"Understood!"
Since Rowan had spoken, Frederica stopped overthinking it. The king had given the order; a minister obeys. If two hundred thousand truly enlisted, they'd follow Rowan's plan for what came next.
"Eula, keep your guerrilla squad in the city for the next few days," Rowan continued. "Skip the assessments. Once Albedo finishes the cement, your squad will escort the road crews and clear out monsters around Mondstadt City and Springvale."
"Yes, my king!" Eula nodded, committing it to memory.
"Frederica, once the new recruits finish basic training, peel off the lower-scoring candidates into a Patrol Corps," Rowan said. "They'll handle in-city matters—brawls, theft—anything non-military. They'll still be under the Knights of Favonius, and if war breaks out and we're short on hands, they can fill in."
Frederica's eyes lit up. "I'd had the same thought, Your Majesty. We're of one mind." She'd long felt the Knights were overkill for chasing pickpockets. A dedicated public-order unit had been on her mind; now that Rowan had voiced it, she was delighted to move.
Rowan nodded and pressed on. "Also: from the ten squads you've got now, carve out specialties. A Reconnaissance Squad led by Amber, the Outrider—have her pass on everything she knows. In war or monster hunts, information is always first. Every squad needs reconnaissance talent."
"And the border guards." Rowan's tone cooled. "It's baffling. Your relations with the Fatui are this tense, yet you don't lock down the borders. You let the Fatui—and anyone else—come and go as they please. No wonder they strut around."
He'd noticed a strange, unspoken assumption across Teyvat: that other nations simply wouldn't wage war. Along the borders, there were practically no defenses—hardly even a proper town. That was a huge liability. If something happened at the frontier, by the time Mondstadt heard, it'd be too late. A Border Defense Corps was necessary. Even with friendly Liyue next door, caution was still required; otherwise, infiltration was an open door.
For now, Mondstadt could only muddle through. But once the economy revived and people were fed and clothed—once no one went hungry—Rowan would overhaul the Knights' structure into four military regions: east, south, west, and north—Fourward Wardens in name and duty. Then, not just hilichurls—if the Abyss Order came knocking, they'd get slapped back out.
"Y-yes, Your Majesty. I'll put it into effect," Frederica murmured, bowing her head. Mondstadt's people really were lax—what do you expect when their Archon lets them be?
"Alright—carry on." Rowan turned to go.
He'd said what needed saying and now hurried for Windrise to find Venti.
"Hey—no gentlemanly manners at all?" a voice huffed just as he swung into the saddle. "Didn't you notice I wasn't up yet?"
Rowan looked down at Istaroth, helpless. "You can fly. Why must you ride with me?"
"I don't care. I want to ride with you." She pouted, absolutely unbothered.
Rowan sighed and held out a hand. "Fine, fine. Can't win with you. Up you go."
"Hehehe~." Istaroth clasped his hand, swung onto the horse, and wrapped her arms around his waist without the slightest pretense, cheek pillowed against his back with a sunny smile.
Rowan could only accept his fate. An Overseer of Heaven's Four Shadows wanted to cling to him—what was he going to do, refuse? In truth, it felt… pretty great. One of the Four—Time's own sovereign—liked him this much. Was he proud? Maybe a little.
A short ride later, they reached Windrise.
Venti was slumped against the Statue of The Seven, already tipsy. Istaroth wrinkled her nose. "He drinks this much?"
"Where do you think the Weinlesefest comes from?" Rowan said dryly. "It's a 'Venti likes wine' festival in all but name." Mondstadt had two great traditions: Ludi Harpastum—the "New Year"-like fest—and Weinlesefest, in the Anemo Archon's honor. Everyone knew the wind god loved his wine.
"Can he still open Stormterror's Lair like this?" Istaroth asked. "We didn't come to watch him drink."
Today was for taming Dvalin. If Venti couldn't lift the seal on Stormterror's Lair, they might not get in at all. Istaroth wasn't going to intervene—she was here to watch the show—but she worried for Rowan's plan.
"You're overthinking it," Rowan said. "Anything that drunkard can do, I can do. Worst case, I chop down the Lair itself."
Venti and Dvalin together had laid the seals; without Venti, no one should be able to open them. But Rowan wasn't worried. Strength breaks all arts. What was a seal next to the Victory Contract Sword? Could it withstand a single strike?
What a joke.
(End of Chapter)
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