CH292 · Rewrite
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Chapter 292: Precision-Guided Bombs

The shooting range was the castle’s front courtyard — flagstones, open sky, the clink of revolvers against the wooden table where ammunition was laid out.

Every witch selected for the investigation team had received a revolver. Sylvie included.

Roland spent two days on form before moving to live fire: stance, grip, breath, trigger discipline. Ten meters for aimed shots, five meters for the instinctive draw that might save a life in a surprise encounter. The witches followed the posture drills well enough. Most of them had quick hands and steady eyes — years of moving carefully through a world that wanted them dead had given them that much.

Then the first shots went off, and the truth arrived.

The detonation split the air above the courtyard and most of the witches’ first reaction was identical: arms up, weapons abandoned, palms flat over ears. Nightingale’s brow drew into a single clean line. She said nothing, which said enough.

Except Anna.

Roland noticed her at the end of the line — both hands still, stance unchanged, pulling the trigger in measured intervals as though the muzzle blast were someone else’s problem. He watched for a moment, genuinely puzzled. Black powder, large caliber, strong recoil. Her arms should have been trembling. They weren’t.

He stepped behind her.

Two tendrils of black flame curled against the grip of the revolver, holding it motionless in the air. Anna’s hands were closed around empty space. Two small plugs of compressed black fire sat in her ears.

He tapped her shoulder. She turned, reached into her ears, and held up the plugs with the expression of someone who had solved a problem and expected acknowledgment.

“Well? I hit the target every time.”

He looked at the target. She had.

He didn’t know whether to laugh or be exasperated, so he settled for: “No one is permitted to use their ability to assist the exercise.”

“Why?”

“Because if an enemy is carrying a God’s Stone of Retaliation, you won’t have that option.” He reached over and fitted her hands properly around the grip. “The point is to build the reflex without the help.”

Anna looked down at her hands — properly placed now, touching real steel — and nodded. “All right.”

He moved to her ears. She turned back to the target, eyes bright.

“Maggie!” Lightning’s voice carried across the courtyard. “Come here. I need you to block my ears.”

The pigeon on the fence tilted her head. “Goo?”

“You can’t shoot in bird form anyway,” Lightning said. “Help me first, and I’ll help you after.”

“Goo!”

The sounds of practice drew the rest of the Witch Union from wherever they’d been working. By the end of the afternoon, every witch in the castle had come through the courtyard to try the revolver for herself — some tentative, some fierce, all of them alive with something Roland recognized but couldn’t immediately name.

He stood back and watched them for a long moment.

Anna, who had come to him thin and hollow — the hollowness not of starvation but of a person who has spent long enough treated as a thing that she had begun to believe it. Nightingale, whose smile had been a mask worn so long she’d forgotten what it was covering. Wendy, exhausted in the way of someone who had stopped expecting anything to improve. Leaves, who had accepted her fate the way a stone accepts water — letting it flow over without yielding. Lily, perpetually watchful, like an animal that has learned that stillness is safety.

Lightning. Mystery Moon. Hummingbird. Scroll.

They all looked different now. Not just more comfortable — different in some structural way, the way a person looks different when they have stopped calculating whether they are allowed to want things. Their eyes moved differently. Even their laughter had changed — less careful, less contained.

When any of them looked at Roland, he saw trust there. Not gratitude, exactly, though that was present too. Something more durable. The expression of people who had decided, after long deliberation, that a particular thing was worth the risk of believing in.

He found it almost unbearable, in the best sense.


The afternoon’s second exercise was the one that mattered most.

He’d called it “high-altitude drop practice” in the orders, which was technically accurate and revealed nothing. Three witches: Anna, Wendy, Lightning. The minimum for an air raid.

Setting the attack on King’s City for the start of the second month of autumn had required careful arithmetic. Too soon and they couldn’t prepare; too late and Timothy would finish his conscription drive, fill his new troops with pills, and send them west again before the balloon could make the trip. The window was narrow. Roland intended to hit it.

The plan was straightforward in concept and violent in execution: a two-hundred-fifty kilogram bomb, dropped from two kilometers, designed to punch through the palace dome and detonate inside.

The practice bomb was slightly lighter — perhaps two hundred kilograms, the same streamlined shape — a teardrop cross-section with tail fins and a drag parachute built to orient the nose downward and limit terminal velocity. An iron hook in the basket held it upright, half protruding through the drop hole. Pull the valve, the hook released, and the bomb separated and fell straight.

As the balloon climbed, Border Town shrank beneath them — building by building, then street by street, then the whole of it compressed into something a thumb could cover. The Redwater River became a bright thread against the land below.

“This is the first time I’ve been this high,” Wendy said at the observation window. The usual tiredness in her voice had been replaced by something quieter. “The entire Western Territory looks small.”

“It is small,” Roland said, and meant it without unkindness. “Look north — that’s the wilderness. We’ll be going further than that, later.”

From outside the basket: “Is this high enough? I can’t see the target anymore.”

He turned and gave Anna the signal. She nodded.

He didn’t know the exact altitude — but from the shape of the landscape below, they were well above a thousand meters. Safe from observation. Safe from anything the enemy could send upward with a bow or a crossbow. The problem with that height was that a bomb released here and allowed to fall without guidance would strike wherever the wind and randomness decided, and a palace dome required rather more precision than that.

Which was where Lightning came in.

“Release.”

Wendy pulled the valve. The bomb dropped. A gust of displaced air pushed up through the hole and Roland steadied himself against the basket wall while Anna sealed the drop port with the cover plate and locked it down — a motion they had rehearsed on the ground until it was reflex.

“Did she get it?” Wendy asked.

“We’ll know when we land.”

Below them, invisible from this height, Lightning was falling at the bomb’s speed, matching its descent, using lateral force to walk the trajectory toward the target. She could hold that for the bulk of the fall. In the final stretch, when velocity had built to something useful, she’d pull the mechanism at the tail — releasing the drag chute, letting the bomb accelerate — and then clear the path.

It was precise work. It required her to see the target, judge the angle, correct continuously. It would get more precise with practice. All they needed was practice.

He looked out at the empty sky above Border Town and thought about what they were building — not the bomb, not the balloon, but the unbroken chain from here to King’s City: the weeks of drilling, the nerve of the drop, the window of autumn, the specific dome of a palace he had never seen from the inside and hoped never to see from any other angle than falling.

It will work, he thought. It has to work the first time.

Lightning would make it work.

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