Rewrite That Witch
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Chapter 1279: Conspiracy

“Your Excellency — Frost Town is directly ahead.”

Marwayne raised the telescope and found it.

The town sat in the bowl of the valley, ringed by mountains, exposed from above. There was no castle — the geography was the defense, the overlook making walls unnecessary. One of dozens of border towns between the Kingdom of Everwinter and the Kingdom of Wolfheart, the kind of place Marwayne would have ridden past without slowing in any other year.

This year it was worth everything.

“Has the scout returned?”

“He’s back.” The knight’s voice carried satisfaction. “A few silver royals got him everything. There’s a Graycastle unit — forty to fifty soldiers, and they only show up intermittently.”

“Why aren’t they posted here permanently?”

“The road past the border is treacherous. Wild wolves in the area. Refugees can’t make the crossing without guards.”

The picture was complete.

The Red Mist didn’t run along borders. It spread in a semicircle, pushing outward from the Kingdom of Everwinter, already past the king’s city of the Kingdom of Wolfheart. Marwayne preferred fighting on his own ground — less exposed, less logistically complicated, no need to maintain a supply line across unfamiliar terrain. Frost Town sat inside the Kingdom of Wolfheart but barely. The roads to it were difficult. Very few refugees came this way compared to the major transit routes; it was too remote, too hard to reach. It was exactly the kind of place a Graycastle patrol unit came through occasionally and never had reason to examine closely.

The old scholar had seen it at once.

The demons would handle the main Graycastle force — that was their fight, not Marwayne’s. His role was simpler: a blade in the back. One successful engagement and people would know his name. They would think twice about standing in his way. And the old scholar’s plan had layers beyond simple ambush — if it worked as intended, Graycastle’s own reputation would do half the damage.

“Let’s go back,” Marwayne said. “I want the meeting tonight.”

By midday he had returned to the nearest town and taken the previous lord’s mansion without ceremony. The baron had fled at the first sight of demons and the Red Mist, which meant the house was now Marwayne’s by the simple logic of vacancy. Frost Town wasn’t technically his jurisdiction — the Sky Lord had given him authority over four cities in the Northern Region — but the Parker Family’s territory would keep growing. It was a matter of time.

The nobles were already assembled when he arrived.

Forty-five of them in the main hall, most knights, a handful of barons, and at the far end Viscount Narnos — once the lord of the Northernmost Port, now merely the highest-ranking man in a room full of displaced and furious people. They had all lost their lands to the Graycastle men. They had all come to Marwayne because he had promised them something the demons uniquely could provide: the weapons to fight back with.

Marwayne surveyed each face and stored it. The expressions were various — some desperate, some hungry, some performing a courage they hadn’t yet earned — but the feeling underneath was uniform. Grievance. He had three hundred soldiers between them, including guards, squires, and henchmen. He had captured firearms. He had a plan.

He cleared his throat.

“Have you all learned how to use the firearms?”

“Load the gun, aim, pull the trigger.” Viscount Narnos’ voice had the particular contempt of someone reasserting dignity through disdain. “Even savages manage it. I don’t understand why those captives were so reluctant to explain. The weapons aren’t complicated.”

“Not complicated at all,” a knight agreed. “I interrogated Graycastle soldiers myself. They enlisted two years ago, learned to use firearms in a month. I spent five years with a sword.”

“It took them a month,” someone called from the back, to laughter, “because they’re slow. I’d have it in three days.”

“They’re nothing without their firearms!”

“They beat the church only because the church was occupied with Everwinter and Wolfheart. Give the witches the credit they don’t want.”

Marwayne let it run. Anger in a room of strangers was hard to direct; anger in a room of men who had been dispossessed by the same enemy was nearly automatic. They were already fighting in concert without knowing it. That was useful — more useful than obedience from strangers.

“The bullets are limited.” Fueler, the knight from the Western Region, spoke carefully, scanning the room. “We each have only a few. Fire at close range. Make them count.”

Marwayne marked the man. Smart. Recruit him later. Fueler had found the operational constraint without being told to look for it.

“Don’t worry about the bullets,” Marwayne said. “The Graycastle men don’t have many more than we do, and the terrain in the northwestern Kingdom of Wolfheart will limit their mobility. They can’t maneuver freely in the mountains.” He paused, letting the room quiet. “And they will let us approach. They’re here for refugees — they won’t abandon people who come to them willingly. That’s the entire point of their operation.”

The sneer that passed across the room was nearly unanimous.

The Graycastle men came here for people. They would never turn away what appeared to be a crowd of desperate civilians — not with their whole mission premised on being protectors. A predator disguised as prey could walk directly into range before revealing itself. And afterward — disguised in Graycastle uniforms, moving through the towns along the return route — they could loot and terrorize freely. Everyone would blame the First Army. Trust would dissolve. The refugee migration would slow, or stop.

Their strength was their weakness, as the old scholar had said.

“I’ve already sent word to the Graycastle men that we’ll travel with them.” Marwayne rose. “We’ll hear back soon. When we fight, all resources and food captured in the battle are yours.” He looked down the length of the hall — at Narnos, at Fueler, at the faces he had been memorizing all evening. “You’ve waited long enough to make them pay. This is the moment. I give you my word.”

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