CH1197 · Rewrite
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Chapter 1197: The Torch of the Civilization

The week-long trial marked more than the students’ first faltering steps into the sky — it shook the entire city.

Several citizens had spotted a “giant kite” hovering above the city’s southern quarter. Tilly flew the Unicorn around the castle often enough, but she confined herself to depopulated stretches. Most people had never truly witnessed a real plane. When word spread that student pilots were flying out of the academy yard, onlookers converged on the southern districts. At first it was only the residents near Shallow Port and the industrial zone who knew; within three days, the news had moved through every street in Neverwinter, and the curious had besieged the academy’s perimeter. Each time a plane slid into view, the crowd erupted — cheering as though it were their own bodies climbing into the blue.

Honey seized the moment. She published a piece titled “A Recurring Miracle,” detailing the trial in full and running two close-up photographs of the biplane alongside the text. Graycastle Weekly sold out in hours and reached a new peak. Merchants from outside Neverwinter bought copies at inflated prices from locals who had managed to get them; those who couldn’t afford the markup hired copyists to transcribe both the article and the photographs by hand. The paper’s street price climbed further still.

Aerial Knights became a name everyone in Neverwinter knew overnight.


Roland received Tilly’s report a week later.

One hundred and fifty of the one hundred and ninety-seven trainees had passed. Forty-seven had crashed — with only four planes in use for the trial, that averaged to roughly eleven crashes per aircraft. A high rate, on its face. But Roland understood the plane: lightweight, simple in structure. As long as the engine survived, the airframe was repairable. Most of the crashes had come during landing — too fast, or too slow, reflexes a beat behind the machine. The biplanes would fly again.

Two of them wouldn’t. Both had been beaten past the point of practical repair. And for the advanced training program to follow, a minimum of twelve to fifteen aircraft would be needed — the same number a modest fleet required in his previous life.

He set the report down. Really, the whole document carried a single message: The air force needs money. Give me money.

Roland found himself smiling. He had to admit that Tilly had grasped the nature of an air force faster than he might have expected — the understanding that a competent fleet demanded not just pilots but a deep reservoir of training aircraft, burning through them at a steady rate. She had that instinct already.

At present, every industry in Neverwinter was stretched thin. An air force could not be conjured quickly.


Edith Kant, Chief of the General Staff, had submitted a report alongside Tilly’s.

It was short. It was interesting.

Edith believed the aerial knights could alter the course of the war — might even prove decisive — if handled correctly. She wished to establish a research committee and send its members to the academy to study the planes directly. She had also drafted several preliminary tactics tailored specifically to aerial operations and wanted to discuss them with Roland at his earliest convenience.

She was probably one of the few senior officers who had genuinely engaged with what the planes could do. Roland admired the perspicacity: seeing new hardware and immediately asking where it fits into a battle — that was rare.

He was reaching for the telephone to summon her when his guard appeared at the door.

“Your Majesty — the Minister of Construction, Sir Karl Van Bate, requests an audience.”

Roland withdrew his hand. “Send him in.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

Karl entered, saluted. “Your Majesty. The construction of the Miracle Building is complete.”


Roland stood at its base and looked up.

Two years of work. A staggering quantity of gold royals, steel, and concrete — enough, if redirected, to build three Redriver Bridges. With Lotus, Hummingbird, and the other witches helping, they had managed to construct it with far less manpower than such a structure had any right to require.

He was under no illusions: building a nation’s habit around extravagant architecture was a reliable way to hollow out its power. And yet the effect on the people gathered below was undeniable. He could see it in them — the way they craned their necks upward, voices dropping, eyes wide.

The Miracle Building rose fifty to sixty meters above the surrounding two- and three-story residences. The contrast was vertiginous.

As Neverwinter’s new landmark, it announced itself with more than raw height. Its drainage system worked through a series of water tanks at ascending levels, ensuring steady pressure throughout. Four outdoor elevators — steam-driven from engines in the basement, operated by attendants — could carry dozens of passengers at a time between floors, their glass walls offering a broadening view of the city as they climbed. Rudimentary by the standards of another world. Unprecedented in this one.

“Your Majesty,” Karl said, hand over chest, once they reached the podium. “Please say something. Your subjects are waiting.”

Roland nodded and raised his hand to the crowd below.

The cheers rose like a wave breaking over him.

“Good afternoon, my subjects.”

“Today the Miracle Building opens to the public — a structure that sets records this world has never seen. This day will be remembered by those who come after us. But I won’t dwell on its grandeur. What you want to know is simpler than that: who will live here? Who was it built for?”

“Nobles? No — Graycastle has stripped nobles of their old power. The royal family? Of course not. I don’t need a building this size to hold my bed. The answer is straightforward. This building is for the residents of Neverwinter. For you.”

“You built the Miracle Building. You are entitled to this miracle.”

“Every room will be listed for sale. No title of nobility required. Bring your identification card, and you will become a resident of a building that is already part of our history.”

The wave came back — louder, longer.

“Long live the king!”

“Long live Neverwinter!”

When the voices settled, Roland continued: “Now — let us light the torch at the top of this building. From tonight onward, it will burn every night, visible across the whole city.”

In the roar that followed, Roland and several officials of the City Hall entered the elevator and rose to the roof.


A great stone basin stood at the center — filled to the brim with black oil. The oil had been specially treated: long-burning, odorless, clean. No foul smoke, no smog. The best fuel available for a flame meant to outlast the night.

“Your Majesty,” Nightingale said, and held out the torch.

Roland took it and walked to the basin.

A song drifted up from somewhere in his memory, its lyrics surfacing after years underwater.

“The moment there was the first sign of life underwater… you’ve come a long way…”

A smile pulled at the corner of his mouth. He touched the torch to the oil.

The flame caught — and held.

This was the fire of human civilization. He hoped it would burn forever.

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