The old engineer had already turned back toward the workbenches, calling for chalk, boards, and someone who could draw straight lines without arguing with geometry. The workshop slowly returned to motion. Tools lifted again. Voices resumed.

  The royal scribe, however, did not follow us toward the door. Instead he stepped closer to the engineers, carefully unrolling the parchment he had been carrying.

  “I will remain here.” No one asked why. Then he added quietly, mostly to himself, “I have to document all of this.” A pause followed. “As if I didn’t already have enough to write.”

  Nicholas stopped halfway to the door. “Why do you even need to write with a quill?”

  The scribe looked up from the scroll with the weary patience of a man who had answered that question several hundred times in different forms.

  “Because ink records last longer than whatever those little pens produce.” He nodded toward me briefly.

  “These are official measures. Official measures must be recorded properly for the royal archives.”

  He lifted the quill tucked behind his ear.

  “And since the little ones’ pens don’t last long enough…” He sighed. “…I have to write everything with a quill.”

  Nicholas tilted his head. “Little ones?”

  The scribe gave a tired smile.

  “Yes. If you’re going to build your metal horse…” He rolled the parchment slightly.

  “…you’ll see them sooner or later. Then you’ll understand.”

  That explanation did not clarify anything. But the scribe had already bent over the parchment and begun writing.

  We left him there.

  The court mage led us back toward the stairs. The climb upward felt shorter than the descent, partly because Nicholas had begun whispering theories about tiny creatures manufacturing writing tools and partly because the mage walked faster than before.

  When we reached the upper corridors again, the mage finally spoke. “I gathered some people. For the road work.”

  I looked at him. “How many volunteered?”

  He glanced sideways at me.

  “You mean voluntarily or in total?”

  “Total.”

  “Three volunteered… And I was ordered.”

  Nicholas chuckled. The mage did not.

  “That is statistically disappointing.”

  “Yes,” the mage replied dryly. “Apparently transforming stone and earth for road infrastructure is not considered an attractive magical specialization.”

  After a few minutes we reached the main courtyard. Several figures were already waiting there—three of them, standing in a loose formation near the center of the yard.

  Nicholas slowed. He looked at them carefully, then leaned closer to me.

  “Those are the mages? They don’t look very experienced.”

  He was correct. They were young—not apprentices, but clearly far from the age where reputation becomes a permanent burden.

  The court mage sighed.

  “Experienced mages do not perform road construction. It would be considered an insult.”

  I studied the group. Their clothing was elaborate: layered robes, bright colors, decorative embroidery, and several pieces of jewelry that had absolutely no structural relevance to manual labor. In practical terms, they resembled ceremonial decoration rather than personnel suitable for construction work.

  “That will need to change.”

  Nicholas looked at me. “Change?”

  “Yes.”

  I gestured toward the mages.

  “Those garments are incompatible with construction work.”

  The court mage followed my gaze.

  “And?”

  “The king was supposed to have something prepared.”

  I observed the robes again—silk, long sleeves, multiple loose layers. Loose fabric near tools statistically correlates with catastrophic workplace incidents.

  “Yes,” I concluded.

  “They will definitely need different clothes.”

  They approached the village at a steady pace. All of them were on horseback—including me. The saddle beneath me had been custom-built according to what I had described as minimal structural requirements for survival: reinforced support, stable weight distribution, and no decorative instability. Nicholas had called it excessive. I had called it functional.

  We were still some distance away when a sound split the air. A roar. Large—the kind of sound that belonged to creatures capable of reorganizing landscapes.

  Every horse reacted instantly. Several riders pulled their reins tight. Above the horizon three dark shapes crossed the sky.

  Dragons.

  They were flying toward the wasteland, toward the territory that had been granted to the dragon we had negotiated with.

  For a moment the group froze. One of the younger mages muttered something that sounded suspiciously like a prayer. Another turned his horse halfway around.

  “That’s three,” Nicholas said quietly.

  The court mage narrowed his eyes. “They’re heading toward the privatized territory.”

  Silence followed.

  Then the court mage spoke sharply. “We need to go to the king immediately.”

  I considered the suggestion.

  “The king will already have heard that.”

  Nicholas looked at me.

  “A potential danger to the kingdom has lower priority than an existing structural collapse.”

