CH221 · Rewrite
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Chapter 221: Rescue Plan

The first question was simple enough: should he go himself?

This would be the First Army’s first operation outside the Western Region — not a defensive war on home ground but something entirely different. They would be moving through unfamiliar terrain, operating without a prepared battlefield, and Roland had no way to predict whether their combat capability would hold in conditions they hadn’t trained for. He could not find it in himself to stay easy if he remained behind.

On the other hand. He knew his own military experience for what it was: theoretical, borrowed from a world two centuries away. And the moment he left Border Town, the Western Region became unclaimed land.

If that news reached Longsong Stronghold, Petrov would be left holding back three noble families who had been watching the border with the patience of creditors. If it reached Timothy — and it would, it always did — then Roland moving toward King’s City would read as an invitation. Timothy wouldn’t care about a few witches’ casualties at the front if he had an opportunity to encircle a prince. Even if he chose not to strike, he had only to march his northern forces westward and the trap would close without a single order being given.

A fire in one’s own backyard, Roland had read somewhere, was several times more dangerous than a defeat at the front lines.

He stayed.

The First Army’s primary task was to protect the witches. Their secondary task was to divide the refugees into groups and bring them aboard the ships. What they were most likely to face was not Timothy’s forces but the Church’s Army of Judges — and as long as the rescue measures worked cleanly, they would not need to fire a shot. That made the planning, not the command, the thing that mattered.

He spent the morning making it as close to perfect as he could.


At noon, he called everyone into the dining room: Carter, Iron Axe, Brian, and the full Witch Union.

The grey light through the windows had flattened whatever warmth the morning held. The dining table still held the morning’s traces — cold tea, a scatter of notes, a candle burned almost to the collar. The Fourth Prince’s memories of King’s City were impressions from childhood: blurred shapes, river mud, the noise of a market he’d been kept away from. He had Soraya draw a map on the table’s surface. Standing over it with a pointer that was really just a pen, Roland began.

“This square is King’s City. The blue line is the canal.” He traced south. “You have two tasks. First: protect the witches while they treat the sick, then bring everyone back to Border Town. Second: prevent the demonic plague from spreading further.”

He paused, then said: “You should also know — the Church is almost certainly the one who caused this.”

Brian startled. Carter’s brows went up. Iron Axe’s expression did not change — he had no particular faith in the Church, no habit of deference toward Graycastle’s institutions, and Roland had noticed this with something close to relief.

“After annexing the Kingdom of Endless Winter, the Church immediately turned on the Wolfsheart Kingdom. Dawn and Graycastle are next. And consider the Battle for the Throne.” He walked them through it: the pills supplied to Timothy in the north, to Garcia in the southwest, and to Roland himself — each faction fed and encouraged to destroy the other. “They aren’t backing a winner. They’re managing a culling. The pills don’t strengthen soldiers; they hollow them out. The men who took them will weaken and die. This disease follows the same pattern. The Church will let the plague consume King’s City, then arrive with the antidote and declare themselves God’s mercy made flesh.”

“Only the light that shines in the darkest places is the most dazzling,” Iron Axe said.

“Yes. To be seen as savior, you need people at their lowest. The sharper the contrast, the deeper the impression.” Roland’s voice dropped a register. “The innocent who die in the meantime are simply proof that their faith wasn’t sincere enough. That’s the Church’s logic.” He let it rest for a moment. “So we save the refugees from the east. And we dismantle the Church’s story while we do it.”

Brian took a slow breath. “How?”

“Stay invisible. Carry out the mission without the other side knowing you’re there.” Roland indicated the wide farmland south of the pier, a square of Soraya’s blue-green. “Cover here — crops will hide men. Position a lookout at the high ground to watch the dock. Support soldiers go in disguised as caravan guards and help the treated refugees board. I’ll write Margaret for as many ships as she can spare — not just the two existing fleets.”

City wall patrol radius: short. Guards covered only what they could see from the rampart. The farmland south of the pier fell outside that reach. “As long as we don’t draw attention at the dock, the city guard won’t move.”

“How do we treat the sick?” Iron Axe asked.

“Lily.” Roland described her ability — microorganisms, replication, the transformation of ordinary water into something that defeated the plague from inside. He watched their faces. Iron Axe received it as he received everything: as data to be used. “She doesn’t need to walk into the camp. Collect river water — the dirtier, the better — and let her work continuously. Give the result to anyone infected.”

A silence.

“Just like that,” Iron Axe said.

“Two points.” Roland held up two fingers. “Every person boarding a ship must have drunk the purified water first. And under no circumstances boil the water before she processes it. Boiling kills the organisms. Without them there’s nothing for her ability to replicate. I know it sounds backwards. Do it anyway.”

“What about the people inside King’s City?”

“That’s Theo’s responsibility. Street rats distribute the water; our people never show their faces in the city.” He glanced at Carter. “And before you say it—”

“They’ll sell you out the moment the price is right,” Carter said.

“Which is why that part of the operation is secondary. The moment anything feels wrong, the First Army withdraws with the witches. Getting the refugees aboard is the victory. Every person treated inside King’s City is a bonus, not a requirement.” He straightened. “What we must accomplish is this: disprove the claim that only the Holy Elixir can repel the evil spirits. If we can do that, the Church’s entire plan collapses.”

He looked around the table.

“Assignments.” A different tone now — harder, final. “Iron Axe.”

“Yes!”

“Two hundred and forty soldiers. You protect the witches, control the canal, eliminate every threat. Every witch comes home. Every refugee who boards comes home.”

“As you command, Your Highness.” Iron Axe came to attention.

“Brian.”

“Yes!” The young knight’s chest went out.

“Sixty soldiers, disguised as mercenaries. Medicine delivery, order maintenance at the boarding point.”

“As you command, Your Highness!”

“The witches departing for King’s City: Nightingale, Echo, Lightning, and Wendy.” Roland’s pace slowed. “Your specific tasks I’ll explain separately. For now only this: your safety comes first. You come back.”

“Rest easy, Your Highness.” Nightingale pressed a hand to her chest. “I’ll be with them.”

Roland nodded. “Then the last point — the most important.” He looked from face to face. “Three days. After you arrive in King’s City, you have three days. No more, regardless of the situation on the ground. You sail back to Border Town.” He weighted each word. “The Church will not limit the plague to King’s City. The Western Region will be a target. Overstay, and you may find you’ve left your home undefended. Is that understood?”

“Yes, Your Highness!” Iron Axe and Brian answered together.

“Good.” Roland stepped back from the table. “Then we begin.”

“Hold on.” Carter raised his hand. “What about me, Your Highness?”

“You guard Border Town.” Roland put a hand on his shoulder. “With the rest of the First Army.”

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