CH284 · Rewrite
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Chapter 284: Companion

Only after the fleet had departed could Roland finally breathe.

The treasury is full again.

Eight steam engines had changed hands—three from Factory No. 2, which the Crescent Moon Bay Caravan had helped establish. The Fjord artisans had proven themselves: their passing rate was climbing steadily, and another two months would see Factory No. 2 matching Factory No. 1’s output. All revenue from those machines went to Border Town under the signed contract.

Marlan had also ordered a custom reconnaissance balloon, larger than the standard model—designed to carry three or four people, intended for island exploration in the Fjords. And the first steam paddler had completed its transfer.

Total income, counting all three items: close to seven thousand gold royals. After costs—metal ingots, washing stones, grain and sundries—six thousand remained. Enough to fund the population expansion plan.

Roland called Barov and Iron Axe to his office.

“Now that the treasury is healthy,” he said, spreading a map across the table, “it’s time to recruit foreign citizens in earnest. City Hall and First Army will cooperate on this. I’ll give you the broad shape; you handle the personnel.”

“Please speak,” Barov said.

Roland traced two regions on the map. “North and south. The priority zone is between Eagle City and Port of Clear Water. I suspect Timothy considers those people already aligned with Garcia—expendable, to be consumed. We need to reach them first.”

He looked between the two men. “City Hall recruits nobles, skilled artisans, literate professionals. First Army handles the commoners. This time the approach must be more active than previous propaganda missions. Understood?”

Iron Axe paused carefully. “You mean… by force?”

Roland coughed twice. “Not force. But something more than passive announcement. Free food. Advance payment of living expenses. Take the initiative, go to them.” He looked at Barov. “You understand this better than I do.”

“Of course, Your Royal Highness.” Barov laced his fingers together with the satisfaction of a man whose exact expertise was finally being called upon. “I’ve helped suppress refugee riots several times in my cabinet days. Feeding them until they’re full is often enough—there’s no need to discuss remuneration or make conditions sound generous, which only creates suspicion. The difficult ones are the nobles. Even impoverished, they’re experienced and proud. They won’t trek across the kingdom for a steamed bun. Money and specific promises—that’s what moves them.”

“It’s a pity your responsibilities here keep you from going yourself,” Roland said. “If you could, I’d consider the mission guaranteed.”

“Please trust the disciple I’m most confident in,” Barov said, with a small smile that meant he had already decided who that was. “To have Border Town become a proper city next year—houses lining both banks of the Redwater River—that would be something.”

“I think it’s possible.”

After the two men had gone, Roland leaned back in his chair for a moment, then decided to walk to the North Slope courtyard to see Anna.


He came through the door into a field of metal cubes.

Roland picked one up—roughly five centimeters on each side, surface uneven from the pressing process, a number engraved on one face. The piece in his hand read 256.

“Found anything better?”

Anna came over with a bright smile. “Numbers 1057 and 2284 are exceptional. Hardness and toughness both—the best combination we’ve tested so far.”

“You’ve already passed two thousand?” He took the record Lucia handed him, pages filled with dense notation. Beside entry 2284: carbon content 0.8%, unknown elements 15.2%.

“It’s more satisfying than cutting gun barrels,” Anna admitted, with a small conspiratorial look. “Every time a new combination turns out completely different from what came before—it’s like each piece is a question I didn’t know I was asking.”

The work they were doing—he understood how far-reaching it was, even if the results were still clusters of marked cubes and scribbled ratios. Lucia broke the ore into raw materials; Anna melted them together in different proportions, then tested each resulting piece by stretching and compressing it under her black flame. The amount of magic power needed to deform it, the time it took, the way it failed—these gave a picture of strength and toughness that no laboratory equipment in this era could match.

Carbon had been the obvious first variable. Roland knew the broad shape of it: too much carbon made brittle pig iron, too little made soft pure iron, the right range produced steel. But even within that range, small fluctuations changed everything, and he needed to know exactly where that range was. After 1500 in his world’s history, metallurgists had begun adding other elements to steel—manganese, chromium, nickel—and each new element had multiplied the possibilities. Anna and Lucia were laying the empirical foundation for all of it, one marked cube at a time.

He let them work and sat to the side, watching without watching.

The courtyard settled into quiet. The afternoon light turned amber and easy, warm without the cruelty of August. An unusual stillness spread through him—not the stillness of an empty room, but the kind that comes from being in a right place.

He didn’t notice when he dozed.

A soft hand touched his forehead.

He opened his eyes. Lucia was gone. Anna sat across from him, watching his face with the patience of someone who had been waiting.

“You have something you want to say to me.”

He hadn’t spoken.

“Your eyes said it,” she explained, and leaned forward so that her hair fell loose around her shoulders, catching the afternoon light—translucent gold, like threads of it.

Roland hesitated. Then he let go of the hesitation.

He told her about the population plan—the decision to shift from passive advertisement to active recruitment, using food and money and promises to draw people in before Timothy’s conscription machine reached them first. Then he stopped, and said the quieter thing underneath it.

“Compared with my original idea—free choice, people coming of their own will—this is half-compulsion. Even if my purpose is to save them from Timothy’s pills, from dying as cannon fodder in someone else’s war… when I think about it honestly, my method isn’t that different from his. The only difference is the reason behind it.” He paused. “And I don’t know if that difference is enough.”

Anna was quiet for a moment. Then: “Can’t you explain your purpose to them?”

“But—”

She covered his mouth with one hand.

“I know what you’re about to say.” Her voice was soft, not dismissive—certain. “You’re worried they won’t trust the kindness. And you can’t promise that your purpose will stay proper forever. That you might use the right method for the wrong reason, or the right reason through the wrong method—and that in the end, you don’t know which failure is worse.” She lifted her hand. “Am I right?”

He didn’t answer, because she was.

“Be at ease.” She didn’t wait for him to speak. She put both hands against his face, and leaned close enough that he could feel the warmth of her breath. “I’m here,” she said, barely above a whisper. “I’ll always make sure you look good.”

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