The streets were cleaned daily.
Markets reopened.
Smithies relit their forges.
New conscription banners hung from the walls.
No one found this strange.
In our time, peace does not mean the absence of war.
It means war is under control.
The soldiers returned to the barracks.
Not for dismissal—
but for reformation.
They donned new insignia.
Their armor was repolished.
They drilled in formation every morning—
but without urgency,
without the pressure of alarms or live fire.
They jogged.
They sang.
It looked like a parade ground.
Not a battlefield.
I stood above, watching.
Sunlight spilled through clouds,
turning the training field into a golden stage.
Every helmet shone the same way.
No one lagged.
No one was missing.
That symmetry—
It reassured me more than any single victory.
Beneath the palace, the machinery of state began moving again.
Logistics tables were updated daily.
Military council rosters rotated every three days.
A new development agenda was announced:
- Alchemic Integration
- Mechanism Expansion
- Third-Phase Energy Consolidation.
I didn’t understand the terms.
But I didn’t need to.
Orders don’t require understanding—
only confirmation of direction.
One day, I asked the alchemist, “What are they building?”
He said, “The Divine Construct.”
I nodded.
He paused, waiting for me to ask, “What is it?”
I didn’t.
I don’t need to know.
I only need to ensure it’s completed.
“No one told me what the Construct is,” I wrote.
Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.
“No one told me where it is, how far along it is, or what it will be used for.”
And it didn’t matter.
The Radiant Council knows its structure.
The Church guards its meaning.
We—
we simply execute the path.
Like blood does not question how the heart beats—
it simply flows.
Progress reports on the Divine Construct appeared quietly in the public ledgers.
- “Second Segment Sealed.”
- “Activation Rate Improved.”
- “New Conduit Adapters Passed Compatibility Test.”
It sounded like infrastructure work.
Or irrigation reform.
But the soldiers knew—
These weren’t ordinary projects.
During a personnel review, I noticed:
more and more new recruits were not issued swords.
Instead, they received signal-bound modular frames—
odd devices, a cross between armor plates and wiring harnesses.
I asked one:
“Do you know what this is for?”
He said, “They said it’s for the Divine Construct.”
I nodded.
He didn’t ask more.
That was enough.
Later, the capital held a minor parade.
Not a celebration—
a Fiendkinstration of royal alignment with joint institutional progress.
We marched down the golden-tiled avenue.
Banners reading “For the Protection of Mankind” lined the walls.
Citizens held flowers,
but did not clap.
They had learned:
To watch us walk past in silence.
A child held up a wooden placard.
On it, written in uneven ink:
“The Hero does not ask the Way.
The Way is whatever leads to mankind.”
I didn’t remember who said it.
I didn’t remember reading it.
But it was well written.
We continued living in victory.
But this victory no longer needed blood.
No longer needed battle.
It had become automated glory—
Each person had a position.
Each order clicked into place.
Each path had been paved.
Feet only needed to move forward.
One morning, I stood at the training ground for an hour.
New soldiers rotated in.
Sunlight reflected off polished helmets.
I narrowed my eyes—
and remembered the candy.
I had not eaten it.
Still kept it.
I didn’t know when I would.
Maybe never.
But it shouldn’t be wasted.
It was the proof of victory.
A gift from peace.
A child’s way of saying:
“You made it back.”
And I—
will keep walking the road
that allows her to say it again.
Without asking where it leads.
Only asking:
Can we keep going?