CH262 · Rewrite
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Chapter 262: The Bridge Across the Redwater River

A week later, Roland officially launched the great steel-bridge construction project.

“You mean I should raise two islands in the middle of the river, to serve as the foothold of the bridge piers?” Lotus looked out at the surging current and asked in amazement. “Don’t tell me you plan to build an actual bridge — not a pontoon?”

“Yes.” Roland unrolled the scroll in his hands. “Taking into account the force of the current, each island needs a certain volume. They should also be shaped like this, to reduce the impact.” He tapped the blueprint.

“This… looks like a ship,” Lotus said.

“That’s right — technically called a spindle form.” He nodded. “Built parallel to the direction of flow, it presents the smallest possible face to the current. The question is whether you can raise the riverbed when the Redwater runs nearly ten meters deep.”

“That shouldn’t be difficult, Your Highness,” Lotus said simply. “Leave it to me.”

For safety, the ship carrying the witches was Little Town — standing on the cement hull floating in the river felt no different from standing on solid ground. Lightning again took the helm; Wendy again provided the wind.

During the past week, Wendy had seemed to avoid Roland’s line of sight, visibly uncomfortable whenever their paths crossed. Today she walked past him with her chin level and her usual composure restored, and as she boarded she murmured a soft “thank you.”

“That’s something you can thank me for,” Nightingale whispered into his ear from within her fog.

Little Town left the pier and drove toward the center of the wide river. Carter had already stretched a hemp rope across the water, with two red cloth strips tied to mark the positions for the piers. When the cement boat reached the first marker, Lotus stepped to the railing and put her ability to work.

The river surface began to move — first a trembling, then small eruptions of displaced water, rising and falling like something vast drawing breath beneath the surface. Gravel, algae, and silt came churning upward through the current, slowly clouding the water dark. The riverbed itself was rising.

So that’s how it works. Her ability reached water as readily as solid earth — more easily, even, since loose silt offered less resistance. The current kept washing the lifted mass sideways, but the bed was lifting all the same.

Not long after, a grey mound of mud broke the surface. It was clearly very soft; it also released an odor that drove everyone to cover their noses.

To Roland, it was the finest kind of fertilizer — centuries of fish bones, aquatic plant matter, the accumulated refuse of the river depths. In another world he would have collected every bucket of it. Here, the logistics made that impossible. It could only be taken by hand, by wading directly into the water.

Once the soft layers had cleared away, the yellow-brown solid earth appeared beneath. Then the process repeated — lifting, rinsing, consolidating — until both spindle-shaped islands were fully formed.

Roland had estimated a week. But breaking the surface was only the beginning. The river would work at the exposed silt constantly, and without reinforcement the spindle-form islands, for all their elegant hydrodynamics, would not survive ten years.

He called Karl van Bate over and crouched down with a piece of charcoal to sketch the method for consolidating the ground.

“Your idea is to dig trenches into the soil and fill them with cement?” the newly promoted Minister of Construction asked, studying the drawing. He had earned his way out of the King’s City Stonemason Guild with precisely this quality — he needed only a few words before his mind completed the structure. “You want to form a wall that runs from the surface all the way down to the riverbed.”

“Exactly. But each segment shouldn’t exceed five meters in length, and around one meter deep. When you fill them with cement, have Lotus sink each segment another meter into the earth. Repeat that until the wall runs from the river surface straight down.” Roland had worked out the approach while watching Lotus raise the islands — if she could lower the earth’s surface, she could presumably bury a structure above the earth into it. “This way, even if the river wears away the outer soil, the cement wall will still hold the water back.”

“Your idea is truly ingenious,” Karl said, eyes bright. “What should I use to determine the wall’s total height?”

“That’s on your shoulders. If it’s too shallow, the foundation becomes unstable. Too tall and you waste cement and delay the schedule.” Roland straightened. “Looking at the silt that came up, I’m guessing around twelve meters total height.”

“One more thing,” the Prince added. “After you’ve surrounded all sides with the cement wall, leave the interior open. Don’t pave it over. I want to plant grass and flowers on top afterward.”

Karl stared at him. “Flowers?”

The reasoning was practical, even if it sounded decorative: the cement segments could never be made perfectly watertight; over time, gaps would appear. The simplest way to lock the remaining soil in place was vegetation — roots would reduce water absorption and prevent erosion, especially after Leaves came through and extended the root systems with her magic, knitting the earth firmly together. A brief explanation of how plants strengthen soil seemed to satisfy Karl’s bewilderment without fully resolving it.

Roland turned to look at the workers busy along the banks. “What’s the status of the approach ramps?”

“We’re laying the cement-gravel surface now,” Karl reported without hesitation. “They should be finished by this week.”

The approaches on either side of the river were built from packed fieldstone and cement — the same method used for the city walls. As long as the positioning and measurements were right, the construction itself was not complicated. The highest point of each ramp rose seven meters above ground, connecting to the city streets by a long, gentle curve. The river’s natural embankment added further height above the waterline. When the bridge was complete, the clearance between water and deck would be approximately twelve meters — high enough for sailing ships to pass beneath.

Only the first span of the bridge itself was finished so far, undergoing a load test on shore. The span was short; the loads would be modest. A thirty-centimeter I-beam would hold even if the bridge deck were packed edge to edge with people. And since Anna had personally handled every step from assembly to welding, the probability of jerry-built workmanship was as close to zero as anything Roland had encountered in this world.

The installation itself would be simple. When all three spans were complete, Hummingbird would reduce their weight and Lightning would carry them to position. Two wagons could then cross the Redwater River side by side — the northern and southern banks connected at last.

“Even the greatest mason would have difficulty imagining a bridge like this,” Karl said quietly, looking out at the wide sparkling river. “Does Your Royal Highness have a name for it?”

Roland thought for a moment. “Call it the Redwater Bridge.”

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