Vol 4, Chapter 16

"Your fortifications are a joke," Erin said, angrily crossing her arms.

"Yes, yes," I replied absentmindedly, turning a piece of metal in my hands. At that moment, thanks to our horned ally, an interesting valve design had come to mind. I needed to bring it to life before I forgot it...

"Are you even listening to me?" Her irritated voice echoed across the office, where I had retreated right after greeting her squad.

"Of course, of course," I muttered, molding the metal. A few seconds, and done. Now there were just a couple of questions left. First: what kind of magazine should I make? Tubular, detachable, or clip-loaded?

What volume should the receiver be, and where to place it?

Then again, I could just keep it simple and do it like the father of pneumatics, the Girardoni rifle: a large tank that also functioned as a stock. For example, something like this...

I began pulling an oval tank from the steel when I heard the unmistakable rasp of a sword being drawn.

"I see you haven't trained at all since we last met. That needs to change." Erin's voice was overly friendly, but the irritation in it rang like steel.

"Trust me, I'm listening to you carefully. By the way, what were you saying?"

The valve snapped into place. Of course, I still had to tune its parameters, but I'd do that during testing.

Thud.

A sword plunged into the wooden desk, punching straight through the thick tabletop. Half-finished components bounced in place, and a couple of fan blade prototypes clattered to the floor.

"Don't get on my nerves."

I sighed and rubbed my aching temples. The detailed image of pneumatic rifles that had just filled my mind faded, slipping back into the depths of memory. Damn it. She wouldn't let me finish it anyway.

I set aside the unfinished air rifle.

"I'm listening."

"That's the fifth time you've said that."

"Now I'm really listening."

"And that's the second time you've said that," she snapped.

I raised my hands and looked into her angry eyes.

She was silent for nearly a minute, then just as silently pulled the sword out of the desk and sheathed it.

The room fell silent again.

Great. Now I'm listening and she's not speaking. Like a cat meowing in the middle of the night until you get up and open the door, and then just sits in the doorway staring at you, not going anywhere.

"Alright, sorry I wasn't listening. As you can see, I was a little busy..."

"Busy?" she exploded. "I rode here for days on end, and what do I see upon arrival? You sitting and tinkering with toys instead of frantically fortifying our defenses! Do you even understand the situation we're in? Right now, a strike force from all of the Marquis's lands is gathering against you. Every day I receive reports of new units joining his army. They're up to four thousand. About half of them are trained soldiers. This isn't just a bunch of peasants herded off the fields, it's a real army. Ognevka won't be able to feed that many idlers for long, which means they'll attack soon. What are you going to counter them with? A thousand peasants who don't know which end of a spear to hold?"

"According to the latest count, nearly fifteen hundred," I inserted during a brief pause.

Musket production was ongoing, but there was a problem: most of the troops hadn't even learned to march in formation without dissolving into a disorganized mob. Not that they'd been trained much in that anyway.

In current conditions, I found it more important to teach them to shoot and reload. They were going to spend the entire battle in trenches and redoubts anyway, so formation wasn't all that critical. We weren't launching a charge, after all.

"Fifteen hundred peasants?"

"No, there are also the mercenaries who swore loyalty from Hornet's former unit," I smiled, waving my hand to dismiss the issue.

"How many?" she demanded.

"About three hundred..." I admitted.

"Are they at least cavalry?"

"Mmm, no."

Erin sighed heavily, dragged a chair to my desk, and collapsed into it.

"So that makes about two thousand fighters against our three hundred infantry and thirty knights. We're doomed."

Oddly enough, she didn't look crushed—more like someone momentarily overwhelmed by the scale of the task ahead, but not about to give up.

"Hey, you didn't count the others!" I protested.

"Just like I didn't count the militia from Short's side either. Their impact on the battle won't be decisive, even if the marquis has been generous with equipment. These aren't professional troops. Even mercenaries have more fighting spirit — and let me tell you, mercenaries always run the moment the scales tip against them. The problem is, we need to make the scales tip first. Given their numbers, convincing them they're losing won't be easy."

"Ahem," I smiled.

