CH431 · Rewrite
☕ Support

Chapter 431: From the Kingdom of Dawn

Beyond the heavy machine gun, Roland had plans for a bolt-action rifle—mid- to long-range, same caliber, easily fitted with a gun sight to become a sniper weapon. A hundred or so would suffice. The advantage was clear: he could keep manufacturing revolving firearms and black powder cartridges without retooling.

In a battle, field artillery would suppress targets between eight hundred and a thousand meters. Heavy machine guns would cover five hundred to eight hundred. Snipers would pick off anything inside five hundred. Revolving rifles would handle the final two hundred. No gap in the fire envelope. Every inch of the field accounted for.

Three or four months to fully equip the army. He might not finish before the spring offensive—which meant he needed one more piece: an inland river gunboat, fitted with a 152mm culverin. A single vessel would be enough to pressure enemy flanks when the attack came.

He could feel the weight of it settling. The founding ceremony after the Months of Demons. The unification of the Western Region. The flood of new population once Timothy was gone. He almost wished time would slow—that the Months of Demons would hold the world in suspension a little longer while he caught up.


The landscape changed the moment the boat crossed into the Western Region.

Otto Luoxi lifted the blind and looked out. Sky and earth had been erased together. Dense snowflakes swirled in the wind, settled onto stone and soil and wood, and dissolved into the unbroken white. Two days of nothing else. If not for the slight pitch of the hull, he might have believed the boat had stopped moving.

“Close that.” The captain’s voice was flat. “You want to look, go on deck. Nobody’ll stop you.”

Otto let the blind fall. “Is it always like this?”

“Of course.” The captain tilted his decanter and drank. “Every Months of Demons, the Western Region seals up. No road in except the Redwater. I could count on one hand the boatmen fool enough to make this run—and they’d need their own boat.” A burp, unhurried. “Five gold royals is a bargain. You understand me?”

“It’s steep,” Otto said. “But I didn’t argue when I paid.”

“Good.” The captain tossed the decanter across. “Drink. It’s warm.” He settled back. “There was a tradesman once—wanted goods from the Western Region faster than anyone, wouldn’t pay a fair fare. Went to the street rats instead. Halfway there, they killed him. The mercenaries he’d brought? Useless. All fed to the river.”

“Unfortunate.” Otto accepted the decanter but did not pull the cork. He removed his gloves and held the warm metal between his palms instead.

“You get what you pay for. That’s universal.” The captain lit his pipe and drew deep. “Some people think they’re clever enough to beat it.” He exhaled smoke toward the ceiling. “Anyway—what’s your business here? I’ll warn you: jewelry and furs used to come out of the Western Region. Not anymore.”

“Truly?” Otto let mild surprise enter his voice. “I’d heard trade was the livelihood of this region.”

“Was. Ever since Prince Roland took Border Town, the place has gone strange. Everyone knew the town for furs and jewelry, but now? Only imports. No exports. Some jewelry still moves through Longsong Stronghold, but the nobles have their own channels—you can’t break in.” He breathed smoke. “Plenty of sellers do well here, though. Food, fabric, general goods—all move. Nobody knows where Roland gets his gold royals. But you’ll probably go home empty-handed.”

Otto arranged his expression into mild disappointment and said nothing.

The gold royals were exactly the kind of thing he had come to understand. His purpose was not trade. His purpose was the lord of Border Town. But a nobleman traveling alone during the Months of Demons, in secret, under a false name—he could not arrive at the castle gate directly.

Before departing the Kingdom of Dawn, he had researched his destination carefully.

Border Town. The name itself conveyed its significance to the kingdom: none. Built to monitor demonic beast incursions, later converted to permanent settlement, it had always been marginal—a posting for the unwanted. Prince Roland’s reputation had preceded him everywhere: the king’s least-favored son, sent to the border with no ministers, no guard of his choosing, accompanied only by knights the king had dispatched. The consensus in King’s City was that Roland Wimbledon had been sent to fail.

And yet: six months later, he had broken Duke Ryan and taken the Longsong Stronghold. The Western Region was his. The rumors about how it had happened differed. Some said the duke died in an internal revolt; others said a riding accident; others whispered of something stranger, something that explained why a force of miners had routed a knightage that should have crushed them.

Then came the wars of the Royal Decree on Selection of Crown Prince. Gerald died. Garcia died. Princess Tilly vanished. Cities in the Southern Territory and the Eastern Region were gutted by the constant fighting. Only the Western Region stayed quiet—and that quietness was not passivity. Timothy had sent armies west. They had not come back.

What Roland had done to his soldiers, Otto could not yet determine. That was the other thing he had come here to learn.

“Captain.” The cabin door banged open. A sailor leaned in, cold air spilling around him. “Border Town’s ahead. We’re almost there.”

“Finally.” The captain knocked ash from his pipe. “Lower sail, raise the flag. Tell the dockmen we’re coming.” He glanced at Otto. “Don’t forget your luggage. I leave in a week. Not waiting.”

Otto gave a small nod.

There was one more rumor—the one that mattered most. That Prince Roland had given himself to demons. That he hired witches. That this, not military genius and not luck, was the real reason for his victories: the burned church in Longsong Stronghold, the murdered Priest, the expulsion of believers.

Otto did not care whether any of it was true. He cared only what it implied: that Prince Roland was on the opposite side of the church.

In that respect, Roland Wimbledon was more useful to the Kingdom of Dawn than Timothy would ever be.

The hull shuddered as it met the dock.

Discussion

Suggest a change