Rewrite That Witch
CH340 · Rewrite
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Chapter 340: The Reason for the Assessment

When the last of the men who had rushed from the crowd lay still, the panic broke open.

Dozens of soldiers were already converging on the refugees, peculiar weapons leveled, and from somewhere in the press came the first frightened cry — then another, and another, until the dock rang with it. The line dissolved. People stumbled against each other, fell, screamed. The orderly intake that had taken two months to arrange was coming apart in under a minute.

Then Roland Wimbledon’s voice cut across all of it.

“Settle down, my citizens. I am your Feudal Lord, Roland Wimbledon. Please listen to what I am about to say.”

It was not a shout. It was not the clipped bark of a garrison commander or the shrieked authority of a man who needed the crowd to fear him. It was — even, measured, close. As though he were standing just behind each person’s ear. Vader had the disorienting sensation that the prince was speaking directly to him, and him alone, and that the two hundred other people on the dock were having the exact same sensation simultaneously.

The crowd went quiet.

“Just as you were told when you arrived: Border Town will give you three things. Somewhere to stay that keeps out the cold wind and blocks the snow. Food enough to fill your belly. And work — real work, at fair pay. I am here to tell you all that these are real.”

“The house is made of thick clay, without a crack for the wind to find. A charcoal stove lies under the bed. When you sleep on it, it is like lying on a meadow in summer sun. Close the door and the windows and you will not feel the slightest chill, even in the thinnest clothes.”

“The food is wheat porridge with dried meat. When you scoop it up, you will see the grain fall drop by drop. When you put it in your mouth, the richness of it will slow it on the way down. A single bowl will fill you.”

Vader became aware that he was hungry. The things His Royal Highness was describing had weight to them — the warm floor beneath a body, the drag of thick porridge in the throat. This was not a noble addressing subjects from horseback, listing their obligations and warning them of the penalties for failure. This was a man naming, with precision, what the people in front of him needed most, and telling them they would have it.

The refugees had gone from terrified to rapt. He could see it in the set of their faces.

“My wish is for all the citizens under my rule to live happy lives — lives where they do not need to worry about basic necessities. But the enemies in the shadows are not willing to see that. Those men who came at you were sent by them. Their goal is simple: they do not want me alive. They do not want my citizens to live well.”

A beat. The snow came down.

“If I were gone, would another feudal lord give you warm housing and good food? I think everyone here already knows the answer. You have lived it.”

And there it was. The panic had run its full course and come out the other side — because the prince had named the thing that frightened them, given it a shape, and placed the fear where it belonged: not on the soldiers with weapons, not on the screaming, but on the unseen enemy who had sent those men to destroy what everyone on that dock was hoping to reach. When the refugees began to understand that the killers in the crowd had also been their enemies — enemies of warm beds and full bowls — unease curdled into something simpler.

Those men were scum. Anyone who tries to take this place from us is scum.

“To prevent any such attack from happening again, we will conduct the inspection once more. My personal guard will take charge of the body search this time. We will not give the enemy another chance.”

No one protested. No one even dragged their feet. The refugees who had already passed through were walked back to the wharf by the guards, and the queue reformed — if anything, more orderly than before.

Vader let out a breath he had been holding.

“As expected of His Royal Highness.” The words came out before he thought them. Just a few sentences, and the threat of a full riot had dissolved.

“I hear you were the first to notice something wrong.” Carter Lannis materialized at his elbow. “Come. His Highness wants to see you.”

He followed the Chief Knight through the crowd to where the prince stood, and dropped to one knee.

“Tell me how you spotted him.”

Vader went through it — the eyes, the accent, the too-clean fingers, the absence of frostbite. He kept the account brief.

“An acute sense of observation.” The prince studied him. “You were an ordinary citizen before this?”

“No, Your Highness. I was on the Valencia patrol team for six years, until pirates sacked the city.”

“Your registration with city hall didn’t mention any of that.” There was no accusation in the prince’s voice — only attention, the kind that misses nothing. “Carter tells me you’re still in the temporary settlements. Which means you concealed that experience when you registered, even though there was no reason to. Why?”

He had known this question was coming. He took a breath and explained Kukasim — the old convict who had gotten him to Border Town alive, who was still sitting in the western district with nothing to his name and no one to vouch for him.

“So you were willing to stay in the patrol and work your way up from there. Thinking you might arrange some benefit for him once you were in a position to.”

Vader’s chest tightened. He had heard enough about this prince’s approach to law to understand what came next.

“Don’t worry. You haven’t done it. Thinking about something is not the same as doing it.” The prince’s tone was dry, almost warm. Then, with no change of inflection: “But you won’t be able to do it, if that’s what you were hoping. That’s worth knowing now.”

The disappointment was cleaner than he expected. At least it was honest.

“Do you have family?”

“They died in the raid on Valencia.”

“And Kukasim?”

“He probably never had any. If he had, the street rats wouldn’t have chosen him for a scapegoat.”

The prince was quiet for a moment. Then: “Anyone with a special skill receives priority rights to a small residence and a citizen identification certificate from city hall — along with all the rights that accompany it. The offer extends to family members.”

Vader looked up.

“I believe you can follow where I’m going.”

He could. He could follow it exactly. His voice came out rougher than he intended. “You’re saying — Kukasim could be —”

“Take the old man to city hall for registration. They’ll arrange everything.”

He had to press his jaw shut to keep the rest in. He went back down to one knee and kept his head there for a moment longer than strictly necessary.

“Thank you, Your Highness.”

“You still cannot lower your guard.” The prince’s voice carried a gentle finality. “The vigilance you showed today — maintain it. Even if the two of you are officially registered as family, you remain in the temporary settlements until you pass the upcoming tests. Understood?”

“Understood.”

The weight that had sat on him since Valencia — through the raid, through the road north, through the months in the western district — lifted. He was nearly at the door when the memory of the written test surfaced, that morning of questions he had answered in a fog of uncertainty.

He stopped. Turned back. The question was probably foolish, but he could not leave without asking it.

“Your Highness — when I took the first test, I didn’t know the answers to most of it. My answers were a mess. Why did you still pick me?”

The corners of the prince’s mouth curved.

“Because there were no correct answers to begin with. Every candidate answers differently — that’s intentional. The test wasn’t designed to measure what you know. It was designed to measure whether you can read, whether you can write, and whether you can put your thoughts into words coherently. As long as you understood the questions and said something with them, you passed.”

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