Chapter 7: Midnight Repairs

The storm had passed, but Crofton bore its scars.

The south road was gouged with deep trenches where water had carved through the earth. Ditches overflowed, wagons stuck fast in the mud, and homes near the low slope were left surrounded by standing pools of water.

By mid-morning, Lord Kestrel was already in the village square, cloak still damp but posture steady.

“We will rebuild,” Kestrel announced, his voice carrying over the gathered crowd. “I’ve ordered laborers from neighboring villages to assist. We start with the roads if they remain impassable, trade suffers, and Crofton starves.”

A murmur of agreement swept through the villagers. Though exhausted from the night’s chaos, they trusted their lord’s decisiveness.

“Dig temporary drainage first,” he continued. “My men will mark the worst washouts. We work until dusk.”

Taren stood in the back, mud still streaking his clothes. He clenched his fists gaze fixed on the ruined south road.

The day was grueling. Farmers set aside their Plows to shovel mud. Hired workers filled potholes by hand, struggling with crude tools. Even with dozens of hands, progress was painfully slow.

By dusk, they had barely cleared a third of the worst damage.

“We’ll resume at sunrise,” Kestrel declared. “Rest tonight. We’ll get there.”

The villagers dispersed, weary but determined.

Taren, however, didn’t go home.

As night fell and lanterns dimmed across Crofton, he slipped quietly toward the hills. The rain had stopped, and the world was silent except for the chirp of crickets and the distant croak of frogs in the drenched fields.

There, hidden behind a cluster of trees, GS516M waited.

The boy placed a hand on its steel frame. “Time to work,” he whispered.

The engine roared to life, low and steady, its sound swallowed by the distance from the village.

Guiding GS516M onto the south road, Taren lowered its blade and began. The grader’s lights cut sharp beams through the darkness as it moved with precision, reshaping earth, cutting smooth drainage channels, and pushing aside debris in powerful sweeps.

In just an hour, a stretch of road that had taken the workers all day was perfectly levelled. Water drained neatly away into new ditches.

Taren worked tirelessly, his motions growing fluid and instinctive. Sweat dripped down his brow despite the cool night air, but he didn’t slow.

From a distance, cloaked in shadow beneath a lone oak tree, Lord Kestrel watched.

He had followed quietly after spotting faint lights moving along the damaged road. What he saw now defied belief a massive yellow… machine? Golem? He wasn’t sure. And at its controls a small figure.

His lips curved slightly.

“So… this is our mystery worker.”

But rather than interrupt, he simply observed, arms crossed, as the silent giant worked tirelessly under the moon.

When dawn came, villagers gasped at the sight.

“The south road!”

“It’s fixed!”

“How did it?”

Kestrel only smiled faintly when asked if his laborers had done it overnight. “Progress comes faster than you think,” he said smoothly, keeping his suspicions close to himself.

Meanwhile, Taren hid a weary grin as he passed through the crowd, unnoticed, mud still on his boots.