Rewrite That Witch
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Chapter 449: The Course of War

When Roland walked into the castle, Petrov and Earl Hull were waiting for him on one knee in the center of the hall.

The bodies had been removed. The smell of blood had not been. Broken furnishings and discarded weapons lay scattered across the floor, and the room still held the shape of what had happened here — not the battle exactly, but the aftermath of a battle, which is a different kind of terrible.

“Rise.” Roland walked toward Petrov and bent to take hold of his shoulders.

“Your Highness.” Petrov’s voice broke on the second syllable. “You came.”

“You did well.” Roland said it slowly, with weight behind it. “The four families will pay for this. Every one of the murderers will be brought to justice.”

“I didn’t guard Stronghold well enough—”

“You did what you could. None of this is your fault.” Roland let go of his shoulders. Petrov was not a wartime ruler — that had been clear since the city was taken by light cavalry, and it had remained clear through this. He was skilled at managing a territory, at reading commerce and seizing opportunities; he was not a Machiavellian. Not every person needed to be. Roland preferred operators with a business mind over those with fighting instincts, and Petrov was among the best he had. What mattered now was placing him somewhere the war wouldn’t reach.

Roland turned to face the room. Every person was looking at him — First Army soldiers, wounded knights from the Second Army behind Petrov, everyone in the hall.

“There was an inducement for this riot,” he said. “This is not a random act of rebellion. It is a calculated conspiracy, designed to overturn the order of the Western Region and seize what doesn’t belong to these people.” He let that settle. “They committed a felony. They murdered nobility. They killed civilians. After the fighting ends, many people will find their families gone and their houses looted. The conspiracy failed — because your resistance, your willingness to keep holding when it would have been easier to stop, prevented Stronghold from suffering a greater catastrophe. What you did here was heroic. Your endurance was beyond what was required of you.”

He watched the knights — Petrov’s battered, exhausted household knights — straighten almost involuntarily, their chests lifting by a fraction.

“The war isn’t finished. The rebels are in flight, and now we go after them. I swear that wherever they run — into the territories of the four families, or all the way to King’s City — they will face a reckoning. Those who ordered this will be punished. The blood you shed here will not be wasted.”

“Long live Your Highness!” Petrov and Earl Hull both went back to one knee.

Then the soldiers of the Second Army followed, and then the knights, until the entire hall was kneeling — one knee, back straight, right hand pressed to the chest — and the shout came back to him in unison.

“Long live Your Highness!”

After comforting those in the hall, Roland climbed to the third floor of the castle and summoned Petrov, Van’er, Brian, and Iron Axe to the study — the only room that hadn’t been breached. The furnishings were intact. He would probably be sleeping here for the next few days.

“First things first — what is the state of the battlefield?” He looked at Iron Axe.

“The witches have retaken both the northern and eastern gates, which were held by the four families. The First Army is clearing the remaining rebels within the city under Miss Sylvie’s guidance. Order should be restored by tomorrow morning.”

“Casualties?”

“Six injured among our men so far — all from the rifle battalion. Miss Nana has treated and discharged all of them.”

“And the Second Army?”

Brian hesitated. “Not fully counted yet, but the news isn’t good. Both platoons sent to support the city wall were defeated and scattered — they still haven’t been gathered. Of the fifty soldiers defending the castle, eleven were killed. The soldiers patrolling the city walls — almost none of them survived.”

Roland nodded. The militancy of this era wasn’t high. The fact that one hundred men had held for nearly two days was itself a feat. Defenders had the advantages of position, especially against an enemy lacking effective siege weapons. If the four families hadn’t brought firearms, the castle wouldn’t have been breachable by mercenaries and guards using flesh and willpower alone — which had been a design consideration from the beginning.

“Bring me some of the rebels’ weapons.”

The new hot weapons were what he actually wanted to examine. That this day would come was always foreseeable, from the moment gunpowder entered the world — but the speed of Timothy’s development had surprised him.

Iron Axe fulfilled the order quickly. A few minutes later, soldiers carried into the study an assortment of tube-like weapons in different lengths and shapes.

Roland turned them over in his hands.

These were not flintlocks in any meaningful sense. They had no triggers, no percussion devices. They were metal tubes with a deep end for loading powder and ball, a needle-like hole for ignition, and a wooden pole or bamboo handle inserted at the shallow end. The loading procedure was the same as a flintlock’s; the firing was more cumbersome, requiring the gunner to hold the pole under his armpit and ignite the powder with his free hand. Accurate aiming was impossible. You pointed it roughly forward and fired.

Still — undeniably a hot weapon. The launch principle was identical to a flintlock’s. The barrel and projectile were close enough in size that the power was far beyond a crossbow bolt. Armor would not stop it.

The variety of construction methods was visible in each piece. Some were rolled steel, with hammering marks across the body. Some were cast wrought copper and smooth. These were clearly test pieces sent to support the four families; whatever Timothy’s own forces carried would be more refined.

But even the most refined firearm was still a firearm.

The moment spring came and Roland moved, the Western Region’s revolving rifles, bolt rifles, and heavy machine guns would end any contest before it was properly started. King’s City had already lost this war; they simply didn’t know it yet.

He set the last piece down and looked at the four men before him.

“Starting tomorrow, the First Army will move through the suburban territories of Longsong Stronghold one by one. Any noble who resists can be killed on the spot. I want the entire Western Region unified within a week.”

“Yes, Your Highness!” All four answered together.

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