CH738 · Rewrite
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Chapter 738: Only One Leader

Roland paused. The question had caught him slightly off-angle, and for a moment he studied Pasha through the curtain with the same attention he imagined she was directing at him.

“It sounds as though you have something more to say,” he said, and allowed himself a small smile.

Pasha’s tentacles settled. “This united front concerns the survival of every human being. We believe decisions of that weight should receive full deliberation. To that end — the survivors of Taquila suggest a co-governance mechanism. All major decisions would be made jointly by the heads of the most powerful groups, through negotiation. This approach would reduce the risk of catastrophic misjudgment and ensure that every party’s interests are represented.”

He considered it. “A triumvirate of sorts. Like the Three Chiefs.”

“The Three Chiefs system was one version of it, yes. But given the current breadth of forces involved, something larger might serve better — including the Four Kingdoms and the major witch organizations. In the early days of the Union, eleven leaders shared military planning at a roundtable.”

He had to acknowledge the move for what it was. Clever, and understandable. Under a co-governance structure, the Taquila survivors would secure a seat at the table regardless of whatever he built or how quickly he built it. They held the magic core instruments inherited from the underground civilization. They commanded more than a hundred God’s Punishment Witches, each battle-hardened across decades of fighting demonic beasts. They had fought demons longer than any living organization. In any council of peers, they would be peers in a way that the other kingdoms and witch groups — who had nothing comparable — simply were not.

He understood why they wanted this. Not because they intended to dominate or to overthrow anyone. They wanted to protect themselves. Every organization joining a larger entity wanted that first — a guarantee that its voice would count, that it could not simply be outvoted into irrelevance and absorbed.

The old Roland — the prince newly arrived in Border Town, still finding his feet, still working out how to survive — would have accepted this. It was a reasonable price for bringing the Taquila survivors to the table.

But that was not where he stood now.

“An interesting proposal,” he said, with a calm he felt entirely. “But the united front will not adopt co-governance. It will have one leader. That is me.” He let it sit there, plainly stated, without qualification. “This is the most efficient and reliable structure available.”

Modesty had its place. This was not one of them.

He was the only person in this world who understood what industrialization meant — not as an abstraction but as a system, a sequence of dependencies, a chain of manufacturing capabilities that had to be built in a specific order to build the next thing in the next order. To see Neverwinter through that process, he needed every administrative organ to move in the same direction at the same time. Every order issued by City Hall had to reach every subject. Every resource had to be allocated according to plan and nothing else. A co-governance structure — in which he would have to argue each major decision before a council of other policymakers, explain, justify, negotiate, compromise — would introduce a delay into that system that could not be corrected later.

The silence in the reception hall had a particular texture: the silence of people recalibrating.

He let them do it, then continued: “The united front exists to ensure we fight together against the demons. I am not asking you to formally join it at this moment. What I am asking is that you move to the Western Region first — that we build genuine mutual trust before asking you to commit to anything. Oral agreements are fragile. What you see on the ground will tell you more.”

One of the blobs shifted. “What would we be seeing?”

“Our strength. Our determination. The current situation of every organization in or around the united front, and those outside it. Once you’ve seen that, you can make your decision. And if you choose not to join — we can still cooperate. On research. On the search for the Chosen One. I will not interfere with your internal affairs.”

Celine’s voice, precise and direct: “You wouldn’t object if we retained the relic and the magic core? Not placed them under your control?”

“No. I have never planned to defeat the demons by depending on the instruments you found in the maze. What matters is that the relic is somewhere safe. As long as that condition is met, I have no claim on it.” He paused. “The search for the Chosen One and the protection of the relic — those are the first steps of mutual trust. Everything beyond that we can take one stage at a time.”

Alethea’s cold voice emerged from a silence it had maintained for some time. “I will grant that you are an uncommon man, for a common one. But have you considered the risk of holding sole leadership? If the Battle of Divine Will stretches across decades, and you age and weaken in that time — how do you ensure that your successors share your will? A co-governance structure exists precisely to prevent this failure of succession.”

It was the sharpest objection in the room. He felt the weight of it.

“I don’t believe that will be a problem. I won’t speculate on how long the war lasts, but I expect my life to outlast all of yours combined.” He knew it was a claim that needed support, not just assertion — ancient witches were not easily bluffed. He explained the Soul Battlefield, what had happened when Zero fell, what he understood — and didn’t fully understand — about the strange inheritance he might carry. Several other witches added their accounts. He watched the blobs listen.

When he finished, the silence stretched.

The tentacles of the blobs wove together — not in the rapid, urgent communication of before, but in something slower and more deliberate. The scales across their bodies shifted from grayish-brown to reddish-brown. A heated internal discussion, expressed entirely through touch and color.

He waited.

The tentacles lowered.

Pasha’s voice came with a formality he hadn’t heard from her before. “I understand. We will need at least a month to make the preparations for moving. The quantity of materials involved is substantial.” A pause. “We will need building supplies. One cave will not be sufficient for everything we require — we intend to build a proper palace and a laboratory within the western mountains.”

Roland looked at her. “You intend to build underground? How?”

He had been planning to ask Lotus to connect existing caves in the western mountains — a reasonable accommodation for people whose bodies required neither comfort nor sunlight. But a proper palace. A laboratory. Underground construction was difficult work even with ideal conditions: wet, dark, the ground unpredictable, materials hard to move. He had not anticipated they would be aiming at something that ambitious.

Pasha said: “We have a devouring worm. It is a large shell in the form of a creature — it was what we used to enter the City of Glow in the Kingdom of Dawn. It handles the digging.”

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