That, at least, wasn't a problem. A good volley into a crowd convinces anyone things are going badly. The real challenge was how to finish off the fleeing enemy. Given their numerical superiority, that would be tough. And if their core force survived, we'd be back to square one, which I wanted to avoid at all costs.

Noticed my smile, Erin snatched the unfinished rotor off the table and hurled it at me. Ouch. That hurt...

"What are you grinning at? Lost your mind now that you realize the scale of the problem? Get a grip and write an order granting me ownership of the peasants. I need workers. We must begin constructing the earthwork wall and expanding the trenches immediately, since you clearly don't know how to do it!" She stomped her foot in frustration.

"That was the plan all along. A wall is fine, sure, but encircling the city would take months..."

"Months? Years! Unless you hire mages, of course... But I'm talking about a temporary earth wall. That won't take much time at all!"

"An earth wall won't support the weight I need."

"What, are you planning to mount chimeras on top?" the aristocrat snorted and pulled a sheet and inkpot toward her.

"You got a clean one?" she grumbled, seeing that the page was covered front and back with sketches and diagrams.

I silently handed her a blank sheet. She dipped the fountain pen into the ink and began to draw. I was about to tell her it was already filled with ink... But never mind.

"Here, look. Set logs vertically along the edge of the trench, nail or tie them together. Deepen and widen the trench, use the soil for a rampart. You can install stakes at the bottom or flood it with water. That's it. We have a relatively decent fortification. Not a castle wall, sure, but better than whatever you built!" She handed me a surprisingly competent sketch. Cute. I didn't know she could draw.

"Got the idea? Now look at the problem with your current trenches..." With quick strokes, she drew a horse leaping over a trench.

"First, they're too narrow. A rider can just jump them. Second, if you plan to station infantry inside, don't. I admit, the idea that a rider would be too high to hit a soldier in the trench, while the footman could slash the horse's legs—that's interesting. But most of your enemies are on foot. Taking up positions lower than your opponent is just foolish—basic military knowledge. The one who holds the high ground always has the advantage!"

She sketched a soldier in a trench getting his head split with an axe. Reaching for the inkpot again, she froze and eyed the pen suspiciously.

"Did you enchant this thing? Why isn't the ink running out?"

"Doesn't matter," I waved it off.

"You're right, it doesn't. What matters is that we start the work immediately. We're short on time." She slapped her ink-stained palm down on the page.

I paused to think. Essentially, she was proposing to increase the height of the palisade. Why not? Say, for the third line of defense. Otherwise, I didn't see much use. Embrasures and palisades allowed soldiers to fire from trenches, but the trenches themselves were more for safely moving between redoubts and bunkers, which were my main focus. That's where I had placed the heavy weapons, within reinforced concrete fortifications. Their firepower was supposed to win the battle for us. And now, thanks to the fallen soldiers' armor from Short's army, we had even more guns.

This time, I wasn't hoping the enemy simply wouldn't reach us. Fields of fire had been calculated precisely, and even the fortifications were built so we could throw in reserves and retake them if captured. For example, our bunkers had no walls on the rear side! That would also help the gunners not suffocate after the first shot...

So yes, the defenses were still under construction, but I was already fairly satisfied.

"I think I'll implement this on the third line," I said, sketching a terraced wall like a rice paddy, each step holding its own redoubts.

"That's nonsense. Why? Better to pile up a single high wall!" Erin glanced at the drawing and grimaced. "You know, Randall... I've met plenty of stubborn nobles who'd rather die than admit they were wrong. I thought you weren't one of them, but it seems..."

A knock at the door cut her off.

"Come in," I called, and Mira stepped into the office.

"Ran, I came to tell you... oh, you're not alone?" The girl's ears, hidden beneath her scarf, twitched slightly.

"Who is this? And why is she armed inside the city walls?" Erin asked suspiciously, examining our guest.

And there was plenty to examine: Mira had put on a new dress and strapped on the rapier I'd given her, which she usually kept in her chest. Huh. Why pretend to be surprised by Erin's presence? With her hearing, she couldn't have missed it...

"My assistant," I answered amicably, though the room suddenly grew tense.

"And what does she assist you with?"

"With everything," Mira said with a suggestive tone, approaching our table. "The workers say the school is ready, and the first lessons can begin tomorrow. Would you like to inspect it personally? In case something was overlooked..."

