The arrival of Valois acted as a catalyst for a brewing internal conflict that had been simmering beneath the surface of the Shadow Command. For weeks, they had been a unified fireteam, driven by the immediate necessity of the siege and the famine. But as the threat shifted from Goblins to Imperial bureaucracy, the vision for their ultimate goal began to diverge.
Major Kiley sat at the heavy map table, his fingers tracing the trade routes Tate had mapped. "We can't keep this up, Hayes. We're building a tech-base in a basement while the Governor prepares an audit. If we send that grain, the people will revolt. If we don't, the Governor sends a legion. We need to stop the clockwork, stop the chemistry, and start playing the part of a loyal, impoverished vassal. We need to go dark."
"Go dark?" Staff Sergeant Rodriguez snapped, her hand slamming onto the table. "We just gave these people food and hope. We have a communication network that actually works. You want to hide in the dirt because a bureaucrat in a red coat showed up? We should be doing the opposite. We should be expanding the militia, arming the Trios with Blake's new powder, and declaring this a Free Zone. We have the leverage."
"Leverage is only good if you can survive the blowback, Renna," Miller added quietly, his voice heavy with the exhaustion of the engineering crews. "My men are tired. We're building seed drills and repairing walls with spit and prayer. If a legion shows up with trebuchets and five thousand heavy infantry, our 'Thunder Claps' are just fireflies in a storm. We need to consolidate what we have, not pick a fight with the Empire."
Deacon watched them, the command inversion reaching a new, dangerous equilibrium. He was the NCO trying to keep his squad from tearing itself apart. He looked at the map, then at the brass chronometer on his wrist.
"We aren't going dark, and we aren't declaring independence. Not yet," Deacon stated, his voice cutting through the argument. "The mission hasn't changed. We are building a Lily Pad—a stable, autonomous base of operations. If we go dark, we lose the momentum of the modernization, and the famine returns. If we revolt, we die before the first harvest. Our goal is to make Oakhaven so essential to the regional economy that the Governor can't afford to destroy us."
"And how do we do that?" Kiley asked, his skepticism raw.
"Logistics," Deacon replied. "We don't just sell grain. We sell the Seed Drill. We sell the Optics. We use the Widow's network to export Oakhaven's 'innovations' to the other Lords. We turn this city into the technological hub of the South. When the Inquisitor arrives in the spring, he shouldn't find a rebel; he should find a visionary Lord who has discovered 'ancient secrets' that can double the King's tax revenue across the entire Marches."
"You're talking about an industrial revolution under cover of a cult of personality," Kiley whispered, the sheer scale of the deception finally dawning on him. .
"I'm talking about survival, Major," Deacon said. "Blake, I want the second telescope finished. Rodriguez, I want the militia fireteams trained in 'civilian protection'—make them the heroes of the market. Miller, start mapping the river for a water-powered mill. We need to automate the grain processing."
The Shadow Command looked at him, the tension still present but the direction clear. They were moving from a military unit to a corporate-state entity. But as they dispersed to their tasks, Deacon stayed behind, staring at the crimson wax seal Valois had left on the table. He had given them a goal, but he knew the truth: they were building a modern world on a foundation of sand, and the tide was already coming in.