Chapter 182: PRELIMINARY CALCULATIONS
The following morning, the sky remained clear. The snow on the streets was thinning significantly. Rianor pushed Elara’s wheelchair toward the Alpha Building; today marked the beginning of their efforts to design the academy’s curriculum.
Inside, Arvid was already perched at his desk. His face was still haggard, his eyes bloodshot and heavy. Rianor cast a brief, observant glance toward him.
"You still haven’t recovered?" Rianor asked.
Arvid let out a long, weary sigh. "Rhea is demanding Gorgon Alpha meat again. Riven said it would take at least a week to procure it from the border. When Rhea heard that, she went into a sulk and hasn’t spoken a single word to me all night."
Elara let out a soft giggle. "Poor thing."
"I don’t need your pity; I need monster meat," Arvid replied flatly. "But forget it. Let’s get to work."
Rianor opened his notebook, while Elara took her position beside him. On the large table in front of them, various blank parchments and the building sketches drawn yesterday were scattered about.
"We’ll start with the curriculum structure," Rianor began. "What subjects are essential to be taught?"
Arvid rubbed his face with both hands, trying to scrub away the exhaustion that refused to leave. "Basic Mathematics. Physics. Chemistry. Those are the core."
"Add Reading and Writing to that list," Elara interjected. "Many children in Northreach can work in factories, but they cannot read a contract or write a report. I saw it myself during my time as Rianor’s research partner. There were apprentices who were technically brilliant but remained completely illiterate."
Rianor scribbled the notes down. "History as well. But our version—not the Kingdom’s version that does nothing but worship magic and knights."
Arvid nodded in agreement. "Ethics. We can’t have our children growing up to be nothing more than arrogant nobles."
Rianor paused his writing and looked at Arvid. "Ethics?"
"We don’t want to give birth to a generation that is brilliant but condescending." Arvid stared back. "We already have enough entitled bastards in this world. There is no need to add to their numbers."
Elara smiled. "Agreed."
Rianor continued writing before stopping again. His eyes shifted from Arvid to Elara.
"Magic," he said.
Arvid raised an eyebrow. "Magic?"
"We cannot ignore magic entirely; it is an intrinsic part of this world." Rianor set his pen down. "However, we won’t teach traditional magic like they do at the Sol-Regis Academy. We will teach magic through a scientific lens. Much like what Raveena has been doing."
Elara nodded. "The goal is to make magic more efficient. With a scientific approach, mana can be calculated, predicted, and maximized. It won’t just be a matter of hereditary talent." She smiled thinly. "With this, we could eventually outmatch the mages of Eastmarch."
Arvid looked at Elara. "Including the Velmora family?"
Elara didn’t offer a verbal answer, but her smile never wavered.
Rianor noted it down. "I’ll speak with Raveena. She’s only sixteen, so she might not be ready to be a teacher yet."
"She’s smarter than most of the professors at Sol-Regis," Elara countered.
"It’s not just about intelligence; it’s about mental readiness." Rianor wrote Raveena’s name in the margin. "But at the very least, we’ll include it in the plans for now. We’ll see how it goes later."
Arvid nodded. "And who will teach Mathematics and Physics?"
Rianor looked directly at Elara. "You."
Elara laughed. "I figured as much."
"No protests?"
"I already knew since yesterday." Elara smiled. "You can’t hide your intentions from me. It was written all over your face last night."
Rianor shrugged. "I wasn’t exactly trying to hide it."
Arvid snorted. "You two really are a perfect match. Equally stubborn."
Rianor and Elara exchanged a look, then shared a small laugh.
Arvid pointed to the paper in front of them. "We’re not finished. Are there any other subjects?"
"Basic Engineering," Rianor said. "The children need to understand how steam engines work, how to maintain equipment, and the fundamentals of electricity."
"That should come later in the second or third year," Elara advised. "Don’t overwhelm them with the difficult stuff immediately. They need a foundation first. If you teach them steam engines without them understanding basic physics, they’ll only become operators, not engineers."
"Agreed." Rianor scribbled more notes. "We’ll do it in stages. Year one: the fundamentals. Year two: practical application. Year three: internships in factories or laboratories."
