CH737 · Rewrite
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Chapter 737: The Leader

Roland knew it was speculation. All of it.

He could not build an argument from the underground civilization’s documents alone — the contents still required verification against too many unknowns. The civilization had believed they outlasted their competitors, but where were those competitors now? What had become of them? What about humanity itself — had witches appeared before the first Battle of Divine Will? Had magic sensitivity arrived early in human prehistory, in some ancestor still living in trees, or had it come later, a sudden mutation after an ancient victory that no one had recorded?

Maybe this world’s people had bypassed the long process of evolution entirely. Maybe humanity was what it was because it had already won something — and what it had won had changed it.

To answer those questions properly would require explorers of Thunder’s kind. Many of them. Working across generations.

But that was secondary. The primary fact was survival. The questions would still be there once the demons were defeated, and he believed they would be answered in time. He had always believed that — that every research question yielded eventually to sufficient money, manpower, and patience.

He looked at Pasha. “Before you moved the relic underground — had it been held by Starfall City all along?”

Now that he understood its importance, the relic’s security occupied his attention in a way it hadn’t before.

“Yes. The giant paintings make it impossible to bury the Divine Will and simply ignore it — anyone near it will perceive the deities regardless. So it must be kept by the most powerful witch organization available. During the Months of Demons, when magic power reaches its peak, the demonic beasts are drawn to it — which explains why they attacked Hermes with such concentrated fury in those months.” Pasha shifted her body aside as she spoke, and the scene through the curtain opened to show what lay behind her: two mounded heaps of demonic beast corpses, pale blue blood still running in thin rivulets across the stone floor. “After we learned Starfall City had suffered its decisive setback, we recovered the relic as quickly as we could. It is safe with us now.”

Wendy had gone pale at the sight. “How did you kill so many?”

“The Instrument of Divine Retribution strips its targets of magic power. Without that power sustaining them, these creatures die quickly.” Pasha described the mechanism briefly. “But the instrument only becomes a genuine weapon when activated by the Chosen One.”

Roland caught the critical word immediately. “Strips magic power — does that mean it causes no harm to creatures without magic? Can a God’s Stone of Retaliation interfere with it?”

“Neither. It acts directly on magic power itself. God’s Stones have no effect.”

An area of effect spanning over five thousand miles. No side effects on non-magical life. He had to admit it was an extraordinarily clean weapon. The start-up requirement, though — the Chosen One — remained a problem so fundamental that everything else was contingent on it.

Did the underground civilization ever actually field this weapon, or only theorize it? They lost their piece of the relic, which suggests they never successfully used it in time. They built something they couldn’t operate. That would be a very strange kind of tragedy — though “strange” might be the wrong word for a magic world.

He turned his attention to the broader picture. The underground civilization had developed advanced magical theory. The demons could cultivate diverse abilities. Humanity’s witches — by contrast — were a volatile, statistically unpredictable population: awakenings spread randomly through the common population, abilities appearing without pattern or plan, difficult to develop systematically, impossible to manufacture. Against the consistency and deliberate design of the other two, humanity seemed to be working at a disadvantage that would take generations to close.

And there was not much time.

He suspected that long before the Taquila survivors found another Chosen One — if they did — Neverwinter’s armies with their steel and powder would have gained the decisive advantage in the war. Magic power remained essential; he had no intention of abandoning research into it. But the two tracks needed to run simultaneously. New magical discoveries would increase what his industry could produce. Industrial growth would generate the resources that further magical research required. Each fed the other.

All research yielded, eventually, to sustained investment.

He set the glass down. “Pasha, thank you for telling me what you have today. The demons are plainly our common enemy, and we should pool everything we have against them.” He paused. “How would you feel about forming a united front — a formal alliance against the forces of Divine Will — as the framework for our ongoing cooperation?”

Pasha’s tentacles tapped the stone. “Agreed. Our only request is that you continue your policy of gathering witches. Every witch in Taquila wants to find the Chosen One among them. We will send another God’s Punishment Witch to bring you a new Five-Colored Stone.”

“I would continue that policy regardless. The witch organization in Graycastle will keep expanding.” He paused, and let the next thing settle before he said it. “However — I think you should consider moving. Closer to Neverwinter. Into the western mountains.”

The room shifted.

“Your Majesty?”

“What about the demonic beasts?”

Every witch in the reception hall was looking at him now — some with worry, some with something closer to alarm. Only Agatha’s expression held a different quality, something between recognition and unsurprise, as though she had been waiting for exactly this.

Roland held up a hand to quiet the room, then turned to Pasha again. “To be honest: I cannot agree with a plan that has you defending the relic on your own. If you lose it, every effort humanity has made becomes worthless. Demonic beasts are manageable. But without the defensive line at Hermes — are you confident you could withstand a coordinated demon assault? A surprise attack?”

The underground civilization had been eliminated, presumably, because they lost their relic. He was not willing to be in the position of learning from that lesson after the fact.

“If you were in the western mountains near Neverwinter,” he continued, “I could put an army in the field to support you within hours of an attack. The relic would be genuinely protected. That seems preferable to hoping the distance buys you enough warning.”

Celine’s voice, cool and precise: “If we convert the annihilation core, the demons become as easy to kill as demonic beasts.”

“No. The demons are not demonic beasts. They are more powerful, more intelligent, and they adapt. I can see from the pile of bodies behind you that those demonic beasts reached very close to your core region before they were stopped.” He noticed the small, involuntary stiffening of Pasha’s minor tentacles at that observation. “If a group of Mad Demons with throwing spears attacked you instead — how many of your magic cores would survive intact?”

“But—”

“If you don’t trust my protection, or you’re concerned about attracting demonic beasts to Neverwinter’s vicinity, we can place you on the side of the western mountains facing the Fertile Plains. I’ll build a road connecting your position to the city. I’ll be able to reach you when it matters.” He let a breath pass. “Trust is the foundation of any cooperation. Choosing a location that both parties regard as safe — that is the first act of mutual trust. Isn’t it?”

Pasha went silent. The tentacles of the blobs intertwined, moving rapidly together — communication happening through contact, through touch, in a language he couldn’t follow. He counted: seven minutes, perhaps eight, of that private deliberation.

Then the tentacles lowered.

“Before I give our answer,” Pasha said, “I have one question first.”

Roland waited.

“If we do form this united front of Divine Will — who leads it to fight against the demons?”

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