The mountain path leading to the abandoned dam had been traversed by the time the eastern sky was still dark. Misaki adjusted the shoulder strap of her leather bag. The strap Reon had fixed for her in the previous chapter. Yet after an hour of walking, it would slip again. Perhaps the leather holes had widened slightly. Trivial things stuck in your mind more when you were exhausted. When the three of them descended from the mountain path to flat ground, the old town of Portos Harbor came into view. A tributary of the Felm River glimmered north of the harbor. The moon was beginning to set. "It's the plaza in front of Cornelius's mansion," Aira said, walking ahead. Silver braids caught the moonlight, gleaming white. Her usual escort's footwork—avoiding branches, reading the ground, muffling sound—continued quietly through the pre-dawn air. The moment they entered the plaza, Misaki was slightly taken aback. There were lights. About ten torches stood along the edges of the plaza. And illuminated by that glow, people—residents—had already gathered. An elderly man, women, a thick-armed man who looked like a craftsman, a mother holding a child's hand. Under the imperial army's siege, rumors had spread. They had come here before dawn. Misaki pulled parchment from her leather bag. Supply line data, aqueduct maps, estimated dam structure diagrams. She spread three sheets and stood before the residents. "We'll use the old aqueduct north of Portos Harbor," Misaki said, her voice calm. She began to explain. The abandoned dam built thirty years ago—constructed as a flood prevention structure and no longer in use—would be repaired to channel water into the lowlands north of the harbor. The imperial army's warehouses were concentrated in those lowlands. If water came, they would need half a day to reorganize their siege lines. The logic was sound. The numbers and evidence were all there. But the residents' faces held a mixture of anxiety and doubt. Naturally. An unknown woman was spreading parchment before dawn, saying, "This operation has a fifty-fifty success rate." Asking them to believe was unreasonable. Silence enveloped the plaza. The torches swayed in the wind. Then Reon stepped forward. Misaki watched from the corner of her eye. Reon said nothing. He simply, slowly, bent his knees. He bowed deeply. A member of the royal family, kneeling before commoners. The plaza froze. Only the torch flames continued to flicker. Cornelius—the lord of Portos, a stout man in his fifties—spoke in a confused voice. "W-wait... Your Highness, such a thing..." Reon did not raise his face. Misaki, without hesitation, knelt beside him in the same way. The mud-caked front of her clothes faced the stone pavement. "If we fail, we'll endanger the residents of the lowlands," Misaki said, still bowing. She wasn't lying. She couldn't say "we'll succeed." She shouldn't say it. The silence continued. Then. A single dried leaf fell from Misaki's head. It had caught on the mountain path and fallen loose when she bowed. The leaf spiraled down and landed directly on Cornelius's nose. Cornelius, his face still grave, went completely rigid. Three seconds. A nearby resident let out a small laugh. It spread like ripples. Small laughter rippled across the plaza. Cornelius could be heard muttering, "...why now?" "Did you really come all the way from the capital?" an elderly woman asked hesitantly, addressing Misaki. Misaki raised her face. Still covered in mud, she answered matter-of-factly. "I fell off my horse three times on the way," Misaki said. The old woman's eyes widened. The man next to her repeated, "Three times." Someone stifled a laugh. She hadn't lied. She'd simply stated the facts. But that bluntness—the air of someone who was simply that kind of person, not calculating—changed something in the plaza. "I've got an old friend who helped build that dam thirty years ago. He's still alive," a deep voice called from the back of the plaza. A man nearly seventy years old stood with his arms crossed. A weathered face with deep wrinkles. A craftsman's hands—gnarled, almost weapon-like—folded across his chest. "Show me you can do it. I'll guide you to the place," the old craftsman said. The air in the plaza changed. --- Work began with the dawn. The old craftsman—who introduced himself as Galt—efficiently divided the people. Stone-laying team, rust-scraping team for the water gate, mud-clearing team for the bypass channel. Seventeen residents, twenty-three soldiers. Each took their tools and moved out. Misaki immediately spread parchment and began writing a work distribution chart. A habit from her previous life. A WBS—breaking down work into fine details for management—would let her see the whole picture. "Many can't read. Tell them by mouth," Galt said over his shoulder. The young soldiers nearby looked at Misaki with sympathetic faces. Misaki quietly put the paper away. "Understood," she said. Her recovery was fast. That had been Misaki's specialty since her previous life. She joined the mud-clearing team. The bypass channel was clogged with thirty years of sediment. Some places required wading in up to the knees. There were no boots. Misaki went in with her shoes on. It was cold. The mud was heavy. Three steps forward, and her left foot wouldn't come out. She was completely stuck. She tried to pull it free, but the mud's suction was stronger than expected. As she was calculating whether to say something before both feet got fixed in place— An arm grabbed her. She was pulled up. With a squelch, both feet came free from the mud. It was Reon. He had an exasperated expression. His golden eyes seemed to say "again." "It's within expected parameters," Misaki insisted, her mud-covered face stubborn. Reon, without a word, wiped the mud from Misaki's cheek with his fingertip. The gesture was so natural that Misaki's thoughts stopped for just a moment. (Why...) Before she