CH1061 · Rewrite
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Chapter 1061: Sport Event

The steam whistle blew, and the ship eased away from Shallow Beach.

Joan stood at the stern, watching the Exploration Group grow smaller. A whole winter had passed, and in that time something rare had taken root between her and the witches — the kind of care that came from being noticed, from being missed, neither of which she had known in a long time. The farewell felt harder than it should have.

She repeated the one phrase she had learned before leaving. Goodbye. Dry and stiff in her mouth, but she kept saying it.

Lightning stood on the dock with her eyes fixed on the receding ship, wide and unwavering. More than once, Roland came close to telling her that Thunder was aboard. Each time, he swallowed the impulse back down. He had given his word.

Maggie had her hand pressed over her mouth, shoulders shaking, eyes bright with tears she refused to let fall.

Only Lorgar was steady. She had Maggie balanced on her tail, Lightning’s hand in one of hers, and lifted the other to wave — parting was a Mojin commonplace, as familiar as wind off the sand. But Roland watched her all the same. Princess Lorgar of the Wildflame clan was not what she had been when she first arrived in Neverwinter. The change was already in her, even if she couldn’t yet feel it.

That was part of why he’d said nothing.

With friends like these, Lightning would find her way back to herself. And the sisters who had left — they would all return, eventually.


The day after Thunder’s departure, the Graycastle Weekly announced the kingdom’s first National Sports Meeting.

One event. Marathon.

The course ran in two directions at once: starting lines at the main districts of Neverwinter and Longsong, both streams converging on the center of Kingdom Main Street — twenty-eight kilometers in total. The first ten to finish would share prizes ranging from ten to one hundred gold royals. The champion would receive a commemorative badge from the king’s own hand.

The announcement shook the entire Western Region.

By the next morning, every street and alleyway was buzzing. The excitement rivaled the release of the magic movie.

One hundred gold royals could serve as a down payment on a house in the district nearest the Castle — running water, heat, electricity. For most Neverwinter citizens who had come after the city’s founding, this was the target they had been working toward for years. Now it was dangling at the end of a single afternoon’s run.

The city had no inner and outer rings, no walls between districts. But everyone understood the quiet social geography of proximity to the king. The closer, the better.

This was different from the Outstanding Contribution Award, which went to those already distinguished in their fields, or the Combat Hero Award, which required you to spend yourself — time, courage, and luck. The Sports Meeting asked only that you have two legs and the will to use them.

Everyone did.

And it was open to all citizens — not just registered Neverwinter residents, but merchants passing through from any city.

Roland’s goals were practical. A sports meeting built cohesion, encouraged people to test their own limits, sent a clear signal in the weeks before the army marched. As the aftermath of Victory Day and a last gathering before the war began, nothing carried more morale per hour invested.

He also had a smaller, private motive.

The bicycle needed to make its comeback.

He had carried quiet guilt about it since the beginning. Chief Barov’s advertisement presentation, the posters plastered across the square, the proud announcement from the King of Graycastle’s own office — and then, after fewer than two hundred vehicles, production had halted. The factory floor was converted to steam engine assembly. Half the finished bikes went to workers as wage supplements. The rest went into a warehouse.

The street scene he had imagined — everyone cycling between districts — had never materialized. Worse, the tooling and dedicated equipment had all been scrapped, and the remaining bikes were too few to issue to the First Army.

Of every project he’d personally launched, this was the only one with nothing to show for it.

He intended to close that account.

The city was different now. Wild expansion had pushed the urban area outward along Kingdom Main Street. Factories, docks, mines — the distances people had to travel every day were real distances. Walking was slow and tiring. But the streets were smooth and flat, and a cyclist could cover the same ground in a quarter of the time.

Meanwhile, Neverwinter’s manufacturing capacity had grown enough to absorb the bicycle’s return without disturbing anything already in production. Rubber worms and improved machine tools meant the factory could match witch-assisted output without pulling anyone from existing work.

The timing was right.

His plan was simple: have the Second Army ride alongside the marathon runners on bicycles, acting as guides and emergency responders. Let a hundred thousand spectators watch a man on a bicycle glide effortlessly past runners who were laboring through their twenty-fifth kilometer.

The advertisement would write itself.

The greatest mistake of his reign would cease to exist.

Roland allowed himself to think it with some confidence.


“Huh? So this is the Great Chief’s city?”

Guelz Burnflame stepped out of the cabin, rubbing his cheeks. “That concrete ship is something, but it’s too loud. Another two or three days aboard and I’d be deaf.”

“Father.” Rohan fell in close behind him. “Are you truly not going to cover your face tattoos and change into northern clothes? Everyone at the dock is staring.”

“Let them.”

“But—”

“Are you worried about being discriminated against?” Guelz glanced at him. “If a Mojin traveler’s appearance is that hard for them to accept, what kind of life is my daughter having? The Great Chief said every person in his domain is equal. I want to see if he lied to the Three Gods.”

At the mention of Lorgar, Rohan stopped arguing.

Guelz shook his head quietly. His sister’s shadow was still long over the boy.

He had not come all this way on a whim. The Sand Nation people who had settled at the small oasis had, with Brian’s guidance, finally won the revenge battle that consumed two months — the Wildwave clan and the Cut Bone clan, the masterminds behind the massacre at Silver Stream, were destroyed. The six-clan system of Iron Sand City had become history.

He was carrying Brian’s message to the Great Chief.

A clan leader didn’t need to make this trip personally. But the Wildflame clan had missed the coronation ceremony, caught up in the war, and it was only right to bring news of their victory as a belated gift — a demonstration of sincerity.

Guelz also wanted to see Lorgar for himself.

She never mentioned her troubles in her letters. There was only one way to know how she was.

Whether she had lost weight. Whether they were feeding her properly. Whether there was any Firelantern Wine, or grilled sandworms.

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