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Chapter 666: The Good and Bad News

A week later, Roland returned to the border area from Longsong Stronghold.

Barov was waiting in the castle hall with the first piece of good news, delivered with the contained satisfaction of a man who has organized something difficult and knows it.

“Your Majesty, the astrologers arrived in Neverwinter three days ago. Three hundred and twelve people in total—nine astrologers, their apprentices, and the families. I’ve housed the nine senior astrologers in the Foreign Affairs Building and put the rest in the reception area for now.”

“They’re finally here.” Roland thought for a moment. “Arrange a welcome gathering in the square this evening. I want the people of Neverwinter to know they have a new school in the city.”

As with alchemy, astrology commanded genuine respect among the general population. It had always been the province of king’s cities—the kind of institution that announced a place’s seriousness. With the Astrology Association relocating to the western region, Neverwinter’s claim to be the new center of the kingdom became harder to dismiss.

But the association’s symbolic value was not the reason Roland had invited them. What he actually needed were their minds. For this era, astrologers stood at the very front of mathematical practice—calendar analysis, orbital calculation, the kind of sustained numerical work that required both discipline and facility. Feed them proper mathematics, and they would become something the kingdom had never had: a corps of trained calculators, capable of handling the computations that lay ahead. Railway surveys. Ship design. Artillery tables for the Longsong Cannon. All of it required calculation on a scale that one mind, however capable, could not provide.

“A School of Mathematics,” he said. “That’s what I intend to build around them. Sustained observation of the Star of Extinction can continue on the side, but the core of their work will be computation.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.” Barov nodded, and then ventured: “If I may ask—the Longsong inspection…”

“Encountered problems.” Roland saw no reason to conceal anything from the City Hall director. “The secondary City Hall is already showing signs of corruption and negligence. Scroll found falsified accounts, and two officials from the original border area batch were arrested.”

Barov went still. “Were they my students?”

Roland kept his face neutral. The wariness behind the question was perfectly understandable, and the loyalty it implied—a man anxious that his own people had failed—was, in its way, reassuring. “Even if they were, I wouldn’t hold it against you. Rest easy.”

“Your Majesty is wise,” Barov said quickly. “Are they from the original border area?”

“The second graduating cohort. They passed the assessment, entered City Hall, were transferred to Longsong with the team—and in less than a year.” Roland exhaled. “Less than a year.”

The arithmetic was depressing. City Hall had taken years to develop the administrative class it now possessed. One half had grown out of the Longsong area, trained on the Border Town model, supplemented by the local nobility—Honeysuckle Petrov, Elk Rene, a handful of minor lords—who had proven flexible enough to serve. Another batch had gone to Fallen Dragon Ridge, helping Countess Spear maintain order while establishing a secondary City Hall framework. Scholars from the Northern Region, brought back by Edith Kant, were learning the system. He’d already allocated people toward the Southernmost Region.

And none of them were easy to replace.

It was officials who actually carried out his will that were the rarest resource in the kingdom—rarer than iron, rarer than engineers. Without them as a foundation, it didn’t matter how much territory he held; he couldn’t concentrate the kingdom’s resources, couldn’t deliver his policies to the places where they needed to land. The witches could advance science. He couldn’t produce grass-roots administrators out of nothing.

Sub-aristocrats were useless for this—in the feudal imagination, the entire world contracted to the small patch of land one happened to occupy, and anything beyond it was an imposition. Every person with genuine administrative experience was irreplaceable, and he’d expected to lose a few over time, as any organization inevitably did. He had not expected to lose them so quickly, or to find that commoners, once given power, could fail as readily as nobles born to it.

“Those who violate the law…”

“Have all been dealt with severely,” Roland said. “To set an example.”

That would buy a few years. Nightingale and Scroll’s presence preserved the integrity of what remained. But he knew this couldn’t be the only mechanism—the moment it became the only one, the organization’s health would depend entirely on the witches who policed it, which was its own vulnerability.

“Summon all of City Hall to the castle hall tomorrow morning. I’ll address them personally—on discipline, on responsibility, and on what the coming years require.”

Rewards and punishments would make the calculus clear. These people needed to know what choosing correctly looked like, and what the alternative cost.

“Yes, Your Majesty.” Barov bowed and withdrew.

Roland watched him go. The old director had grown into the role over years in a way that made him increasingly difficult to replace as well—he pursued authority with genuine enthusiasm, but he used it well, and Roland suspected that in whatever future City Hall eventually took shape, Barov might be the only one capable of holding his own against Edith Kant.

That was a problem for another year. He reached for his tea.


The second piece of good news came from Wendy.

“Evelyn’s ability has evolved.”

Roland set down the cup. He hadn’t expected that. Evelyn’s magic indicators had always been moderate and balanced—not the profile that typically produced early breakthroughs. That she was the first from Sleeping Island to achieve an advancement was genuinely surprising.

“Yes—Agatha has confirmed it.” Wendy hesitated. “But the evolved ability is… strange. I’m not entirely sure how to describe it.”

“Bring her to my office.”


Evelyn arrived on the third floor of the castle carrying several glass bottles, each one filled with liquid of a different color. She wore the look of someone who had arrived to report a problem.

“Her magic power looks like a grey ball,” Nightingale murmured from beside Roland’s ear—she had materialized without ceremony, as she always did—“but the shape isn’t fixed. It keeps shifting.”

“What’s her total?” Roland asked.

“The improvement is solid. Somewhere between Soraya and Maggie, currently.”

He nodded and looked at Evelyn. “What’s in the bottles?”

“Drinks I’ve made with the new ability. Over these past few days.” She set them on the desk with the careful movements of someone handling results she doesn’t fully trust. “They all taste different. I have no control over what comes out. The only consistency is that they can all be drunk.”

“Drinks?”

He found three cups and poured from each bottle in turn.

The first was a pale blue. He sipped it and paused. The taste was something between fruit juice and a cold mountain spring—clean, layered, with a quality of freshness that seemed almost structural rather than simply pleasant.

Just drinkable? The description she’d given was not adequate.

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