could think, her face grew warm. The mud should have hidden it, probably. Misaki turned her gaze back toward the dam. Reon was already walking toward the stone-laying work. His ears—they seemed, just slightly, red. Aira was distributing water and dried fruit to the residents a short distance away. Her eyes glanced at Misaki and Reon for just a moment, then looked up at the sky. She said nothing. The work continued. The moment the stone pile began to crumble, Reon moved reflexively. He grabbed Misaki's arm and pulled her close. The falling stones landed where she had been standing moments before. The two collided head-on. The distance was mere centimeters. Reon's breath reached her. Golden eyes met hers. For a second, time seemed to stop. Something pulsed deep in her chest. Heat rose to her face. She couldn't find words. The surrounding residents, as if by agreement, all dropped their gazes to their hands. Galt coughed loudly and pointedly. Reon stepped back. He returned to the stone-laying work. Only his back was visible. Misaki turned her gaze back to the channel. (Work. Focus on work.) She told herself. The effect was fifty-fifty, but her hands moved. By late morning, the repairs were nearly eighty percent complete. --- As the sun began to decline, a lookout soldier shouted. "White flag!" Everyone stopped moving. A single mounted rider carrying a white flag climbed the path toward the dam. Alone. An imperial coat. A messenger. The messenger, having stopped his horse, spoke in an emotionless voice. "At dawn tomorrow, we will begin a total assault. If you wish to surrender, we request that you open the castle gates tonight," the imperial messenger said. That was all. The business was finished. The messenger turned his horse to leave. As he departed, he glanced back at Misaki, covered in mud and dried leaves. "You seem quite exhausted," the imperial messenger added unnecessarily, then rode down. Misaki looked down at herself. Mud, dried leaves, soil from the channel, sand from the stone-laying. It was terrible. "Just you wait," Misaki said quietly, her voice low. The soldiers nearby clenched their fists silently. The plaza fell silent. Color drained from the residents' faces. A child gripped her mother's sleeve. The elderly woman closed her eyes. Six hours until dawn. That reality pierced everyone equally. Reon turned toward the work teams. Exhaustion and resolve sat on the same face. Yet his voice alone remained steady. "Continue the work," Reon said. It was a short order. That was all that was needed. People began to move. Misaki didn't miss that tone. Reon had shown with his voice that he wasn't "breaking." That was what was needed in this moment. An hour after work resumed, a critical flaw was discovered. "Stop," Galt's voice rang out low. Everyone's movements ceased. Galt was kneeling before the water gate, touching the metal fittings with his fingers. His face had taken on a bad color. "The rust is fused solid," Galt said. The metal fittings that opened the water gate—iron that had been exposed to rain and moisture for thirty years—were completely seized. As it was, the water gate wouldn't open. No matter how much they repaired the dam, if the water gate didn't move, nothing would flow. "If we heat the rust to make it expand, then strike it, it might come loose," Galt continued slowly. "But if we fail, the fitting will crack. If that happens, the water gate will never open," Galt said. No one could speak. "The success rate is... five percent or less," Galt said. Five percent or less. Misaki turned that number over in her mind. Heating, expansion, striking. Iron properties, fitting size, degree of fusion. She calculated what could be calculated. But there were too many variables beyond calculation. Galt's "five percent or less" was probably accurate. There were two source-element mages among the soldiers. Fire-type—practitioners of source-element magic who could handle heat among the four systems. They would use source-element to heat the fittings while the craftsmen took turns striking with hammers. There was no other way. Metal sounds began. Ringing through the night of Portos. One strike. Another. The mage held his hand over the fitting, channeling heat. Sweat fell. The hammer changed hands. Another strike. It didn't move. --- It was deep night. The hammer sounds continued. Misaki rested her back against the dam's stone wall. She closed her eyes. Her feet were heavy. Mud had gotten inside her shoes. Her shoulders ached—an old injury from her previous life. Footsteps approached beside her. Reon stood. He rested his back against the wall. He faced the same direction. For a while, there was only the sound of hammers. "You could have turned back if it was impossible," Reon said quietly, his voice low. Misaki didn't open her eyes. "There was never a choice to turn back from the beginning," she answered softly. Silence fell. Reon seemed about to say something. He stopped. Misaki said nothing more either. But that silence wasn't unpleasant. It wasn't the silence after a fight, nor the silence of exhausted people sitting together. It was like a confirmation—that they were facing the same direction. Something quiet took root in Misaki's chest. Being beside this person felt, somehow, calming. She didn't yet know what to call that feeling. Only the fact that it existed was certain. A short distance away, Aira moved about. She carried a water-filled leather bag and dried fruit, distributing them one by one to soldiers, residents, mages. "Drink this." "Please have another."—her bright voice continued through the deep-night work site. No one turned her away. Everyone accepted. Aira's smile was something necessary in this dark time. The hammer sounds continued. One strike. Another. Dawn approached. The edge of the sky seemed to shift from deep black to a slightly lighter shade. Then. The metal sound changed. Instead of the hard "cla