"He would not," Erin scoffed. "We don't have time for this nonsense!"

"Excuse me, Mademoiselle, but the Lord decides for himself how to spend his time," Mira proclaimed grandly, and the hem of her dress swayed slightly, catching the aristocrat's eye.

"Have you both gone mad? The city is about to be attacked, and you're talking about schools instead of reinforcing the defenses? Get out!"

Already in a bad mood, this was the last straw for Erin.

"You have no r-right to give me or-r-rders," Mira growled, hand on the hilt of her rapier.

Agitated, the catgirl lost her temper and slipped into a snarl—something she usually avoided, especially in front of strangers.

The world froze, and everything moved in a blur.

In a single moment, Erin, still seated, drew her sword and struck. The lengthened blade flashed in the sunlight, slicing off Mira's headscarf, and a lock of hair along with it. In the same instant, Mira countered with a thrust to the chest.

It was faster than the aristocrat expected, and sitting gave her no room to dodge. At the last second, she parried the blade with her Gift, but its incredible sharpness still cut through the doublet. Another heartbeat.

The sword knocked the rapier from Mira's hand and swung forward.

Bang!

Finally, I reacted.

In the confined room, the gunshot was as deafening as artillery. My ears rang. Maybe from the shot, maybe from the sword, sent flying into the wall alongside the rapier by the bullet.

"Enough! What the hell are you two doing?" I barked, throwing open the window to let out the powder smoke.

Mira pinned her ears back, while Erin shook her injured arm, using her other hand to cover her chest, larger than her doublet had suggested...

"What is that creature?" Erin asked with disgust, pointing at Mira's cat ears.

"My trusted assistant," I answered curtly.

"So you're not even surprised? A pity. If you had lied and claimed you never noticed anything strange about her, I might have believed you."

"Strange? There's nothing strange about her. She was just unfortunate enough to fall into the hands of chimerologists. That's why she looks like this."

"You think they just sewed ears on her?" Erin hissed, nearly matching Mira. "A human can't be that fast. She's not human, she's a beast."

"You're just mad I nearly got you," Mira huffed. Her tail flicked irritably under her dress.

I set the revolver down on the table and stepped between them.

"Alright, that's enough. She's more human than some aristocrats I know."

"Spoken like someone who doesn't act like an aristocrat himself," Erin snapped.

"And why would you care whether I do or not?"

Silence hung in the air. Erin didn't have an answer. She simply wrapped her slashed doublet tighter.

"Your habit of picking up stray kittens off the street doesn't impress me," she said finally.

"Good. I don't do it to impress you," I snorted.

Turning to Mira, I caught her sticking her tongue out at Erin. Very mature.

Flick!

"Ow!" she yelped, rubbing her forehead after a well-deserved flick.

"Behave."

"Sorry..."

Meanwhile, Erin called her weapon back. The sword returned to its sheath, and she handed the rapier back to Mira.

"Raise that blade against me again, and I'll kill you."

"You started it," Mira growled.

"You have no right to carry a rapier anyway, peasant," Erin scoffed.

"Enough, both of you. And don't try to kill each other behind my back, or I'll shoot whoever survives," I said sternly, though they clearly saw through the bluff.

Another knock on the door.

"Come in," I sighed.

Tamilla entered the office. Hopefully she wasn't about to add to the drama.

"The newly arrived knights are unhappy with the barracks and want you to intervene."

"Wait, you ordered them to the barracks?" Erin frowned.

"Yeah," I shrugged.

"What is wrong with you? You should've assigned each of them a house and a servant from among the townsfolk. How can you expect the nobles to treat you with respect if you treat them like commoners?"

"Trust me, the barracks are quite decent. We hauled every mattress we found in the burgomaster's house over there. I doubt any soldiers have ever slept so luxuriously in a barracks."

"Why? If you had an available house, you should've placed them there."

"Nope. The house is occupied."

"By whom?"

"The school."

Erin slapped her own face.

Another knock. What was this, an open house?

"Come in," I growled.

Til entered, and the office became crowded.