  The mage stared at me. “That’s your conclusion?”

  “Yes.”

  He opened his mouth, then closed it again. After a short and visibly reluctant pause, they followed.

  We continued toward the village.

  When we reached the outskirts, I slowed my horse.

  “First, we need to address your work clothing.”

  One of the younger mages looked confused. “We are already dressed.”

  I opened my mouth.

  Nicholas placed a hand on my shoulder, looked at the group with the expression of a man who had recently discovered a piece of knowledge and was extremely proud of it and said:

  “I was told you shouldn’t look like ordinary mages.”

  He gestured toward their robes.

  “People should be able to tell you’re here for road work.”

  He pointed toward the village.

  “Come with me. We’ll find something visible. Something that doesn’t scream ‘court mage.’”

  He glanced at them again. “And definitely not like court mages.”

  Then he looked directly at me.“You stay here.” The tone was firm.

  Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.

  “Something tells me we won’t have much time before the dragon causes trouble again.”

  I frowned slightly.

  “It would be more efficient if we all went together. That way the process—”

  “No.” Nicholas cut me off immediately.

  “If you go in there, you’ll reorganize the whole town. Three new regulations, a new market layout, and probably a committee.”

  He pointed at the group of mages.

  “Trust me, this is the better option.”

  I considered the argument. Several seconds passed.

  Conclusion: statistically uncomfortable.

  He was correct. Nicholas watched my expression. “Yeah. That’s what I thought.”

  Then he asked, “Alright then. What should they wear?”

  “Normal trousers. Something sturdy. Jeans if available. And find something bright—yellow, red, orange. The brighter the better.”

  One of the younger mages looked horrified.

  “If that happens,” he said quietly, “I will never marry. If people see me like that, I will die a virgin.”

  The court mage turned slowly toward him.

  “You have two choices. You keep your dignity or your job.”

  The young mage fell silent.

  Nicholas nodded at me. “Wait here.”

  Then he gestured to the mages. “Come on.”

  They rode toward the tailor without me.

  I dismounted. Correct procedure reduced injury probability.

  The horse accepted the transition with the tolerance of an animal already familiar with several administrative improvements.

  I had just adjusted the saddle straps when I heard someone shouting.

  “Max!”

  I turned.

  The village elder was running toward me.

  Running was not technically correct. It was more of an urgent forward collapse repeatedly corrected by small steps.

  His face was pale. Not the ordinary pale of someone who had skipped breakfast. The pale of someone who had recently watched several dragons cross the sky.

  He reached me slightly out of breath.

  “Did you see it?” he asked.

  Then again, louder. “Did you see it?!”

  “Yes,” I said.

  “Three dragons. Three!”

  His hands moved helplessly in the air. “I thought it was over.” His voice trembled. “I thought at least for the next seven seasons we would have peace.”

  He shook his head slowly. “I thought I might have a quiet end to my life. A happy one.”

  I considered the statement. Statistically speaking, long peaceful endings were rarely guaranteed. But that observation would not improve the situation.

  “Three dragons flying toward another dragon,” I said calmly, “does not automatically imply village destruction.”

  He stared at me. “That is not reassuring.”

  “It is accurate.”

  He took a slow breath. Then another.

  “You don’t seem worried.”

  “I am evaluating.”

  “And?”

  “Current data is insufficient.”

  The village elder rubbed his face. “I preferred the time when problems were simple.”

  “Fire-breathing monsters are simple,” I said. “Structural collapse is not.”

  He blinked.

  “That sentence did not help.”

  “Recovery probability increases when panic decreases.”

  He sighed deeply.

  “You speak like a man who has never had a dragon land in his fields.”

  “That is correct,” I said. “But I have seen several organizations collapse.”

  He looked at me uncertainly.

  I added, “We will manage.”

  He stared at me for several seconds. Not reassured, but slightly less unstable.

  Then the elder slowly turned and looked toward the horizon where the dragons had disappeared.

  “They flew toward him,” he said quietly. “Toward the wasteland.”

  “Yes.”

  “And that’s supposed to make me feel better?”

  “No.”

  He exhaled heavily.

  “Max… three dragons meeting another dragon rarely ends with tea and polite discussion.”

  “That depends on the dragon.”

