Rewrite That Witch
CH394 · Rewrite
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Chapter 394: The Seed of a Navy

Roland watched the second cement boat slip into the Redwater River. His subjects’ cheers rose and broke like a wave.

Structurally, the two boats were straightforward—but they were a significant step beyond the Littletown. A framework of dense steel reinforcement ran through the interior, and the cement mix had been improved substantially. The resulting hull strength was several times that of the original prototype.

The production method had evolved as well. When designing the hull, Roland had pre-positioned slots and ports for the steam engines, drive shafts, and paddle wheels, so that laborers only needed to bolt prefabricated metal components into place—like fitting pieces of a jigsaw rather than building from first principles each time. The mold itself had been rebuilt in iron rather than temporary masonry, which guaranteed the poured concrete achieved maximum density and waterproofing, and ensured every hull came out nearly identical. That consistency mattered for the power system installation, where even small dimensional variations created problems. He had scrapped at least seven or eight test samples before the mold was dialed in, but with steam-ground cement now abundant, the waste cost little.

With reliable materials, rigid molds, and craftsmen who had done this before, the only constraint on hull production was the hardening rate of concrete. And even that constraint had been dissolved—Paper’s ability to accelerate chemical reactions had cut the curing time from one to two months down to a single day. The shipyard could launch an unpowered hull every two or three days if he pushed the pace.

If engine manufacturing kept up with hull production, and if crew training kept up with the engines—Roland let the thought run to its conclusion. A fleet dense enough to fill the Redwater River from bank to bank, like dumplings in boiling water. The image was undignified and entirely accurate.

That was what industrialization meant. Not miraculous individual achievements, but systems that compounded.

Now the hulls were done. The next step was power installation—essentially the same mechanical setup as the converted boats the Chamber of Commerce had run at Crescent Moon Bay. The craftsmen had hands-on experience with those engines. He didn’t need to worry.

“Why explain all of this to your subjects?” Nightingale asked, appearing at his elbow.

“To advertise national power.” He smiled slightly.

“I’m sorry?”

“To show them what this town has become.” He turned the thought over. “Before you saw the Littletown, you wouldn’t have believed a stone boat could float. My subjects are in the same position. When they witness the impossible becoming commonplace, it changes something in how they think about what’s possible. Confidence, expectation, identity—the sense that there’s nothing this town fundamentally cannot do. Later generations call it superpower mentality.”

“I don’t quite follow,” Nightingale said, a slight furrow in her brow.

“Think of it as propaganda. That’s close enough.” Roland smiled.

He thought, but did not say: the old nobility celebrated with civilians only at formal ceremonies, events that were largely noble affairs anyway. If there wasn’t free food, most commoners wouldn’t attend. But the cement boats had been built by hundreds of laborers. The celebration belonged to them as much as to anyone.

That was the difference. And it mattered more than the boats themselves.

A week later, Roland met with more than twenty townspeople who had applied for the captain positions in the castle’s great hall.

Barov’s number had surprised him. He hadn’t expected this many applicants, and when he read the detailed report carefully, he stopped trying not to laugh. Most of the applicants were fishermen who operated rafts and small fishing boats. A handful were boatmen who ferried passengers across rivers. They were captains, technically speaking—but only in the loosest sense of the word.

Among them were three men with genuine experience operating inland sloops, and one who claimed to have commanded a merchant fleet and spent years at sea. That man was Cacusim—a relative of Vader from the assassination case two months past.

Roland considered the situation. Then he recruited all twenty.

Steam power was a different discipline from sail. A skilled sea captain’s knowledge of wind, current, and rigging transferred poorly to paddle-wheel mechanics and boiler management. Even experienced mariners would be learning from scratch. Since he himself knew nothing about operating a boat, there was no one in the town positioned to teach anyone else. Better to build the knowledge together, out in the water, through trial and documented failure.

He had always needed to begin somewhere.

“I’ve reviewed your applications,” Roland said, looking out over the group kneeling in the hall. “Today I’m informing you that you’ve passed the preliminary assessment. You’ve become the first group of captain interns. Please rise.”

They rose in uncertain stages, exchanging glances. The word intern hung in the air like an unfamiliar smell.

“An intern has not yet been formally hired,” Roland continued. “Until official status, pay is half the advertised rate—ten silver royals per month. The first two months are your learning period: you’ll familiarize yourselves with the boat’s performance, operation procedures, and mechanical systems. The third month is your trial: you’ll be assessed on how well you’ve mastered the material. Those who pass become official captains at full pay. Those unwilling to accept these terms may leave now.”

No one moved. After a moment, an older man spoke. “Your Highness—who teaches us, and who assesses us?”

Roland recognized him immediately: the man who claimed fleet experience. Cacusim. He had a voice that contained large amounts of previous authority.

“You will teach each other,” Roland said.

Murmuring ran through the group.

“Your Highness,” Cacusim said, not quite hiding his confusion, “how are we supposed to teach what none of us know?”

“How much do you know about steam engines?” Roland replied.

Silence.

“Exactly. The steam-powered boat is new in every respect. Your past experience won’t give you much of a head start—and that’s true for everyone in this room, including me. So you explore and find answers together. I’ll assign craftsmen from the engine plant to help you understand the machinery.” He paused. “The assessment is simple: operate the boat with a crew and successfully complete a transport run. That is the only measure of competence.”

It takes ten years to build an army and a hundred to build a navy. The saying was an exaggeration, but it named a real difficulty. Naval competence accumulated slowly, through hard-won institutional knowledge passed from captain to crew to the next generation. He was starting from nothing—no tradition, no manuals, no precedent.

But if this group of twenty learned the paddle steamer, they could train the next cohort. And that cohort would train another. The Western Region navy would start here, in this hall, with these uncertain and eager faces.

He was curious what it would become.

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