Rewrite That Witch
CH960 · Rewrite
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Chapter 960: New Enemies Spotted

In the days following the train’s demonstration, Neverwinter ran hot with enthusiasm.

Roland felt it even inside the castle—not as an impression but as fact, drawn from City Hall’s report. The numbers had a warmth of their own, even on paper.

Barov arrived with the document in hand, unable to keep the satisfaction from his voice. “Applications for citizenship in the past three days are sixty percent above normal. Half of those applicants—approximately seven hundred and twenty-five people—have been in Neverwinter for less than two months. Which means we collected in three and a half months what would ordinarily take five. The slight dip after the demons’ attack has not only been offset—it’s been surpassed. The demonstration, Your Majesty, is an unqualified success.”

Since Roland introduced data statistics and comprehensive analysis to the city’s management, Barov had developed a habit of quantifying everything. More numbers found their way into every report, in more and more detail. A conclusion without comparison had, in his view, ceased to be a conclusion at all. He had even invented his own analytical formulas—one of them he called “period between the Arrived and the Settled.”

The formula measured how long newcomers took to apply for citizenship after arriving. The shorter the average period, Barov reasoned, the more committed the migrants were—and the stronger their faith in their king and his city.

Roland read it differently. He had never trusted the loyalty of strangers on principle. They might hold genuine feeling, but ultimately what most people weighed was whether their own welfare was secure. At any time, in any kingdom, it was rational to side with the stronger party—which meant that demonstrating strength at the right moment was the most efficient form of governance. The train had been precisely that: not because most people understood what it was, but because the sheer size of it, the weight, the cylinder’s roar traveling down cobbled streets and through open windows, communicated something that required no explanation.

Even Thunder had been arrested by it. The locomotive pushing through the railway near the Castle District—steadily, as if the rails were simply the shape the ground had always intended to take—had stopped the most celebrated explorer in the Fjords in his tracks. Thunder had joked that when he was too old for the sea, he’d move his whole family here. Neverwinter was itself a kind of adventure, always producing something new to bewilder you.

If it could awe Thunder, what it had done to ordinary people was beyond calculating.

Where else would they find a place like this?

“We’ve also received invitations from several merchant groups,” Barov continued, “some from the Chambers of Commerce in Redwater and Silverlight. They’re asking urgently for an audience. I expect they want information about the train.”

“Decline all of them,” Roland said, with a slight smile. “The train is not for sale at present—and they couldn’t afford it even if I were willing. Steer them toward other goods instead: the first- and second-generation steam engines being retired from the mining area. Offer those.”

Neverwinter was no longer a struggling border town. Not every Chamber of Commerce merited Roland’s personal attention, and for those without a prior connection, Barov himself was sufficient to receive them.

“Understood.” Barov touched his beard.

“While spirits are running high,” Roland said, shifting subjects, “let’s begin the new reserve force system.”

Barov nodded. “I think the timing is right. But—Your Majesty, do you truly believe the war will go that badly?”

“It’s a precaution. In a war that determines the fate of every living person, how could we be too serious about it?”

After returning from the front, Roland had ordered the General Staff to draft the reserve force system. It had two elements: military education and training, and expansion of the reserve itself. Military education would enter the primary schools—instilling basic discipline and combat awareness in students from an early age. Reserve expansion would proceed without disrupting production, training people in batches across a range of fighting skills. A militia, but systematized and mandatory.

Mandatory meant the current surge of public enthusiasm was the ideal moment to begin. Once running, Graycastle’s military would become self-sustaining: when the front needed men, the rear could send them immediately, instead of waiting through the two or three months of training that had been required each time before.

Roland was also planning to recall the Second Army from the Longsong District, where the threats from Timothy and the Church were now neutralized. The previous two-pronged attack on Neverwinter had clarified the gap: a second army was not a luxury. When the Battle of Divine Will came, he could not afford to stand on every front personally.

“Meanwhile, begin preparing for the next conscription,” he said. “When the Months of Demons are over, I want official troop strength above ten thousand, with equipment fully matched to the count. Is that clear?”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” Barov said, without hesitation.

“Good. You may—” Roland stopped. Something tightened at the corner of his mouth.

“Is there something else?” Barov turned at once.

But Roland’s attention had already shifted to Nightingale’s voice, low and precise at his shoulder: “News from Sylvie. She’s spotted new movement from the demons. The Devilbeasts have expanded their patrol area. They appear to be building a new camp.”

Outside, the autumn sunlight lay across the city without a cloud to interrupt it—and inside the study, something went cold.

“Call them back immediately,” Roland said quietly—then, louder, to Barov: “Convene a full meeting of department heads. Something has changed in the north.”

The meeting room filled quickly. The air in it was different from a moment ago—it had the tightened quality of a room full of people not yet sure what they’re afraid of.

Sylvie, who had never sat in a gathering like this, held herself with the careful stillness of someone uncertain how much space she was allowed to take. Lightning appeared beside her and helped carry the account.

It had been a routine patrol.

The threat of flying Devilbeasts had led Roland to prohibit Lightning, Maggie, and Lorgar from approaching the Taquila relic area alone. But surveillance couldn’t stop. Every four days, Maggie carried Sylvie out to survey the edge of demon territory—close enough to observe, far enough to remain outside detection range. The phantom instrument lacked the precision to track targets reliably; the witches made up for its failings.

With Sylvie’s Eye of Magic, they could watch from distances no Devilbeast could match. The arrangement had felt secure.

This time, a trail of Devilbeasts had appeared inside what they had considered a perfectly safe distance.

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