  He looked at me again.

  “You say that like you know him.”

  “I negotiated with him.”

  “That is not the same as knowing him.”

  “Correct.”

  He nodded weakly. Then his shoulders dropped.

  “So what do we do?”

  The question lingered for a moment.

  I looked toward the sky again. The dragons were already gone. Distance increased survival probability.

  “At the moment,” I said, “we continue.”

  “Continue?”

  “Yes.”

  “With what?”

  “Road construction.”

  He stared at me in disbelief. “There are dragons in the sky.”

  “Yes.”

  “And you want to flatten dirt.”

  “Correct.”

  He opened his mouth. Closed it again. Then he laughed.

  Not happily, but the way people sometimes laugh when the world becomes too absurd to process directly.

  “You really are not normal,” he said.

  “That has been documented.”

  He shook his head slowly.

  “You know what frightens me the most?”

  “What?”

  “That you might actually be right.”

  He looked back toward the road where the workers had been struggling earlier.

  “If those roads fail again next year…” he muttered, “…none of this matters anyway.”

  “That is correct.”

  Silence settled for a moment.

  Wind moved across the fields. A cart creaked somewhere in the village.

  Then the elder sighed again and straightened his back slightly.

  “Well,” he said, “if dragons come back, at least the road will be better. At least we will be able to run faster…”

  “Yes.”

  He looked at me carefully.

  “You really believe that building roads helps against dragons.”

  “No,” I said. “It helps against everything else.”

  He considered that for a moment. Then he nodded slowly.

  “…Fair enough.”

  At that exact moment another sound approached from the village.

  Voices. Several of them.

  Nicholas returned first, riding slightly ahead of the others. Behind him came the mages.

  I examined them.

  The transformation was… dramatic.

  Gone were the embroidered robes.

  In their place were thick trousers, heavy boots, and bright colored shirts: one yellow, one red, one orange. The colors were visible from considerable distance.

  Nicholas slowed his horse beside me and crossed his arms.

  “Well?”

  I studied the result.

  “Acceptable.”

  The young mage in the orange shirt appeared to expect severe administrative consequences for his social standing.

  “If anyone from the academy sees me like this,” he said quietly, “my career is over.”

  Nicholas patted his shoulder.

  “Think of it as practical experience.”

  The court mage looked down at his own clothing: dark blue work trousers and a bright red vest. His expression suggested deep spiritual damage.

  “This,” he said slowly, “is humiliating.”

  “It is visible,” I replied. “That was the requirement.”

  He looked at me. Then at the road. Then at the sky where the dragons had vanished.

  “…Fine.” He sighed. “Let’s flatten a road.”

  Behind us the village elder whispered to himself: “I cannot believe this is how we face dragons.”

  We rode toward the Northern Lane.

  The complaints reached us before the road did. At first it was only distant noise. Then individual words became distinguishable.

  “…told you this wouldn’t work!”

  “My back is done already!”

  “…this idiot and his new ideas!”

  Nicholas glanced sideways at me.

  “They sound… enthusiastic.”

  “That is not enthusiasm,” I said. “That is operational resistance.”

  As we approached the work site the road finally came into view. Workers stood scattered along the unfinished section. Some leaned on their shovels. Others argued with the ground in ways that suggested the ground was winning.

  When they noticed us riding toward them the voices became quieter. Not calmer. Just quieter.

  We stopped near the edge of the road and dismounted. I secured my horse first. Improperly secured horses had a statistically disappointing habit of becoming autonomous transport units.

  The road-builder approached us. He did not look pleased.

  “Max,” he said slowly. “That was fast.”

  He glanced back toward the workers.

  “I’ll be honest with you. This might not be the best time for you to come back.”

  Another shovel struck the ground behind him with visible aggression.

  “Since your… improvements… the men aren’t exactly fond of you.”

  He rubbed his beard.

  “And if you’re here to inspect things again without bringing a solution…”

  He paused.

  “…there might be some heads rolling.”

  “That will not be necessary,” I said. “I brought assistance.”

  Before he could respond the court mage stepped forward.

  “I am the royal court mage,” he said.

  He gestured toward the three younger mages behind him.

  “These three are also mages. They have been assigned to assist with road construction until the siege machine is completed.”

