The dawn of the next day divided the camp into two distinct worlds, separated by sound.
Kael's world was that of the Wall. It was an inferno of percussion: the clash of pickaxes against stone, the groan of wood used as levers, the grunt of seventeen men lifting rocks, and the harsh shouts of Kael and his warriors. The foundation trench grew, a scar in the earth earned through sweat and fear.
The prisoners, now fed with thick porridge and salted meat, worked with a strength they hadn't possessed the day before. But it was a resentful strength. Every rock they lifted was a curse against the iron warriors guarding them.
"You! Scarface!" barked Kael, pointing at a legionary struggling to move a shield-sized rock. "I saw how you used your sword. Use that strength now, or I swear I will tie you to that rock and leave you here!"
The man didn't answer, simply gritted his teeth and pushed, his muscles trembling. Kael watched, his face like a granite mask. He had slept two hours, curled up at the base of the Wall of Memory, as if guarding the graves of his fallen men. His grief hadn't turned into sadness, but into a form of cold rage. He was building the wall with the prisoners' anger, and he didn't care if he burned them out in the process, as long as the work got done.
A hundred yards away, on the riverbank, existed the second world. Seiko's world.
Here, a tense calm reigned. The only sound was the constant roar of the water, the whisper of a handsaw against wood, and Seiko's quiet voice.
"No. Measure again."
Garrick, the carpenter sergeant, clenched his jaw but obeyed. He set down his chisel and picked up the marked iron rod. It was the 'rod of a hundred', an iron bar that Seiko and Tyla had spent hours the night before meticulously marking with fine lines: one hundred 'centimeters' (~39.3701 inches).
"Seiko," said Garrick, his voice tight with frustration, "I have built wagon wheels all my life. If the wood is good and the eye is trained, it fits. This... this is a waste of time."
They were working on the water wheel's main shaft. It was an immense pine trunk, the straightest and hardest Acies had been able to locate and fell. Now it lay across two sawhorses.
"Your wagon wheels wobble, Garrick," said Seiko without looking up from his own slate. He was drawing, not a sketch, but a blueprint. Precise lines, measured angles, everything to scale. "They wobble and grind because they aren't balanced. They carry grain. This wheel is going to carry energy. If it wobbles, even by a centimeter, the vibration will tear it apart in a day."
Tyla was on the other side of the shaft, working with a bow drill modified by Seiko. She was boring holes for the paddles, but not by eye. She was using a wooden template Seiko had designed, ensuring every hole had exactly the same angle and depth.
The other two prisoner carpenters were silent, cutting the paddles. Their work was slow, constantly supervised by Tyla, who checked every cut against another measuring rod.
"You are building this like someone forging tools for exact moments, not like a carpenter," muttered Garrick.
"We are both," said Seiko. He set down his slate and walked over. He touched the shaft. "This is the heart. The Klinklang cores are the brain. And the copper wires Tyla is stripping will be the nerves. Everything must fit. Perfectly."
Garrick looked at Tyla. The girl, who a week ago barely knew how a charcoal furnace worked, was now arguing with him about half-centimeter tolerances. And what was worse, she was right. Seiko's logic was contagious.
"Fine," Garrick conceded, picking up the measuring rod again. "Again."
Seiko nodded. "Good."
He was winning Garrick over, not with threats, but with something far more potent: logic. He was teaching him a better system. He was giving him knowledge no other carpenter in the world possessed. Garrick was still a prisoner, but he was also becoming Seiko's first engineering apprentice.
The tension broke at the sound of heavy footsteps. Kael burst into the clearing, his face dark with dust and fury. His gaze swept the scene: Seiko and Tyla bent over a drawing, the three prisoners carefully measuring a log. No one was sweating profusely. No one was shouting.
"What is this?" snapped Kael.
Seiko straightened up slowly. "What is what, Kael? We are working."
"This isn't work!" shouted Kael, pointing at the drawings. "This is playing with sticks! My men, our people, are breaking rocks up there! The prisoners are laughing at us! They say Seiko's 'chosen ones' sit in the shade while they dig."
Garrick and the other two carpenters stepped back, instinctively positioning themselves behind Seiko. Acies glided from a nearby tree, his blades unsheathed.
"They are right," said Seiko calmly.
Kael gaped. "What?"
"They are brute force. We are precision. Kael, how fast is your wall growing?"
"Slow," Kael admitted grudgingly. "It is hard rock. And moving it..."
"Exactly. You are using muscle. I am building a machine that will replace muscle." Seiko pointed to the water wheel. "When this is finished, it will move a forge hammer that strikes a hundred times harder than you. It will move a saw that cuts that wood in a tenth of the time. It will move a crane that lifts the rocks your prisoners can barely drag."
He held up his one-centimeter measuring rod. "But to do that, I can't make mistakes. Up there," he pointed toward the wall, "If you move a rock a centimeter wrong, you have an uneven wall. Down here," he tapped the shaft, "If I cut this a centimeter wrong, it breaks, and we all keep moving rocks by hand."
Kael looked at the measuring rod, then at the complex Klinklang machinery, and then at Seiko's calm face.
"The people are whispering," said Kael, his voice lower. "They say you favor their brothers' killers."
"I favor progress," said Seiko. "And I choose the right people for the job. You are my hammer, Kael. You are the force that builds the wall. I am the blueprint. And Tyla..." he looked at his first apprentice, who watched him with fierce loyalty, "She is the forge, turning the blueprint into reality."
He turned to Garrick. "These men aren't my favorites. They are my tools. Just like you, Kael. We are all tools to build something bigger. Now, are you going to let me sharpen mine, or do you prefer we all keep using stones?"
Kael clenched his jaw. He hated that Seiko was right. He hated that his own fury was so... inefficient.
"Just... hurry up," he muttered. "We need that wall. And we need more weapons. The Legion scouts won't take long to return."
"I know," said Seiko. "That is why we can't afford to waste time on unnecessary work."
Kael gave him one last furious look and marched off, returning to the world of dust and shouting.
Seiko turned back to his team. The air was tense.
"Tyla," said Seiko, "Take the measurements for the bearings. We need to forge the shaft housings."
"Yes, Seiko." She went to work.
Seiko addressed Garrick. "The shaft is ready for the paddle cuts. Mark them. Exactly as on the blueprint."
Garrick nodded, this time without arguing. He had seen the confrontation. He had seen Seiko, who was not even half Kael's size, stand up to the camp's most feared warrior using only words. And he had won.
The carpenter picked up the chisel and the measuring rod. And suddenly, a terrifying respect was born, for the man who was building a God from scratch.
[A/N: Ten chapters ahead on Patreon: patreon.com/Nemryz]