Arvid sighed. "This is going to take time. Not just a month or two. It might be a full year before we can even open registration."
"That’s fine." Rianor closed his notebook. "We start now. Slowly. The important thing is that we begin."
In the treasurer’s office, the atmosphere was quite different.
Rumina sat behind her desk, surrounded by fortresses of massive ledgers. Silas stood beside her with a grave expression.
"Lady Rumina, there is word from the Emerald Union."
Rumina looked up, her eyes narrowing. "Speak."
"Madam Vernazza and several other trade partners have responded positively to the Maglev rail proposal." Silas opened his own notes. "They are interested, but there are two major hurdles."
"And they are?"
"First, security guarantees for the line. They are worried the route passes through regions prone to monster attacks. Second, they are asking for a special discount for the first year of operation."
Rumina crossed her arms over her chest. Her face was a cocktail of satisfaction and irritation. Satisfied with the positive response, but irritated by the conditions. Her eyebrows twitched, and her lips curled slightly into a pout.
"Security guarantees," she repeated. "We can deploy patrols. That’s not a massive issue."
Silas nodded. "But the cost won’t be small, My Lady. Long-distance patrols, logistics, weaponry..."
"I know." Rumina stood up. "But it’s an investment. If we can open a direct trade route to the Emerald Union, we won’t need to pass through the Kingdom. No more paying taxes to Sol-Regis. No more relying on the King’s wavering policies. The Sudrath Spear has already leaked to the Solari; who knows what they’ll steal next."
Silas remained silent. After a moment, he spoke again. "And the matter of the discount, My Lady?"
Rumina walked over to the map hanging on the wall. Her eyes traced the route from Iron Hearth to the Emerald Union, passing through rivers, forests, and volatile border regions. Her finger followed the curve of the river as it bent west, then south.
"A discount is reasonable," she said. "But it can’t be too steep. We need to recalculate the profit margins. If they ask for too much, we’ll be bleeding money in the beginning."
"As you wish, My Lady."
Rumina turned to Silas, her gaze sharpening. "I will go to the Emerald Union myself."
Silas was taken aback, his eyes widening. "My Lady, the journey is dangerous. You could encounter monsters, bandits, not to mention the unpredictable weather at the southern border. And the Emerald Union itself isn’t our territory; we have no jurisdiction there."
"I am not afraid," Rumina cut him off. "This is about the cuan (profit). If I don’t show up in person, they’ll think we aren’t serious. Madam Vernazza is a pragmatic woman; she only respects those she considers her equals."
Silas let out a deep sigh. "But My Lady—"
"I’ll take a select escort. Ghost Squad or Nightshades, I don’t care. I’ll also carry a letter of authority from Duke Lucian." Rumina returned to her desk. "Prepare everything. I leave in a few days. Next week at the latest."
Silas couldn’t argue. He simply nodded. "Very well, My Lady. I will handle the preparations."
In Roland’s office, the atmosphere was far more subdued, yet charged with tension.
Roland sat in his chair behind an orderly dark wooden desk. There was no clutter, no stray pens—everything was perfectly in its place. Pens on the right, ink on the left. Reports already read were in the top stack, those pending were below.
On the wall behind him hung a large map of Aethelgard. Several points were marked with small red ink dots: Ironhold, Sol-Regis, Highgarden, Eastmarch. Roland stared at that map every day; today, his gaze was fixed on Sol-Regis.
A young man in civilian clothes stood before him. His face was unremarkable, and his attire—a dark brown jacket, black trousers, and worn leather boots—was intentionally ordinary. No one would guess he was a member of the Ghost Squad. He could pass through a crowded market without a single person looking twice.
"My Lord," he whispered, his voice barely audible. "A report from the capital."
Roland raised an eyebrow just a fraction. "Speak."
"Solari forces are beginning to congregate in Sol-Regis. Over the past few days, dozens of knights in Highgarden livery have been seen entering the city. They are gathering at the capital."
Roland’s brow furrowed. He didn’t panic, nor was he surprised, but he became intensely serious. His eyes, usually sly and calculating, were now sharply focused.
"Where exactly?"
