Rewrite That Witch
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Chapter 247: Graduation Ceremony

“Look — it’s Lady Scroll.” Piper nudged Jilly with his elbow. “She’s the head of the Ministry of Education.”

“The Ministry of…” Jilly blinked. “What is that?”

“The person who manages teachers. Teacher Ferlin, Teacher Harben — all of them answer to Lady Scroll.” He delivered this with the authority of someone who has reliable sources. “And that’s not even the biggest news. Today His Royal Highness himself is coming to the graduation.”

Jilly’s eyes went round. “His Highness is coming to talk to us?”

“Er. That part I’m not sure about,” Piper admitted, touching the back of his head. “Probably.”

His information came from Van’er, which meant it was good. Van’er had been a gravel worker from the neighborhood — an ordinary man — before joining the militia. Now he was an artillery officer in the First Army with a monthly salary of twenty-five silver royals and, on occasion, the ability to shake the Prince’s hand. He spent most of his time at the barracks, but whenever he came home, Piper was at his door within the hour, asking questions until Van’er eventually gave up and talked. It had been Van’er who told him, a full week ago, that His Highness would attend the graduation. The First Army had already received a protection order and conducted drills near the college as a result.

Then a column of soldiers came through the entrance, uniform and sharp, and between them was the Prince.

The crowd moved like water disturbed by a stone.

Roland walked into the hall and waved to the students. “My people. I am the Lord of Border Town, the man responsible for the Western Territory — Roland Wimbledon. Congratulations on being Border Town’s first complete graduating class from primary education.”

The hall went silent. Not from indifference — from the specific paralysis of excitement with no outlet.

Jilly dug her fingers into Piper’s arm. “He’s talking to us!”

“I know,” Piper managed.

“The reason you moved through the assessment quickly is that most of you were former students of Karl van Bate — you had a head start.” Roland’s voice was easy, unhurried, the voice of someone comfortable with rooms full of people listening. “Do not be arrogant about it. There is still a great deal of knowledge in the world waiting to be explored.” He paused. “But today is worth celebrating. From today, you are on a different path from most people. Whatever work you choose, it will pay you well. I came to tell you that myself.”

The shout started somewhere in the middle of the crowd: “Long live His Highness!” It spread immediately. “Long live His Highness! I will serve His Highness!”

Roland waited for the noise to fall before raising a hand. “Now I’ll give out the diplomas. Honorary proof of your completion of studies.” He opened the first booklet. “Piper.”

The name hit like cold water.

Piper’s whole body had gone stiff. He opened his mouth and nothing came out. Teacher Ferlin turned toward him from the side and waved him forward with the patient gesture of a man who had made this motion many times. Come on. Don’t just stand there.

He moved his legs. They responded, mechanically, carrying him out of the ranks toward the Prince. His heart was loud enough to hear. He remembered, somewhere during the walk, that Van’er had mentioned a military salute — simpler than the knight ceremony, made by the Prince himself. He didn’t know the exact form but he remembered the general shape of it, and he raised his hand and pressed it flat at his forehead before he could think better of it.

Roland smiled. He nodded. He handed over the booklet. “In future, when you want to do it again — the hand goes a little higher, in line with the ear. That’s the standard.” He paused. “Congratulations on your graduation.”

“Th — thank you.” Piper took the booklet and turned back toward the ranks, moving like a man carrying something breakable, and stood there while the rest of his name’s worth of composure slowly reassembled.

“Show me what it says,” Jilly said immediately, craning her neck.

“You’ll get your own, why are you so eager.” He opened the cover with hands that were not quite steady.

Inside was a parchment with fine stitching along the edges. In the upper left corner, a painted portrait — his face. In the center, the royal emblem: the tower and pike. And below it, in characters he could read himself now, which would not have been true six months ago:

College of Border Town, first course of study graduate: Piper

Dean: Scroll

Issuer: Lord of Border Town, Roland Wimbledon

He read it twice.

After all the diplomas had been distributed, Roland clapped his hands once. “From today, you can apply for positions that require education — all of them pay at least ten silver royals a month. Miss Scroll will explain the specific options. You don’t need to decide today. Take your time, talk to your families. When you’re ready, bring your ID and your certificate to the City Hall.”

While Scroll outlined the available positions, Jilly sidled close. “Do you know what you want? I’m going to the bicycle factory — higher pay than my father’s, and you can earn a free bicycle.”

“It’s a good choice,” Piper said, though he was not really thinking about it.

The propaganda posters on the town square had been generating conversation for days — four wide planks with portraits of the Prince and his closest officials, all holding or riding the strange two-wheeled iron frames. The bicycle factory starting salary was fifteen silver royals a month, and without the education requirement it would have filled up immediately.

But Piper was thinking about the ceremony.

He had stood in the same square where Nana had stood. He had watched her receive a medal from the Prince’s hands, in front of thousands of people, and something about it had not left him since. A desire for something specific: to stand in that place himself one day. To have done something that deserved it.

He couldn’t lead soldiers the way Iron Axe could. He had no power the way the witches had. The only path left was the one Sichi had taken — an alchemist who had climbed from apprentice to sage through knowledge and persistence, bringing results that mattered, the kind that changed the fortune of a whole territory. He had heard it said more than once: discover the key to a new process, and you bring wealth and prestige in quantities that require no bravery and no patron.

That was the one that fit.

“I’m going to sign up at the chemical laboratory,” he said. He said it quietly but without any uncertainty. One word at a time, as if placing them somewhere solid.

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