Rewrite That Witch
CH368 · Rewrite
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Chapter 368: Filling in the Gaps

“Do you really think he’ll agree?” Nightingale’s voice arrived from somewhere just behind his left ear — a habit of hers, appearing close without warning, which he had long since stopped startling at.

“I’m not sure.” Roland set down his tea. “And even if he does, he still needs to persuade Count Hull. The old man’s position matters more than Petrov’s.”

“You can’t bear to let him go, can you?” A touch of amusement in it.

“Of course not.” Roland pressed his lips together, the closest he came to mock-offense. “He’s intelligent and humble, with a natural talent for managing commerce. A year or two studying administration in Longsong Stronghold and he’ll be a capable official in any city I need to fill.”

“If he convinces the Count, you’d really hand the royal capital to him?”

“If I conquer Graycastle, the capital moves anyway. Cities far from the Western Region will need administrators sent from the west — so what I laid out was extravagant but not dishonest.” Toward the end of the meeting, Roland had made the implication plain: no more nobles appointed by birth after consolidation, and a unified government across the entire kingdom modeled on Border Town. If Petrov chose to stay, Longsong would be only his starting point — mayor of a major city, chief bureaucrat of the new central government, neither was impossible. How far he went would be entirely his own doing.

Roland had meant it. He hoped Petrov had heard it.

“Well,” Nightingale said, “I don’t understand any of that anyway.” Her hand landed briefly on his shoulder. “The new witch will be here soon. You should go elsewhere for a while.”

“You’re questioning her yourself?”

“I’ll bring Wendy.” A low laugh, close to his ear. “She’s better at this than I am.”

The Witch Union’s verification protocol — championed mainly by Scroll and accepted with minimal argument by everyone else — required Nightingale to enter her mist, which meant removing the God’s Stone of Retaliation. Until an outsider’s identity was confirmed, Roland’s presence was an unnecessary risk. The procedure itself was thorough: ten specific questions prepared by Scroll, ranging from name and origin to recognition of the prince and presence of hostile intentions. Since Nightingale’s ability could only detect falsehood against the target’s own beliefs, the battery of true-or-false questions was designed to leave no loophole. Even a skilled deceiver couldn’t hold a lie through all ten without a slip.

Roland had thought it excessive when Scroll first proposed it. He’d held his tongue. It was easier.

He left the hall and went directly to his office, where Barov was already waiting.

The Petrov encounter had highlighted an oversight. He had placed Anna on the award stage and publicly acknowledged the witches’ existence in Border Town — but no official decree had ever stated their status, or how they should be treated. It was entirely possible that Border Town had witches living within its walls right now who had hidden their awakening, afraid to speak. The same situation as Longsong Stronghold, replicated quietly at home.

“I want a long-term recruitment announcement published,” Roland said as Barov entered, and slid a draft across the desk.

Barov received it, glanced down, and his eyebrows rose. “Your Majesty… a monthly salary of one gold royal? For witches?”

“Correct. Same as the Witch Union’s standard wage.” The current highest-paid position in Border Town — workers at the acid plant — earned twenty silver royals a month. One gold royal was five times that, and intentionally so. It needed to be a statement, not just a wage.

“If you want more witches to come forward,” Barov said carefully, “why not send people to search for them? The way you had citizens report spies. Their eyes see more than anyone.”

“Even my Director is learning to fight the People’s War.” Roland allowed himself a moment of private amusement before setting it aside. “And what’s the reward for finding one? What will be the difference between me and the Church?”

“But you mean to recruit them, not hang them.”

“Even so, witches exposed by force may think they’re being persecuted. Those from outside Border Town may have good reason to think that.” Roland shook his head. “I want them to come forward of their own will — to choose to contribute to Border Town, not to be presented like discovered assets.” He had other reasons too, ones he didn’t share: a reward for witches would reshape how the population thought about them, turning them into something to be sought and found, a category of valuable resource to be produced. A woman who gave birth to a witch would profit more than a woman who worked. In the short term that elevated witches’ status; in the long term it corroded exactly the kind of society he was trying to build.

Barov withdrew, and Wendy came in almost before the door had closed behind him.

She placed the investigation report on the desk and smiled. “Your Highness — her identity is confirmed. All her answers match what the eldest Honeysuckle said.”

“I told you everyone was being too careful.”

“This level of caution is necessary.” Wendy stood her ground without raising her voice. “Your Highness’s safety remains our first priority.”

Roland looked at her for a moment, and something in his chest settled — not quite emotion, something quieter. “All right,” he said. “Bring her in.”

The girl who entered looked to be around fifteen. Her hair was the muddy brown of someone who had washed it rarely, her eyes wide and blinking with the particular panic of a person in an environment they don’t recognize — carpet underfoot, high ceilings above, all of it wrong from what she knew. She kept shifting her weight, uncertain where her feet were supposed to go.

Paper. Born outside Longsong Stronghold. Orphaned in a blizzard three years ago — a story shared by more children than Roland wanted to count. The usual trajectory from there was grim: scavenging until the body gave out, or the underground swallowing you, or the cold getting you first.

She was neither Agatha’s brittle resilience nor Anna’s quiet determination. Even Mystery Moon and Lily, whose own histories most closely resembled hers, had come to Border Town with the Union around them — sisters who already knew what they were, who could hold each other through the adjustment. Paper had arrived alone, carried here by a stranger’s charity, in a city she’d never seen, with no one yet to tell her the shape of the life ahead.

She needed time before she needed anything else.

“Wendy,” Roland said. “She must be exhausted from the journey. Take her for a bath, let her rest, and get her settled in the witches’ building. Any instruction she needs regarding her magic — I’ll leave entirely to you.”

“Of course.” Wendy’s smile was quiet, certain. “As you wish.”

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