.” Sanko rubbed the back of his head. “Part-time. Quick cash to get through the winter. If there’s anything in the special recruitment program, I’ll look at that too.”

Special programs usually paid better and had specific requirements. Every recruitment notice in Neverwinter was issued through the Administrative Office, never by individuals. The office updated the boards weekly, hundreds of positions at a time. Good had been genuinely impressed by the efficiency when he first arrived.

But compared to most things in this city, even that was ordinary.

There were three categories: special recruitment, part-time, and full-time. Full-time meant better pay and a future, but those positions required an ID card and a primary education diploma. Immigrants without either could only take part-time work. Sanko was attending night classes, working toward his assessment. If he passed, he would become an official resident and receive an ID. That was why he wanted part-time—good enough wages, not enough hours to crowd out the studying.

“What about you?” Sanko looked at Good.

“I need something that pays well.” He shrugged. “I don’t mind working hard.”

He needed to support Rachel. They had arrived in the city this winter and counted themselves fortunate to have the mud hut at all. A proper residence, one meat-based meal per week—both were still too much to hope for. Rachel was fourteen, two years short of the working age minimum, which had been a real disappointment. But they had already come so far from where they had started. He would not let her go back to how things had been.

“Don’t push yourself too hard,” Bucky said. “Winter’s when you get sick. Treatment isn’t cheap.”

“I’m in good health.” Good patted his chest. It was not boasting. If his birth had been a little different, he would have had the build for a squire’s post years ago. “What about you, Uncle?”

“I just came along to walk with you two.”

“What?” Sanko blinked.

Good thought of something. “Did you already—”

“Ha.” Bucky laughed outright. “The foreman of the sixth engineering team agreed to take me on. The contract comes in two days.”

“That’s—that’s a full-time job!” Sanko’s voice went up. “Double salary! And once you’ve saved enough for the down payment, you’ll become an official resident!”

“That’s the only way left for someone like me. Too old to learn to read and write.” Bucky waved off the praise. “And I waited nearly two years before this chance came. I’m just slow. You young ones will find more opportunities than I ever did.”

Word spread through their group as they walked. People nearby overheard and came over to congratulate Bucky, as if becoming a subject of the king were itself the achievement, not merely the job.

Good watched and felt quietly puzzled.

To him, the ID card was a practical matter—a key to better work. But these people around him seemed to regard the identity as something larger, something almost separate from its benefits. An honor in itself. As if being counted among His Majesty’s subjects was a thing worth celebrating on its own terms.

He was still turning this over when they reached the central square.

A crowd had already gathered, mostly city residents who would not compete with immigrants for the same openings. The new notice was up on the south side. Children circulated through the crowd at the edges: Do you need me to read the notice? Only ten bronze royals.

“No thank you. We can read,” Bucky told one with a smile. Among the three of them, only Sanko could read with any confidence, and even he sometimes struggled—but Bucky would not admit it.

“Why are they selling their reading here?” Good muttered. “They’re literate. They could find real work. They’d earn more.”

“They haven’t hit working age yet,” Sanko said, glancing around. “Probably school students.”

“What?”

“I’ve heard about it in night class.” Sanko lowered his voice. “To show students the value of learning, teachers encourage them to put what they know to use for money. Pulls more students into the school. I’ve been thinking of trying it myself, on days when I’m not working.”

Good glanced at the children again. If that’s acceptable, I could send Rachel to do the same. She can read better than I can.

“Hey—look there!” Bucky was pointing toward the southern end of the square. “A lot of people.”

“Special recruitment?” Good and Sanko exchanged a look.

“Let’s go see.”

They ran. A man stood before a tent, explaining the program to the crowd gathered around him.

Good felt a jolt of excitement as he listened.

It was a special recruitment—but unlike any he had heard of. No diploma required. No ID. Men in good health who could pass a series of assessments, the names of which Good could not make sense of, but that did not matter. He was confident in his body. He had always been able to pass physical tests.

The most surprising part: it was a military recruitment.

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