CH608 · Rewrite
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Chapter 608: Coldwind Ridge

Soli Daal walked through the broken gate of Coldwind Town’s castle feeling satisfied.

Three days — that had been the deadline Zero set. He had needed two days on the road and several minutes to end whatever resistance the town had offered. Resistance was generous. The perimeter fence could barely be called a wall. Two guards died on Judgement Warriors’ blades before the others dropped their weapons and fled. Three days to take Coldwind Ridge, and he had done it in the time allotted with room to spare.

Kingdom of Graycastle is nothing more than this.

One thing sat wrong. Halfway down the mountain, before the town was even in sight, smoke had begun rising from the Beacon Tower below. The timing was too precise for coincidence — someone had seen them coming, or known they were coming, and lit the fire. He had dispatched a squad to the Tower to arrest those responsible; they would be interrogated and hanged in due course.

The townspeople’s attitude toward a Holy City army troubled him more than the delay. They had treated these soldiers as enemies from the outset. That was sacrilege — systematic, premeditated. He intended to make a lesson of it.

“This way, my lord.” The guide was a Coldwind Ridge knight, his voice barely holding together. His hands were steady only because soldiers held swords at his sides. None of them had resisted; all of them had knelt and pledged alliance before the dust had settled. No conviction. No shame about their lack of it.

Soldiers without faith. Ugly, weak, hapless.

Compared with Judgement Warriors who knew what they fought for, they were barely worth the effort of contempt.

After cutting down several guards en route, the Judgement Army broke into the lord’s study and sealed the windows. Soli doubted the man had the spine to attempt an escape through a window — but he preferred not to give spinelessness the opportunity to accidentally produce something courageous.

He walked into the study.

The lord — Earl Kevan Matten, a heavyset man — was already slumped in his chair, his color the white of old candle wax. Soli had seen this before, many times. Fear did specific things to the body that years of fighting let you read the way other men read weather: the locked jaw, the shallow chest, the hands that gripped the armrests without purpose.

Kevan was being devoured by it. He would not convert it into anything useful.

“Good afternoon, Lord Kevan Matten.”

“How — how dare you — does Holy City intend to openly make war against Kingdom of Graycastle?”

Too late, Soli thought, the way a surgeon thinks too late when he reads a wound that was ignored too long. “You’ve known it was coming. Haven’t you?”

“No! I don’t know what you—”

“You drove grain prices up in this town and prevented merchants from trading with Holy City. Don’t tell me that was coincidence.” Soli settled into the nearest chair, unhurried. “The King of Graycastle wants Coldwind Ridge as a staging point for an attack on Hermes. Naturally, we counterattack before that can be completed. You can’t blame us for acting first.”

“This is a groundless accusation. No ambassador from Roland has ever come here. No orders. Nothing.”

Soli studied him. The denial was too insistent — but not the way guilty men denied. Most guilty men over-explained, added detail, filled silence with noise. Kevan was simply frightened, repeating himself, shrinking. “It doesn’t matter whether you admit it. His Holiness has methods for extracting whatever he needs from inside your head. It would be better for you to tell me now.”

“I’m an Earl of Graycastle. This violates the Agreement on the Months of the Demons—”

He waved a hand. Two Judgement Warriors took Kevan by the arms and dragged him out.

Alone in the study, Soli looked at the desk and the empty chair and felt the first faint edge of something wrong. Kevan had caved under fear — that was normal. But a man who had secretly coordinated grain price manipulation for the Western Region’s benefit, who had been running messages and supply chains under Holy City’s nose — that man would know why he was being interrogated, and would either confess quickly or resist with the stubbornness of someone who understood the stakes. Kevan had done neither. He had simply panicked.

Why would fear possess him so completely if he knew what he was guilty of?

The chief justice entered. “The granary has been sealed, my lord. But—”

“But what?”

“There isn’t much in it. Perhaps one or two months’ worth of food for the townspeople. Nothing close to what a large military force would need.”

Soli’s brow tightened. “Are you certain?”

“Pitsos searched every corner and questioned the keepers. They say no large grain shipments have arrived recently. What’s there is last year’s stock.”

“Then why were there reports of grain being purchased at high prices here?”

A pause. “I’ll question the merchants.”

“Do that. And what else?”

“The western garrison. Most of the rooms are empty — the border army was destroyed at Hermes, and no replacements have been recruited since.” The chief justice’s voice was carefully neutral. “Coldwind Ridge is not prepared for war. This contradicts the intelligence Zero supplied.”

Soli said nothing for a moment. Then: “There are church believers in every town. Find them. I want detailed accounts of everything that has changed in Coldwind Ridge over the past two months — from believers, from anyone who submitted voluntarily, from every Rat you can locate. Everything.”


The report landed on the desk the next morning, dense with gathered testimony.

Soli read through the first page. Two local merchants had been purchasing grain at elevated prices — accumulating as much as five thousand pecks, by their own accounts. He looked up. “You searched their homes?”

“Immediately,” the chief justice said. “We found grain — barely a hundred pecks total between both households, in their basements. And both houses were empty. They fled when the Beacon Tower lit.”

Soli set down the page. “Collusion.”

“It appears so. Only by coordinating with outside traders — selling to them visibly, then secretly having the grain returned — could they produce the appearance of large-scale accumulation.”

“Where were these traders coming from?”

“All across the Northern Region. Deepvalley Town, City of Evernight, Wuthering Castle. The high-price buying began a month ago. Initially it attracted little attention. As volume increased, it drew more merchants — which was, apparently, the intent.”

They created a false signal. Soli pushed the report aside and stared at the ceiling. They made us believe there was a large grain stockpile here, large enough to support a military campaign. They made us send forces to seize it early. “Where are these outside traders now?”

“In custody — but none of the organizers. Those who actually moved the grain are gone.”

Why would they do this? The grain deception had drawn Holy City’s attention to Coldwind Ridge — had provoked exactly this advance force, this early deployment. Is that the point? To pull us here before the main body is ready?

He skipped to the final pages.

Then stopped.

“The patrol guards on the Beacon Tower — it says here they’re dead?”

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