CH1094 · Rewrite
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Chapter 1094: A Power of Attorney

The telephone on Roland’s desk ran a thin wire south to Longsong Stronghold, and from there — technically — the line ended. The instrument wasn’t rated for the full distance to the Fertile Plains. What made the call work anyway was Leaf.

When she became the Heart of Forest, her awareness spread through the Misty Forest like roots through water — further and faster than Lightning flying at full sprint. The system was straightforward: Iron Axe’s adjutant called Leaf, Leaf transferred it to Roland’s desk, and the information arrived in roughly the time it took to blink. The wind-up telephone had become something else entirely. Roland hadn’t decided whether to feel satisfied or unnerved by how much of his infrastructure now ran on the patience of a single girl who spoke in other people’s voices.

“Everything’s holding,” said Leaf, in a pitch approximating Iron Axe’s cadence. Not quite right — the timbre was too light, and there was a faint whisper beneath it like wind through leaves — but the content was delivered with proper Iron Axe economy: no unnecessary words, declarative structure, one sentence per fact. “The demons tried to destroy the railway after the raid, as you predicted. No large impact on logistics. Without the spider demons, they can only work manually. They also had to withdraw before ‘Blackriver’ engaged. The damaged section was repaired quickly.”

“The armored trains held.”

“Yes, Your Majesty. They function as mobile strongholds — reinforcement, repair, fire cover. If we could station a ‘Blackriver’ at every waypoint —”

“You’re making it sound simple.” Roland turned the thought over. Two armored trains. The witches needed to produce every component of a freight locomotive, and the armored versions were heavier, slower to build, demanding in materials. Two was not a small achievement — it was close to the maximum the current production chain could deliver without stripping resources from something else. “Keep extending the defensive line. Target: ready for general offensive by midsummer.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

A pause. A rustle of leaves beneath the silence. Roland had to actively suppress the urge to tell her she could drop the nasal undertone — she was performing Iron Axe’s register with the dedication of someone who considered the imitation a craft problem.

“Any sign of a second mass attack?”

The question had been sitting with him since Nightingale had shaken him awake in the dark, her face unreadable, to tell him the front had taken a night raid. He’d spent the following hours in the particular tension of someone who knows bad news is traveling toward him at whatever pace carrier pigeons and telephone relays allow. By the time word arrived that the losses were moderate, that Edith had the situation contained, that the contingency plan had executed cleanly — he’d already run through six different versions of a worse outcome.

Night combat was its own problem set. Dark suppressed firing rates; his soldiers were trained to aim, and aiming required visibility. The solution — tracers — was still somewhere in the engineering backlog, dependent on chemistry he hadn’t fully worked out. He’d been planning to address it before the demons addressed it for him. The raid had been a reminder that the enemy was reading the battlefield faster than he’d credited.

They’d understood Sylvie’s detection range. They’d grasped the mechanical nature of firearms — angle, rate, reload. They’d spread into loose formation, moved quietly, timed it for maximum dark. The fact that they lacked artillery was the only reason the outcome had been moderate rather than catastrophic.

“No indicators of another night attack so far,” Leaf said. “Ms. Sylvie is running daily patrol of the railway approach — one to two hours, sometimes from the Magic Ark or the Seagull. The General Staff has two theories. One: the demons observed our countermeasures and have retired the tactic. Two: they can’t regenerate enough forces for a second attempt this quickly.”

“Neither one is comfortable.” Roland stared at the wall. A Senior Demon had been among the skirmishers. The Senior Demons of four hundred years ago had been commanders — kept behind their armies, protected, valuable. The Senior Demons he was fighting now went in personally. That was not a demotion. That was an evolution. And for the God’s Punishment Army, soulless and patterned, he could design specific countermeasures. For Senior Demons with varied individual abilities, the honest answer was that he didn’t have one yet. The universal approach — surprise them, overwhelm them, hit hard and early — was what he fell back on, and it was not the kind of answer that let him sleep cleanly.

“Keep Sylvie’s coverage on the approach corridor. Don’t let them find a gap.”

“Understood.” A pause. Then, in Leaf’s actual voice, like a window briefly opened: “Your Majesty, Iron Axe has hung up.”

“Right.” Roland exhaled. “Who’s next?”

“The Minister of Construction. Karl Van Bate.”

He frowned. Construction had resources, had manpower, had a workable schedule — he’d signed off on the projections himself. “Put him through.”

The voice that came through next was Karl’s in the same way the previous voice had been Iron Axe’s — structurally correct, slightly wrong in register. The twigs and leaves moving beneath the words lent it a strange music. She’s found a new hobby, Roland noted somewhere in the back of his mind.

The Minister’s report was brief. The night raid had moved through the workers the way fear moves through any large group — quietly at first, then all at once. Morale was low. Foremen were reporting slowdowns. The proposed remedies were shift rotations or family visits; Karl wanted the Administrative Office to coordinate whichever Roland preferred.

“Shift rotations won’t work,” Roland said. Not all of the railway workers were men who’d voluntarily chosen the front for a higher wage. Reshuffling assignments in that mix would create more friction than it resolved. “What about the family visits?”

“That’s the problem, Your Majesty.” Still Karl’s voice, still Leaf’s patience underneath it. “Over seventy percent of the workers are immigrants. Most have no family nearby, or none at all. Allowing family visits for the minority that do have relatives would give those workers an advantage the others can’t access. That could make the morale problem worse, not better.”

Roland turned that over. “Then how do we define family broadly enough to be useful?”

“There’s already a mechanism,” Leaf-as-Karl said. “The construction team asked every worker to complete a Power of Attorney when they were first assigned — naming one person who would hold authority over their affairs in the event of their death. That person is, by definition, the most important person to that worker. Not necessarily blood. Whoever the worker chose.”

Roland sat with this for a moment. A Power of Attorney was a legal instrument, not a sentimental category. But it told the truth about a person in a way that a simple question — who is your family? — sometimes didn’t. You could lie on a form that asked about relatives. You didn’t lie on a form naming the person you’d trust with your death.

“That works,” he said. “I’ll have Barov arrange it.”

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