Rewrite That Witch
CH1233 · Rewrite
☕ Support

Chapter 1233: Being Trapped

“I see,” Nightingale said, working through it. “Compared to laying a new railway, connecting the rivers with roads is far simpler. Railways need Anna and skilled workers — roads can be built by anyone. Even the refugees could do the work. We’d save months.”

“Exactly. That’s its greatest strength,” Roland said, nodding. “Given how little time we have, cutting one or two months from the logistics timeline is critical.” He paused. “It seems you do grasp the nature of a problem — sometimes.”

“Haha, of course — hang on.” Nightingale’s smile collapsed. “What do you mean, sometimes? I can think perfectly well. I can help with your work and sit your exams…”

Her voice trailed away.

Roland laughed in spite of himself.

Though Nightingale would need to first figure out how to stay awake long enough to study.

He turned back to the map. If he wanted to link Graycastle’s rivers to those of the Kingdom of Dawn, the fastest route was a road cut through the Eastern Region, running alongside the Redwater River to the City of Evernight, then bending north toward the Windswept Ridge and connecting to the neighboring country’s Sparkling River.

The Sparkling River rose on the Hermes Plateau and split at the capital into three branches — two broad ones running south and north to the sea. Over the past century, the Moya Family had dug a canal east to west across the river system, which had expanded trade along the waterway and now provided Roland with a natural shortcut. With this in mind, only two roads were actually required: one linking the Sparkling River to the Northside River, and a second pushing on to Cage Mountain. Combined, the two roads stretched less than two hundred kilometers. Three freight ports was all the rest required.

Loaded trucks were heavy and tore up unpaved roads, especially in rain. Rather than gravel — which would need constant patching — Roland decided on mortar and cement, the same standard used in Neverwinter.

Cement was now common throughout the city, but shipping it to the Kingdom of Dawn would eat time. He resolved to manufacture it locally instead.

He finished the drawing and wrote a letter to Horford Quinn — Andrea’s father, the king of Dawn.

Roland would dispatch technicians to the City of Glow to teach the three great families how to produce cement and assemble paddle steamers. With those two tools in hand, they could build their own plant and pave their own roads.

The nobles would see the value in cement immediately. Roland was certain of that.

He would send completed steam engines rather than raw materials — no city in this era outside Neverwinter was industrialized enough to fabricate them — but beyond that, the Kingdom of Dawn could drive the project itself.

Roland was confident Horford would act without delay. If the Red Mist had already appeared at the crest of the Impassable Mountain Range, the king would receive that news soon. He would understand what it meant.

Two days later, Roland stood on the roof of the Miracle Building and watched the first ships arrive.

Smoke climbed from an endless column of vessels and draped a grey curtain over the riverbank. Under the guidance of the harbor police, people streamed down gangplanks and stepped onto the dock in a dense, heaving flood of color that stretched as far as he could see along the Redwater.

“Fifty thousand people.” Barov stood beside him, excited and uneasy in equal measure. “That’s the full population of a city, Your Majesty. I’d never imagined we’d see hundreds of thousands from Everwinter and Wolfheart coming to Graycastle. At this rate, we may well reach our target of two hundred thousand new residents per year. Now I have a different worry entirely.” He touched his purse by instinct.

“Public safety and urban management as well,” Carter, the Chief Knight, added, his expression careful. “The immigrants may not acknowledge your authority. For security reasons, I’d recommend settling them in a designated zone — easier to govern.”

“Then they’ll never become true Graycastle people,” Roland said, shaking his head. “If the police need support, have them coordinate with Barov. Reward contributions, punish lawbreakers. Chronic offenders go to the mines. I need workers, not prisoners.”

The influx would bring disorder. Roland had no illusions about that — it was the unavoidable price of this policy, and in any other time he would have managed it more carefully. But the war was no longer distant, and the arithmetic was stark.

The gains outweighed the turbulence.

Of the fifty thousand new arrivals, even ten thousand redirected to the workshops would measurably lift firearms production. That meant more weapons and ammunition reaching the front, and more room to introduce the next generation of equipment.

He now had the manpower and the technology to formally launch the Cube-powered steam engine program.

“Where am I?”

Valkries woke into a white room — ceiling and walls the color of blank paper, a queer instrument ticking beside her. A translucent bag hung above the bed, liquid threading down a tube and into her vein in slow, steady drops.

So much arrived at once that she could not sort it. Nothing here resembled anything she had encountered before. Even the white shirt she was wearing was alien — impossibly even stitches, the fabric uniform in a way no hand could manage.

She closed her eyes and reached inward. Whatever else had changed, she still had her power.

Her heart dropped.

The body was hers in every visible detail. But the magic stone was gone. Without it, she should have been dead.

She wasn’t.

Magic still moved through her — slower, stranger, tracing unfamiliar channels, but present.

The murmur of the Realm of Mind was also gone. She pushed toward it, concentrated, even stooped to calling for the Sky Lord. Silence.

She was cut off. Completely.

Discussion

Suggest a change