Back in the square, Kareth has his six on the west houses and, to his credit, has stopped fighting the shape of the work long enough to improve it. Instead of pulling all the soldiers onto one roof at a time, he’s split them into pairs—one soldier,one villager, each pair working a separate weak point under the direction of whichever resident knows the house best. It still looks inelegant. It also means three structures are being stabilized at once.
He comes down from a ladder when he sees me approach. Dust streaks one side of his face, and there’s a fresh tear in one glove.
“This is inefficient,” he says quietly, because apparently he needs that stated for the record.
“But?” I ask.
His mouth hardens. “But faster than expected.”
Lyria doesn’t even glance up from where she’s redistributing blankets between two households. “Careful,” she says. “You’re nearly learning.”
Kareth gives her the look of a man considering whether insubordination laws can be applied to civilians retroactively.
I say, “What changed?”
He exhales once, irritated at being made to explain himself. “The villagers know the structures. Which beams are rotten, which walls take weight, which families can shelter together without trouble. If we assign blind, we waste time correcting.” He pauses, then adds, “Pairing them with the soldiers reduced argument.”
That catches my attention more than the rest. “Reduced?”
“Yes. When soldiers work under a soldier-only chain, they keep trying to correct what they don’t understand. When they’re paired with someone whose house it is, they stop pretending expertise they don’t have.”
Lyria looks up then, one corner of her mouth curving faintly. “Amazing what happens when people don’t need to perform superiority every five seconds.”
Kareth bristles. “That is not what I said.”
“It’s what happened.”
I should shut that down. I know I should. Instead I ask, “How many more houses?”
“Two critical, four moderate,” he says. “If we continue like this, all will be habitable before full dark.”
I look at the square again. Water stations, food lines, wounded separated, livestock secured, shelter assignments in progress, and soldiers no longer tripping over each other trying to enforce a command structure that fits the battlefield but not this. My old arrangement would have produced cleaner lines and slower results. This one produces fewer lines and better survival.
I do not enjoy the lesson.
“Fine,” I say. “We formalize it.”
Kareth blinks. “My lord?”
I raise my voice slightly, enough for the nearest officers to hear. “From this point forward, small-unit assignments pair one soldier with one local labor lead whenever civilians are present and cooperative. Disputes go to the nearest officer only if they cannot be resolved on site. Water, shelter, and salvage report through separate channels, not a single chain. I want overlap reduced and waiting time eliminated.”
Several heads turn. Two of the soldiers nearest the well exchange a look that reads, unmistakably, like relief.
Kareth straightens. “Understood.”
Lyria studies me openly now, and there’s something in her expression I don’t bother naming because I already know what it is.
“You’re adapting,” she says.
“I’m winning,” I reply.
“Mm.” She shifts the ledger board under her arm and glances toward the east houses. “Call it whatever helps your pride survive.”
That earns a low, startled laugh from one of the nearby villagers before he abruptly remembers who I am and turns it into a cough. I let it pass.
Skot materializes at my shoulder with the silent timing that makes him either useful or unnerving depending on the hour. “Interesting adjustment,” he murmurs.
“You’ve been listening.”
