CH498 · Rewrite
☕ Support

Chapter 498: The Roland Gunboat

The return took Roland a full day, and by the time the Border Area appeared through the mist he ached through his spine and shoulders. He washed his face, brushed his teeth, and went directly to bed. He didn’t feel human again until noon the following day.

The next boat, he thought as he dressed, gets a soundproof cabin, a proper desk chair with cushioning, and an actual bed. Sitting for six hours on a vibrating hardwood stool next to a roaring steam engine is not a way to govern a territory.

The first thing he did in his office was call Barov Mons and Sirius Daly, the Ministers of Administration and Agriculture. There was under a week before the planned date of the spring offensive, but that front was in Iron Axe’s hands and Roland trusted it completely. What needed his attention was spring sowing. Grain in the ground meant grain in the granary, and grain in the granary meant he could prosecute a campaign without worrying about what he’d come home to.

“I saw seeds being offloaded at the Longsong pier,” he said. “With the Golden Ones supply in place, Longsong’s harvest this year should hold. But the Border Area is where we prove it. We’re the model—the proof that the system works, the example everyone else is supposed to follow. Tell me where we stand.”

Barov opened his ledger. “Among the first batch of promoted serfs, roughly thirty percent chose to continue farming. Adding the newly employed, the agricultural population stands at about ten thousand. At last year’s average yield, those ten thousand can feed forty to fifty thousand people—calculated at the official citizen grain quota, which already exceeds the bare subsistence level of other cities. If we calculate at minimum caloric need, the number rises by another twenty thousand.”

Sirius picked it up from there with the ease of a man who’d thought through every contingency. “Those figures draw on data from two years ago. This year is different—half the serfs, predominantly the newly hired, will plant the Golden Twos that Lady Leaf modified. I’ve seen it with my own eyes: a single wheat stalk producing that many ears of grain defies expectation. Additionally, over two thousand serfs are shifting to potatoes and corn this season, which makes yield projections difficult. As for the sowing itself, farmlands are being plowed now. The Crop Farming Brochure specifies three passes with compost worked into the soil—usually three to four weeks depending on labor and equipment. But the serfs from last year all rented iron tools through the winter, which should compress that timeline considerably. I’ve had apprentices stationed with the farmers explaining optimal ditch depth and seeding intervals.”

It was evident that the former Wolf Family knight had not treated his ministry appointment as a ceremonial office. He’d done the reading, done the math, considered the variables.

This era’s agricultural stagnation came down to a single false premise: that land ownership was all there was to farming. As long as you held the soil, you could afford to let it rest for years, bleed it slowly, expect modest returns. Now Neverwinter had controlled irrigation, composting, scientifically optimized planting, and seeds modified by a witch to produce yields that would have seemed miraculous to any previous generation. A third of thirty thousand people in agricultural production—that ratio was still too high. Roland wanted mechanized plowing equipment in service within a few years, animal- or engine-powered tools that would let him pull a larger fraction of that workforce into manufacturing and construction without sacrificing output. But the foundation was solid.

“Keep the momentum,” he said. “Everyone sent to Longsong should be documenting everything—we’ll need to replicate this elsewhere.”

After the meeting, Roland left the castle.


The dock on the Redwater River was quiet in the afternoon light. The ship Anna had built sat in the crossties where it had rested for two days now, hull freshly painted in gray-red anti-corrosion coating—a vessel roughly three times the length and breadth of a concrete boat, and entirely unlike one in every particular. No paddle wheels flanking the hull. A bridge rising six meters above the deck at the center, prominent and square against the sky. A broad side port nearly three meters wide on either side to house the boiler and engine within the hull. And at the forward position, waiting for installation: the 152mm cannon Roland had pulled down from the city wall.

He spotted Anna near the bow and crossed to her.

“How did it go?” He already suspected the answer from the fact that the ship was floating upright and all its parts appeared to be attached.

“Not smoothly.” She shook her head. “There were problems throughout—but I’ve resolved them.” She started counting on her fingers. “Side hull deformation: the steel plating was too thin, so I added internal carriages. Propeller seal leak: the gap between the casing and gear shaft was letting water through, so I fitted a drainage sleeve that catches the ingress and routes it to the bilge pump. Bridge tilt after welding: the weight distribution was uneven, corrected through structural adjustment. The gun platform was the most difficult.” She paused, organizing the explanation. “It couldn’t hold the cannon’s weight and recoil. I took inspiration from the revolver mechanism—I cut a row of indentations into the bottom ring and fitted a detent that seats between them, so the rotating gun carrier can be locked in any firing direction without the platform shifting.”

Roland looked at her for a moment.

“You’re a genius,” he said.

He wasn’t flattering her. The hull and propeller problems he could have solved himself—he’d sketched the solutions in his notebooks months ago. But the gun platform fix was the kind of lateral connection that only someone with a genuinely architectural sense of mechanical systems would make: looking at a revolver’s cylinder-locking mechanism and seeing the answer to a naval artillery mount. He hadn’t thought of it.

“Does the ship have a name yet?” Anna asked.

“Not yet.” He raised an eyebrow. “Why?”

“The soldiers from the First Army have been coming every few days. They want to carve their names into the bridge.” A smile. “They say you promised the best gunner could name a gunboat.”

“Ah.” Rodney, Nelson—he remembered the conversation, the competitive gleam in their eyes. “That applies to future ships. Not this one.” He looked at the vessel—the broad hull, the prominent bridge, the waiting cannon. The first warship Neverwinter had ever produced. “The name of the first warship doesn’t just belong to the ship. It sets the type designation, the class name, the standard everything after it will be measured against.” He tilted his head slightly. “I can’t give that honor to anyone else.”

He looked at the bridge.

“She’s the Roland. Number One.”

Discussion

Suggest a change