CH381 · Rewrite
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Chapter 381: Evelyn’s Resolution

“We don’t have much time left.”

The sentence hit Roland like a blade between the ribs. He sat very still until Agatha finished her explanation, and then let out a breath.

“Don’t stop halfway like that. It sounds terrifying.”

“You think five years is a long time?” Agatha frowned. “The timing was accurate for the first and second Battles of Divine Will. I don’t know why the cycle has shortened now — and it may shorten further.”

“I thought you were about to tell me the Bloody Moon would arrive this winter.” Roland shrugged. According to the current development schedule, he could universalize the new firearms throughout the entire army within a year. As long as the enemy wasn’t impervious to steel, they still had a chance. The real concern wasn’t armaments — it was depth.

Two industrial cities, minimum three. Sustained sources of population, ammunition, food. A loss should be something you could absorb and recover from, not something that ended the war. The difficulty, as always, lay not in weapons but in the apparatus that fed them — the reliable leaders, cadres, and clerks without whom even a unified Kingdom of Graycastle would remain a collection of towns rather than a war machine. Logistics guaranteed victory. Staff guaranteed logistics.

A country capable of waging war always has widespread education. He filed the thought away.

“What is that weapon called?” Agatha changed course suddenly. “I remember you called it the 152mm Stronghold…”

“Stronghold Standard Artillery.” Roland supplied the rest. “There’ll be naval variants eventually.”

“If you can line the city walls with weapons like that before the Bloody Moon arrives, we might be able to hold against the demons.” She spoke with the deliberate focus of someone committing herself to a course of action. “According to Kyle Sichi, what I produce in the chemistry lab is also part of the cannon, yes?” Her expression settled into resolve. “I’ll work as hard as I can to produce liquid nitrogen and liquid oxygen, as long as you can—”

“Don’t worry.” He met her eyes. “We’ll defeat the demons.”


“Is this really all I needed to do today?”

Evelyn dipped her finger into the wine and touched her tongue. The bite had grown sharper — cleaner. By His Highness’s specification, the purer the spirit, the better. The finest white liquor contained no water at all, every drop dense and mellow. She had to admit that what she produced was drawing closer to what Roland described — but further, each week, from anything she would have called tasty.

“Yes, good work.” The brewery manager labeled the jars and nodded at her. “Remember me to His Highness.”

“Can you actually sell these?” she asked, genuinely uncertain. Her years running a tavern had taught her that very few people tolerated that kind of heat on the palate.

“That I couldn’t say,” the manager smiled. “But someone comes by to ship the liquor regularly, so there must be buyers.”

The knot in her chest loosened. If nobody drank it, not only would His Highness have failed — she herself would have become useless. It was a relief to find herself wrong. His Highness was the kind of great noble who understood what refined people wanted, even when it didn’t look like what you expected. She smiled and said goodbye.

Outside, the streets were bitter with cold. She walked quickly and ducked through the castle doors into a wall of warmth. The contrast stopped her for a moment. She pulled off her coat and simply stood there, breathing it in.

This kind of life had been unimaginable not long ago. In winter she had always huddled with her family around a brazier, or curled under a blanket so thin it was more memory than cloth. What was the difference, now, between the castle and the Kingdom of God the church preached — the one that was supposed to be spring all year round? And His Highness had promised to extend the central heating system throughout the residential district, so that all his subjects, not just witches in a castle, would be free from the Months of Demons’ bite.

She didn’t know how many true believers had reached the church’s Kingdom of God. But here — here, the people the church called Devil’s minions were the first to live warmly. If the believers ever found out, they’d grind their teeth with envy.

His Royal Highness is capable of everything.

Across the great hall, Andrea, Ashes, and Shavi were playing cards at the table.

“Double eights!”

“Pass.”

“Double twos! I win.” Andrea smiled with the particular satisfaction of someone who has never once doubted herself. “Ashes has the most cards — six. Hand over the IOU for ice cream!” She turned and waved. “Hey, Evelyn — want to play with us?”

Evelyn paused. “What’s an IOU for ice cream?”

“It’s a stake,” Ashes said, waving a hand. “Whoever collects the most IOUs has to give their next ice cream bread to the winner. Want to try?”

She hesitated. This was a rare chance — on Sleeping Island, both Andrea and Ashes had been figures just below Lady Tilly, rarely seen and never casually present. They would never have invited her voluntarily into anything. And the card game itself was genuinely absorbing: simple rules, countless variations, the kind of thing that could eat a whole day in pleasant company.

But.

“The final exam is coming soon. Aren’t you going to review?”

“That basic course?” Andrea pouted. “It’s simple. I could probably pass it without reviewing at all.”

The other two nodded.

Of course. Andrea was nobility — her breadth of knowledge towered over most people’s. Ashes and Shavi could both read and write. Evelyn was the one falling behind.

“I — I’d better not,” she said after a moment. “I should go back to my room and read. You all continue.”

She left before they could say anything and crossed the courtyard to Witch House. The wooden door opened on Candle sitting at the living room table, bent over the arithmetic exercises at the back of the textbook, pencil moving steadily.

“You’re back?”

“Yes.” Something in Evelyn settled at the sight of her. “How’s the revision going?”

“Not bad. Nature and arithmetic are both a little hard to follow.” Candle looked up and smiled. “What about you?”

“Same.” Evelyn nodded and sat down across from her. “Let’s write down everything we don’t understand and ask Miss Anna tonight.”

“Perfect.”

According to Miss Scroll, these books had been written by His Royal Highness himself — knowledge drawn directly from his own mind. If she mastered it, some sliver of his understanding would become hers. She knew she couldn’t change the ability she was born with, but this — this she could pursue through sheer effort. Even if the nobility stopped wanting white liquor, she could teach. She had become a fixture in Anna’s, Scroll’s, and Wendy’s rooms, showing up with dog-eared pages and questions she’d stayed up to formulate.

Her score last time had been the lowest in the room.

She picked up her pencil. This time would be different.

First, an achievable goal, she told herself. Beat Maggie.

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