"At the Capital’s military barracks and several inns owned by the Solari faction." The man paused, recalling the details he had seen himself. "They are bringing war gear—swords, armor, light siege equipment. Several warhorses have also been spotted."
Roland crossed his arms, his fingers tapping rhythmically against the arm of his chair. His gaze remained locked on the map, specifically on the dot representing Sol-Regis.
"Are they moving north?"
"Not yet, My Lord. They remain in the capital. But a concentration of forces like that..."
"Is no mere drill," Roland finished for him. "Alistair is preparing something."
The man nodded. "Orders, My Lord?"
Roland stood up and walked to the map, pointing at Sol-Regis. His finger moved north toward Iron Hearth, then back to the capital.
"Monitor them constantly. Don’t miss a single movement. I want to know if this is just a show of force or the precursor to something larger. If they start moving north, I must know before they reach Torshavn."
"Understood, My Lord."
"Also," Roland turned back, "find out who is leading this host. See if Alistair himself has arrived at the capital or if it’s just his subordinates. If Alistair is there, it means he is serious. If it’s just his lackeys, it might just be a trial run."
"Yes, My Lord."
The man gave a respectful nod—not a stiff military salute, but a quick, professional acknowledgement—and vanished through the door. There was no noise; only the faint hiss of well-oiled hinges as the door closed.
Roland sat back down. He stared at the map, but his mind drifted elsewhere. To the East. To Draconia. To someone with silver hair and crimson eyes who, a few weeks ago, had flown away from Iron Hearth on silver wings.
"Seraphina..." he whispered softly. It was so faint that even he wasn’t sure if he’d actually spoken the name or just imagined it.
He shook his head. Now was not the time for that.
He opened a drawer, pulled out a fresh sheet of parchment, and began to write. A report for himself. Not for his father—not yet.
As long as he could handle it, he would do so alone.
Night fell once more.
Rianor and Elara sat in the living room. Plush sofas, warm tea on the table, and the heater in the corner hummed softly, circulating warm air throughout the space. The Thermal Mana Grid—one of the finest technologies Rianor had ever conceived.
The crystal chandelier overhead glowed dimly. Outside, the sound of the night wind began to rise.
Elara took Rianor’s hand. "Are you worried about Alistair?"
Rianor looked at his wife. "I am."
"Since when?"
"Since Father told us about him in the Hexagon Hall. Since Nyx reported Solari spies in Sol-Regis. Since Aldric showed up at our wedding." Rianor took a sip of his tea. "Alistair won’t stay quiet. He’s weaving something."
"But you aren’t going to stop?"
"I can’t." He set his teacup back down. "There is a school to be built. A generation to be educated. If I stop because I’m afraid of Alistair, then he has already won without ever drawing a sword."
Elara fell silent, squeezing Rianor’s hand tighter.
Rianor looked at her, his eyes now soft.
"Are you afraid?"
"I am," Elara answered honestly. "But I’m used to being afraid. I used to be afraid of Celeste. Afraid of Father. Afraid of Mother. But I still left. I still endured. I am still alive." She smiled. "Now I have you. So that fear isn’t as heavy as it used to be."
Rianor didn’t answer. He simply squeezed her hand back.
They sat in silence, enjoying the warmth of the room, accompanied only by their tea and the faint hiss of the heater.
Outside, the snow began to fall again—silently, softly. It blanketed the vacant lot near the eastern gate where, one day, tall buildings would stand and children would learn.
But inside that warm room, there were only the two of them. Husband and wife. Holding hands. Sharing warmth.
Rianor picked up his tea again.
"I’ll speak with Riven tomorrow," he said. "I’ll tell him to tighten patrols at every border. If Alistair wants to play, we’ll be ready."
Elara nodded. "I’ll help Roland manage the intelligence network. We can expand the reach of Nyx and the Nightshades."
"Are you sure?"
"I can’t fight like Rhea," Elara said with a laugh. "But I can think."
Rianor smiled. "That is exactly why I married you."
Elara laughed. "Because I’m smart?"
"Because of many things."
"Name one."
Rianor looked her in the eyes. "You never give up."
Elara didn’t answer. She only held his hand even tighter.
Outside, the snow continued its descent. But inside, it was warm.
And for that night, that was enough.