"Two updates. First, a large caravan has appeared on the horizon, coming from the capital. Looks like the specialists you warned us about. Second, a suspicious man tried to get past the checkpoint into the city. When the guards questioned him, he tried to run, and... well, we shot him."

"Why didn't you take him alive?" Erin cut in. "He could've been one of Short's spies. We could have learned something useful from an interrogation."

"Apologies, my Lady," Til mumbled. "He ran very fast."

"Erin, I'm in charge here. He's dead, and that's that. So. The caravan, how far?"

"At their current pace, they'll arrive by evening. They're crawling like snails."

"Got it. Since the spy's already dead, let's deal with the knights first, then them."

Til bowed and exited, and I turned back to Erin.

"Tell me, what is your problem?"

She leaned back in the chair, visibly tired.

"Our shared problem is sitting in the next city, gathering an army. I rushed here as fast as I could, fell behind the baggage train, slept by a campfire, and you're not even taking this seriously. So tell me, what's your problem? Are you waiting for a miracle? For them to forget about magical protection again, and for another archmage-level scroll to magically appear under your desk?"

I walked up and touched her shoulder, but she brushed my hand off.

"Don't even try."

Still, I placed my hands on her shoulders again and began massaging. At first, she was about to push them away, but then she gave in. Likely decided that after days of hard riding, this was the lesser evil, and finally relaxed.

"So, my grandfather told you about how Short lost his first army?"

"Yes, he sent a letter," she said wearily.

"And when you rode into the city, did you pay any attention to the soldiers' weapons?" I asked with a hint.

She hesitated.

"I was more focused on the fortifications. Looked like short spears or something?"

"Not even close. So, he told you about the scroll?"

"Yeah," she yawned. "Still no idea where you even got it..."

I squeezed her shoulders, making her wince.

"There was no scroll."

"What?"

Her drowsiness vanished instantly.

"Remember when I showed you the weapon?"

"Even if I'd forgotten, you just reminded me. My arm still hurts, thanks," she huffed. "Wait... you mean to say..."

"Ahem." Mira cleared her throat. "I wouldn't mind a massage either."

"Same here. These documents are killing my shoulders," Tamilla chimed in, either joking or serious.

Strange. I thought they'd left the office with Til. Mira gave me a judging look, but I didn't take my hands off Erin. It was just a massage. Nothing inappropriate.

"Alright, massage appointments are now open — weekdays, twenty-four seven. But keep in mind, the master may be fully booked with side projects..." I threw a regretful glance at the unfinished pneumatic rifle.

"Duly noted. Now, what do we do about the knights?" Tamilla asked, a bit colder than usual.

Knights... I wanted to go deal with them myself, tell them to stop whining and stay in the barracks like everyone else defending this city. But I had no time for that.

"Tell them anyone willing to work as a teacher gets a rented house and servants. Look for people willing to host a knight for generous pay."

"More expenses..." Tamilla sighed.

"And those who refuse?" Mira asked.

"They'll stay in the barracks like everyone else," I shrugged.

"Not a great idea. It'll end in bloodshed," Erin commented.

"You brought people that unstable?"

"Just nobles. For them, sleeping next to commoners is a disgrace. Killing the commoners, however, is a perfectly acceptable solution."

I grimaced. Damn, so many little problems. Fine, I'd make a concession. But only because I had no time to deal with them.

"Alright. Find them a separate building. One for all. Send them a few servants, too. It'll be a knightly dorm. Make sure the conditions aren't any better than in the barracks, though. They're not getting special treatment."

"I'll handle it," Tamilla assured.

"Perfect. Erin and I will go check the fortifications. I'll bring her up to speed. And we can check who that spy was."

"Not until someone brings me a change of clothes from my luggage. I'm not parading in front of the troops like this," Erin said, shooting a glare at Mira, who visibly shrank.

"Alright, I'll get it for you," Mira said, her tone carrying a hint of apology.

"Great. We have a plan. Let's get to work," I said, clapping my hands.

****

Meanwhile, the spy's body lay in the road, in a pool of blood mixed with dust. A well-placed shot had torn through his chest. His lean, muscular frame hadn't saved him. His brown shirt had ridden up at the sleeve, exposing a bluish tattoo.

The mark of the Azure Guild.