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Chapter 1188: Post-war Analysis

In the days that followed, reports from the General Staff arrived at Roland’s desk like a blizzard — thick stacks of re-examination and conclusions drawn from Summer’s reconstruction and the search of Taquila, piling waist-high before he’d finished reading the last one.

Truth surfaced piece by piece.

The giant God’s Stone found during the Battle of the Northbound Slope and the Battle of Taquila had come from the God’s stone mine beneath the Taquila ruin. The Detective Group had located the missing section at the mine’s bottom: two medium-sized God’s Stone pillars, each cut in half. The cuts were smooth and even — the work of something with a very sharp edge.

Summer couldn’t use her ability near God’s Stones, but Roland pieced together the explanation. The Giant Skeletons weren’t only a transport method; they functioned as miniature Obelisks, capable of regenerating the Red Mist. The corrupted soil surrounding the ruin supported this. An ordinary Obelisk could spread Red Mist across hundreds of kilometers, but the Skeletons covered only a radius of one to two hundred meters at most — and they required an existing Red Mist supply line to sustain themselves.

Mobile sentry posts, then. Significant ones. The General Staff concluded the Giant Skeletons were rare, like the Spider Demons; if the demons possessed them in abundance, they would have used them to blanket the entire Fertile Plains before humanity could respond.

The tunnels at Taquila’s rear were largely the Spider Demons’ work. Less efficient than devouring worms in excavation, they were far more capable than Mad Demons. The passages branched from the God’s mine below ground; the distance from surface to tunnel had been calculated with obvious care for the threshold at which an observer type could see through solid material. Detection from above was nearly impossible.

Since Celine and Agatha both favored treating the Giant Skeletons and Spider Demons as a distinct category of demon, Roland devised a naming system. He called them Monstrous Beasts — a prefix to distinguish carrier demons from regular ones, and to allow quick classification of any undiscovered types. The Giant Skeleton became the “Fortress-like Monstrous Beast.” The Spider Demons became the “Spidery Monstrous Beast,” further split into two sub-types: those that launched stone needles, and those that ejected demons. The taxonomy simplified both military planning and post-war data collection.


Beyond categorization, the General Staff had identified weaknesses in the First Army that Roland couldn’t ignore.

The largest, as Edith’s report made plain, was intelligence.

Tunnel warfare had no real precedent in human military history — the technology and the time it required had always made it impractical. But devouring worms and Spidery Monstrous Beasts changed that. The demons could excavate passages wide enough for an entire army within a short period. The space below ground had become a threat the First Army had to watch as carefully as the one above it.

They needed lookouts other than Sylvie. The Eye of Magic consumed significant power to see through solid matter; its underground vision reached only three to four meters below the surface across an area no larger than two football pitches. Above ground, it could scan ten kilometers and hold vigilance all day. But all witches — Extraordinaries excepted — had limits, and pushing past them caused sharp drops in power. Emergencies only.

The First Army had to build its own intelligence apparatus.

Roland remembered a war from history where both sides pressed their ears to the ground — literally — to locate enemy tunnels and encampments. The instruments they’d used resembled a doctor’s stethoscope: sound conducting through solid earth. The problem: that method only worked for tunnels still being dug. Completed tunnels were silent.

After deliberating, Roland found a practical alternative. Penetration testing — a standard procedure for measuring soil strength, familiar to him from engineering school where his roommates had discussed it endlessly. The method was simple: drive steel rods in quincuncial piles into the ground, spaced several meters apart, then use a sounding device to read the results. A small team could sweep a wide area. If a rod sank too far, there was something hollow beneath it.

Between these two methods, the army could monitor the demons underground without witches.

For aerial scouting without Lightning and Maggie — the only answer was an air force.

Tilly was the key to that.


Edith’s report also noted that “the army lacks a contingency plan for immediate assistance.” Roland was impressed by how far the General Staff had developed; he was also, reading that line, faintly helpless. He knew the problem exactly. Neverwinter’s population was still too small to solve it at this stage.

The report that caught him last came from a logistics officer. The Mark I machine gun, the officer wrote, had performed poorly under sustained fire. Soldiers in the machine gun squads spent more time reloading than firing; the logistics burden was severe. The officer requested improvements from the Department of Engineering.

This was the first soldier feedback Roland had received since implementing the feedback system. The men who actually carried and fired the weapons knew their strengths and failures better than any designer at a drafting table. He should have been listening sooner.

He had noticed the increase in broken guns after the night attack at Tower Station No. 1 — and had dismissed it. Easy enough to replace the parts. He’d told himself it was inexperience, or the heightened stress of night battle, where soldiers couldn’t see the results of their fire and tended to force the trigger. Air-cooled barrels overheated faster than water-cooled ones; he’d known that. He’d filed it away.

The report shook it back out.

His original vision had been a single recoil-operated machine gun with an air-cooled barrel — a universal weapon, more versatile than the Maxim gun. That vision was wrong. The evidence was in the breach rates. In the coming Battle of Divine Will, when thousands of demons charged the line, a machine gun failing at the wrong moment was not an acceptable loss.

The correction was clear: abandon the multitasking design. Separate the heavy machine gun from the general-purpose gun. The HMG needed a longer barrel and a radiator. The general-purpose gun needed to be lighter, more portable, designed for a war that moved — an improvement on the current Mark I rather than a replacement.

Two weapons. Two jobs. No compromises.

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