Inside Roland's office, the air was thick with the scent of dry parchment, iron gall ink, and the faint, lingering smell of coal smoke from the fireplace. The large oak desk, once used to sign trivial decrees and wine orders by the previous prince, was now buried under a mountain of new notes. Maps of Border Town were pinned down with heavy brass weights, displaying a bold, irregular line connecting the steep cliffs of the North Slope to the turbulent, gray banks of the Redwater River.
Roland leaned over the drafts, massaging his temples. His engineer's mind calculated volumes of stone, tons of limestone, and labor hours, but the math wasn't adding up. He had the "what" and the "how," but he lacked the "who." He needed a master builder, a master of stone who didn't just follow orders, but understood the essence of a structure. The pressure of the ticking clock — the impending Months of Demons — was a physical weight on his shoulders.
Arthur stood a few steps away, arms crossed, observing the prince's frustration. He knew exactly which piece was missing from that industrial puzzle.
— "Your Highness, a wall is only as strong as the man who oversees its foundations," Arthur commented, his voice calm and measured. — "To complete this project before the first snow, you need more than simple laborers. You need a master mason who understands the geometry of defense and, more importantly, someone who is truly committed to the work. Someone you can trust."
Roland looked up from the drawing of a kiln, tired but perceptive. — "Trust is a rarity in Border Town, Arthur. Most of these people look at me like I'm a wolf in sheep's clothing. Who are you thinking of?"
— "There is a man living among the commoners named Karl van Bate," Arthur said. — "He was once a leader of civil construction in the capital, a talented scholar who understands the principles of architecture. But he is more than just a builder, Roland. He is a man of conscience."
Roland leaned back, his interest piqued. — "A scholarly mason hiding in a mining town? Why him specifically? There must be others with experience."
— "Because Karl was Anna's teacher," Arthur revealed, watching Roland's expression shift. — "He taught her to read, to write, and to think. He was deeply saddened when the news of her 'execution' spread. If he sees that you not only spared her but protected her, his loyalty won't just be bought — it will be forged in iron. He is the missing piece to turn that gray cement into an impassable barrier."
Roland hesitated for a moment, weighing the risks of bringing another "outsider" into the castle's inner circle. But finally, he nodded and signaled for Commander Carter Lannis to fetch the man.
As soon as Carter left, a heavy silence hung over the office. Arthur walked toward the window, his eyes scanning the dark corners of the room. A sudden, inexplicable shiver ran down his spine. His pulse quickened. I know what to do now, he thought, his mind quickly reviewing his knowledge of the original timeline. I know about Nana Pine. I know she's a healing witch, and I know Roland is going to need her very soon to heal Brian and familiarize the army with witches.
He opened his mouth to speak, to tell Roland about the carpenter's daughter, but held back. He felt a strange sensation — a ripple in the air, as if the space around them was being watched by an invisible eye.
No, Arthur thought, narrowing his eyes as he noticed a flicker of shadow near the bookshelf. I don't know exactly when Nightingale arrived to inspect the castle. Right at this very moment, she could be standing right there, hidden in the Mist World, watching us. If I reveal too much — if I start listing witches who haven't even been discovered yet — I'll look like a Church inquisitor or a high-ranking spy to her. I can't risk Nightingale thinking I'm a threat to her sisters. Better to let events run their natural course.
Ten minutes later, the heavy door creaked open. Carter Lannis returned, followed by a middle-aged man whose clothes were stained with stone dust and whose hands were covered in calluses. Karl van Bate entered the room with stooped shoulders, his gaze fixed on the floor. He looked like a man walking to the scaffold, expecting the worst from a prince with a reputation for cruelty and decadence.
However, upon crossing the threshold, Karl froze. The air seemed to escape his lungs in a sharp gasp.
There, beside the prince's desk, stood a young woman with vibrant red hair. She wasn't chained. She wasn't crying. She was holding a set of technical drawings, handling the delicate papers with a serene dignity and concentration that he had never seen in a prisoner.
— "But how... Anna?" Karl's voice cracked, a fragile mix of terror, disbelief, and a sudden, overwhelming hope.
Anna looked up from the blueprints. A soft gleam appeared in her usually stoic blue eyes. — "Master Karl," she replied with a short, respectful nod.
Karl's legs gave out. He didn't drop out of royal protocol or fear; he collapsed in pure shock. He looked at her, then at Roland, and then back at Anna. The crushing weight of guilt he had carried since her arrest — the conviction that he had failed his favorite student — seemed to shatter instantly. In that moment, he realized that the rumors in the town square were wrong. This prince was not serving the Church; he was defying it.
— "Your Highness... I thought... everyone said..." Karl stammered, his eyes welling up with tears as he looked at Roland with a newfound, trembling reverence. — "If you are protecting her... if you kept her safe from the gallows... then what you are doing here is more important than any wall. Know that it's not just Anna... there is another. Another student of mine, little Nana, the carpenter's daughter... she has also shown signs. I've been trying to hide her, keep her away from the guards, but..."
Roland exchanged a long, meaningful look with Arthur. Arthur simply nodded in silence, masterfully feigning surprise at the revelation, even though his heart was pounding against his ribs.
— "We will speak of the girl shortly, Karl," Roland said, his voice firm but surprisingly gentle. He gestured for the mason to rise and join them at the table. — "But right now, I need your hands and your mind. We have the cement — a material that hardens like stone itself. We have the limestone from the North Slope. And we have exactly three months before the monsters arrive. Show me how we are going to build the bridge between those mountains and the river. Show me how we are going to build a future for everyone in this town."
Karl stood up, wiping his eyes with his dusty sleeve. The apprehension had vanished, replaced by the burning fervor of a builder who had finally found a cause worth dying for. Over the next few hours, the four of them — the Prince from another world, the transmigrator with forbidden knowledge, the master mason, and the witch of fire — pored over the maps. They discussed foundations, calculated the slope of the terrain, and traced the line of a structure that would forever change the destiny of Graycastle.
Outside, in the castle courtyard, William continued his arduous physical training, his sword slicing through the autumn air as he pushed his body to the limit. He was the shield, but inside the office, the sword was being forged.
And, in the invisible gray mist of a parallel dimension, a pair of watchful eyes observed every movement. Nightingale stood mere inches from the table, her hand resting on the hilt of her dagger, her breath held. She watched the unlikely alliance grow stronger, her initial suspicion slowly turning into a confused, hopeful admiration. The Prince was truly protecting them. The world was changing, and for the first time, the witches of the Association were not the only ones fighting for a place to belong.