All My Summons Become Divine Girls

Chapter 224: Payday

The first loaded wagons rolled down the eastern slope before noon, followed by a team of Seliza’s engineers who immediately began driving measurement stakes into the road. They carried measuring chains and slate boards, arguing loudly over grading angles while Loccy watched them from the tree line.

She swung her hammer idly, her ears twitching as the engineers marked the ground with bright yellow stakes.

"They want to widen the first switchback," Juna reported, dropping lightly from the registry roof to stand beside Hajin.

"Let them," he said, keeping his hands pushed deep into his coat pockets as he watched the activity, "wider roads mean faster carts, and faster carts mean the Flints have less time to burn them."

The town square had transformed overnight from a quiet graveyard of empty pockets into a loud, frantic market. Marrick sat behind a wide table near the registry doors, surrounded by open ledger books and three iron lockboxes.

Two of Seliza’s red guards stood behind him, looking unbothered while the entire town lined up in nervous silence.

"Garret," Marrick called, his voice cracking slightly as he read the first name, "three weeks back pay, plus the new hazard bonus."

The older miner stepped forward, his face worn deep by years of dust and bad promises. He stared at the small stack of silver coins Marrick pushed across the table, making no move to touch them.

"Take it before I charge you storage," Hajin said, leaning against the doorframe.

Garret swept the coins into his calloused hands, shoving them deep into his pocket before turning away, walking quickly toward the baker’s street without a backward glance. The line moved forward, the silence breaking into a low murmur as the reality of the silver settled over the crowd.

[ GoldRushGamer: ] we love a payday episode, look at Marrick pretending he isn’t sweating through his shirt

[ TaxpayerOnEarth: ] the hazard bonus is a nice touch, keeps them loyal when the blockade turns violent

[ GrandmaViewer: ] he actually paid them, my heart

By mid-afternoon, the town sounded different, the dull quiet of starvation replaced by the sharp noise of hammers hitting nails, men climbing onto roofs with fresh timber bought from the southern villages.

Children ran through the streets with actual bread in their hands, their laughter making Juna’s ears swivel constantly.

Vella sat on a barrel near the clinic door, her hair tied back as she watched a group of men replace a rotted doorframe. She held a cup of tea, her aura suppressed, looking more like a tired older sister than a woman who could melt armor.

"They look alive," she noted, watching Hajin walk past with Ash asleep against his shoulder.

"They look fed," he corrected, adjusting the boy’s weight, "alive comes later, when they figure out how to defend this place."

"Speaking of defending," Vella sighed, rubbing her temple, "my worst patient decided the bed was optional."

Hajin followed her gaze toward the eastern tree line to watch Hans stalk along the perimeter. The hunter rested one arm near his spear, his gray head turning constantly to inspect the new watch posts.

He had no business being out of bed, his leg still wrapped in Vella’s bandages, moving with a quiet grace that ignored the injury entirely.

"I told him to sleep for two days," she complained, her eyes narrowing as Hans kicked a newly driven stake, clearly unimpressed by the angle.

"You told a man who survived sixty years in the belt to stay indoors," Hajin said, watching Hans check the sightlines from the tree cover, "he probably thought you were insulting his work."

"He is going to tear my healing work," she shot back, making no move to stop him.

Hans paused near a pile of freshly cut timber, his eyes scanning the valley before locking onto Hajin across the square. The old man gave a short snort, turning his back to continue his uninvited perimeter check.

"He is looking for the holes," Aria said, projecting onto the barrel next to Vella, "his tactical assessment suggests the current militia barricades are insufficient."

"Then we let him look," he said, "because when the Flints send their vanguard, I want him standing on our side of the barricade."

The line at Marrick’s table finally dwindled as the sun began to set, the lockboxes noticeably lighter. Marrick slumped back in his chair, rubbing his ink-stained fingers together, his face pale but relieved.

Before he could close the main ledger, a small figure stepped out from the shadow of the registry wall.

It was Lana, the sick girl from the alley, her face still thin but no longer carrying the gray pallor of starvation. She wore a patched dress that was too large for her, her hands clasped tightly before her as she walked up to the table.

"The rations were distributed yesterday, Lana," Marrick said kindly, reaching for a small pouch of copper coins, "if you need more, I can write a voucher."

Lana looked at the pouch, her jaw tightening before she met Marrick’s eyes.

"I do not want charity," she said, "I want work."

Marrick blinked, his hand freezing over the pouch before he looked at her thin arms, then glanced up at Hajin, who was watching from the doorway.

"We are hiring miners and road crews," Marrick started, trying to find a polite refusal, "the work breaks men, Lana, it is not meant for—"

"I know the names," she interrupted, taking a step closer to the table.

"What names?" Hajin asked, stepping forward to let Ash down onto the ground.

Lana turned to face him, her posture rigid as if she expected him to hit her.

"The names of the people who hide when the guards come," she said, "those owing debts to the old enforcers, or losing their rations because they are too scared to stand in line. You have money now, my lord, but the people who need it most are not standing in this square."

Hajin studied her, reading the hardened edge in her voice, recognizing the same survival instinct that kept him alive in the slums. She was not asking for a favor; she was offering a service nobody else could provide.

"Marrick," he called without looking away from the girl.

"Yes, my lord?"

"Give her a slate and a piece of chalk," he ordered, crossing his arms, "she is our new registry runner."

Marrick scrambled to find a clean slate, his hands clumsy as he handed it across the table along with a stub of white chalk.

"Write down every name," Hajin told her, watching her small hands grip the slate tightly, "find everyone hiding or stealing, and bring the list directly to him."

Lana nodded once, her expression deadly serious, clutching the slate to her chest before turning back into the alleys.

[ LoreSeeker99: ] she just invented the internal affairs department

[ CringeSlayer91: ] little girl walks up to the lord and demands a job, legend behavior

[ ashley (Mod): ] Keep an eye on her, those old enforcers will not like a kid writing down their names.

"My lord," Marrick whispered, his voice shaking slightly, "the old enforcers are dangerous men, they will not take kindly to a child asking questions."

"Then they can ask me about it," he said, picking up Ash as the boy started chewing on a discarded piece of timber, "and Juna can give them the answer."

Juna smiled from the roof, her fangs catching the fading light, "I would love to answer some questions."

The sound of hammers faded as the evening air cooled quickly, replaced by the forgotten luxury of cooking fires and roasting meat. Hajin walked up the stairs to the registry roof, leaving Marrick to secure the remaining lockboxes.

He sat on the edge of the roof, the wind blowing off the eastern peaks, carrying the faint scent of pine and distant snow. Ash curled up against his side, his small chest rising in a steady rhythm, one hand gripping the edge of Hajin’s coat.

Aria materialized beside them, her light soft against the dark shingles.

"The regional solvency projection has improved by four hundred percent," she reported, projecting a graph that Hajin ignored, "however, Flint border activity has increased. Their vanguard is mobilizing."

"We have time," he said, looking down at the quiet streets, watching the warm light spilling from the windows.

He knew the peace was temporary, bought with gold and Seliza’s reputation, holding back the inevitable violence. The Flints were coming to turn the blockade into a siege, and the newly built roofs would burn if they failed to hold the line.

"Let them come," he murmured, pulling his coat tighter against the wind, "they are about to learn how expensive this region has become."