  The roadmaster blinked.

  “Wait.” He held up both hands. “No, wait.”

  He pointed at the mages. “Mages.”

  Then at me. “And you’re building a siege machine.”

  “Yes.”

  “For roads.”

  “Yes.”

  He looked at Nicholas.

  “…What exactly is happening here?”

  “We are implementing a temporary solution,” I said. “Until mechanical compaction becomes available.”

  The road-builder stared at me.

  “That sentence explained absolutely nothing.”

  By now the other workers had gathered around us. Their expressions suggested that they had already decided they did not like the answer to whatever question they were about to ask.

  One of them spoke first.

  “Oh good. Look who came back.”

  Another stepped closer.

  “If you’re so smart, why don’t you work with us for a day?”

  “Yeah!”

  “Let’s see how long your back lasts!”

  Nicholas raised a hand.

  “That won’t be necessary.”

  He pointed toward the mages.

  “These gentlemen will help you. Just show them where the work needs to be done.”

  For a moment nothing happened.

  Then the workers looked at the mages. Properly. Carefully.

  First came confusion. Then uncertainty. Then something else.

  Amusement spread through the workers with noticeable speed.

  One worker laughed. “Those?”

  He pointed toward the mage in the yellow shirt. “You’re telling me those are mages?”

  Another leaned on his shovel. “Look at them.”

  “They look like they escaped from a circus.”

  Several others started grinning.

  “Where are the fancy robes?”

  “Where’s the arrogance?”

  “Those colors!”

  The young mage in orange appeared to reconsider his life choices. The one in yellow stared at the ground as if hoping it might open.

  The court mage sighed. Deeply.

  The road-builder crossed his arms. He looked at the workers. Then at the mages. Then at me.

  “Well,” he said slowly. “At least they can laugh again.”

  One of the younger mages lost control of the situation.

  Up to that point he had remained mostly silent, though his posture suggested increasing internal pressure.

  Then he shouted. “I WILL NOT TOLERATE THIS!”

  Several workers stopped talking.

  “I will not be treated like this in front of common rabble!”

  That word had a measurable effect.

  One of the workers stepped forward. He still held a shovel.

  He approached the mage until the distance between them was approximately half a step. Then he pushed forward with his chest and shoulder, forcing the mage slightly backward.

  “Rabble?” the worker said.

  His voice was calm in the way people sound when they are already beyond the stage of negotiation.

  “Three dragons just flew over this land.” He gestured vaguely toward the sky. “And we are still here working.”

  He leaned forward. “You think we’re scared of you?”

  At this point the conversation degraded into overlapping shouting.

  Nicholas attempted to intervene.

  “Hey—”

  “Stop—”

  “That’s not—”

  The young mage raised his hand. The air above him changed. A dark cloud formed. Its color was closer to ink diluted in water than to normal storm clouds. The structure of it looked unstable, as if someone had attempted to assemble weather without sufficient engineering background.

  Small electrical discharges began forming inside it. They moved irregularly, similar to sparks jumping between improperly grounded metal contacts.

  The worker moved first. The shovel came up before the mage finished the spell, the flat side struck the mage across the head.

  The mage collapsed immediately and the cloud disappeared.

  Nicholas rushed between them. “Alright, stop! That’s enough!”

  The worker stepped back. The roadbuilder moved in at the same time. “He is right, that’s enough.”

  The surrounding workers stopped advancing. The roadbuilder turned toward the court mage. “That wasn’t an attack on nobility,” he said quickly. He gestured toward the man with the shovel. “These are hard days.”

  He hesitated. “His family isn’t doing well and the work keeps getting harder.”

  The court mage observed the unconscious young mage on the ground.

  Then he sighed. “Yes,” he said. “I expected something like this.”

  He looked at the other mages. “Perhaps this will teach them something.”

  “That magic does not solve everything.”

  “And that it certainly does not make them invulnerable.”

  He pointed at one of the other young mages. “You.”

  “Take him back to the village and have someone look at his head, then you return.”

  The young mage nodded quickly.

  The roadbuilder gestured toward two of his workers. “You two go with them.”

  They followed without arguing.

  Within a minute the small group had started back toward the village. The rest of the workers remained where they were.

  Structural Addendum:

  Operational summary: