The Villain Who Seeks Joy-Chapter 81: The Squeeze

The workshop smelled of sawdust and cold grease.

I had the Bone Warden on the bench. The impact with the Chimera had snapped three ribs on the left flank and bent the rear axle pin. It was a mess, but it was a fixable mess.

Gareth leaned against the doorframe, looking grim. He held a requisition slip in his hand.

"Store is closed," he said.

I looked up from the axle. "Closed?"

"Locked. Barred. The quartermaster says the account is frozen pending an ’audit’ of the donor funds."

"The Foundation," I said.

"They pulled the money," Gareth said. "All of it. We can’t buy wood. We can’t buy rope. We can’t even buy nails."

I wiped my hands on a rag. This was the counter-attack. They couldn’t beat us in the hall, so they were trying to starve us out. It was a classic siege tactic. Cut the supply lines, wait for the garrison to get hungry, then watch them turn on each other.

"We don’t need to buy," I said. "We scavenge."

"Scavenge what? The yard is clean."

"The Chimera," I said.

Gareth blinked. "The monster?"

"It had glass plating," I said. "Copper rivets. Treated leather. The Watch took the body for evidence, but the debris field is still in the trash bins behind the hall. Go get it before they empty them."

Gareth grinned. It was a sharp, hungry look. "Trash picking. My mother would be so proud."

"Go," I said.

He ran.

Mira was at the other end of the bench, scraping the last of the resin off the floor tiles we had pulled up. She looked tired.

"This isn’t sustainable, Armand," she said quietly. "We can patch things for a week. Maybe two. But winter term starts in three days. If we don’t have supplies, the practicals will fail."

"Then we change the practicals," I said. "We stop building new things. We learn to maintain the old ones."

"That’s not how the curriculum works."

"It is now."

I went back to the axle. I didn’t have a new pin, so I heated the bent one over a small flame and hammered it true. It wasn’t pretty, but it rolled straight.

Routine. I liked routine. It kept my hands busy and my head clear.

Ariadne found me an hour later. She didn’t come into the workshop; she stood at the threshold, keeping her boots off the dust. She held a letter with the Imperial seal.

"Walk with me," she said.

We walked the perimeter of the quad. The air was colder today. The leaves on the oaks were turning brown.

"The Crown Auditors froze the Valcrey accounts," she said. Her voice was level, but I could hear the tension in the wire. "They claim it’s part of the investigation into Halvern. Since we were ’involved’ in the incident, our assets are under review."

"It’s a squeeze," I said. "They want us to panic. They want us to beg the Foundation to intervene."

"I know what it is," she snapped. Then she sighed. "It means I can’t pay the tuition supplement for next term. Not yet."

"We’ll manage."

"How? You live on a stipend I can’t pay."

"I don’t need much," I said. "I have a roof. I have food at the canteen. I have work."

She stopped and looked at me. The wind caught the silver ribbon in her hair.

"You’ve changed the school, Armand. But you’ve also painted a target on it. Halvern was just a manager. The people above him... they don’t care about public image. They care about control. If they can’t control the academy, they will break it."

"They’re trying," I said. "Money is just the first wave. Next comes the pressure on the instructors. Then the ’accidents’ in the field."

"You sound like you’ve fought this war before."

"I have," I said. "Just with different uniforms."

"What do we do?"

"We dig in," I said. "We fortify. And we make sure that when they come for us, they break their teeth."

She nodded slowly. "I’ll write to Father. I’ll tell him to liquidate the southern vineyards. We need cash, not credit."

"Good."

She started to walk away, then paused. "Seraphine wrote to me."

I went still. "What did she say?"

"She said she misses our talks. She said she hopes the winter isn’t too hard on us."

"It’s a threat," I said.

"I know," Ariadne said. "I burned the letter."

She left me by the gate.

I went to the training yard. It was empty, mostly. The equipment looked worn. Without the shiny new gear the donors usually bought, the cracks were showing.

Cael was there, hitting a pell with a wooden sword. Thwack. Thwack. Thwack. The rhythm was brutal.

He stopped when he saw me. He didn’t look winded.

"Quartermaster turned me away," he said. "No new practice blades."

"We’ll use sticks," I said.

"Sticks break."

"Then we don’t hit so hard," I said. "We hit right."

He wiped his forehead. "Liora briefed the senior class. The curriculum is shifting. No more tournament prep. It’s all survival drills now. Resource management. Defense."

"Good," I said. "Tournaments don’t teach you how to live."

"She wants you to lead a seminar," Cael said. "On improvised tools."

I laughed. It was a short, dry sound. "Me? Teaching seniors?"

"You fixed a bridge with a dead pig and a piece of rope," Cael said. "They respect that more than a textbook."

He tossed me a spare practice sword. It was chipped and heavy.

"Spar?" he asked.

"Spar."

We didn’t go easy. We fought for an hour, trading blows, testing guards. I used the Anchor Step to root myself against his heavy assaults. He used his aura to pressure my stamina.

We didn’t talk. We just worked. It felt clean.

When we finished, I was bruised and sweating. My hand ached, but it was a good ache. The kind that meant the muscle was growing back stronger.

"You’re getting faster," Cael said, drinking from a water skin.

"I’m getting lighter," I said. "Less drag."

"Keep going," he said. "You’ll need to be heavy soon."

I knew what he meant. Tier 3. Artisan was about finesse. The next step—Expert—was about power. Holding the line when finesse wasn’t enough.

I left him and headed for Refuge.

Lyra was at her desk. The stack of paper was taller than usual. She looked up when I walked in. There were dark circles under her eyes, but her badge was polished bright.

"Don’t ask for blankets," she said. "We don’t have any."

"I didn’t come for blankets," I said.

I pulled a small bag from my pocket. Inside were the copper rivets I had pulled from the Chimera’s wreckage in the trash bin.

I set them on her desk.

"Copper," I said. "Trade value with the city smiths. Or use them for repairs."

She picked one up. It was heavy, cold metal.

"You went through the trash," she stated.

"Gareth did," I said. "I just cleaned them."

She looked at me. The corner of her mouth twitched. "You’re ridiculous."

"I’m practical."

"Sit," she said. "I have tea. It’s weak, because we’re rationing leaves, but it’s hot."

I sat. We drank tea in silence for a few minutes. The office was quiet. Outside, the wind was picking up, rattling the shutters. Winter was knocking.

"The intake numbers are up," she said softly. "More students asking for help. Allowances cut off. Supplies missing."

"The squeeze," I said.

"People are scared, Armand. They know something happened at the dinner, but they don’t know what. Uncertainty makes people brittle."

"We need to give them something solid," I said. "Work helps. Give them tasks. Fixing the walls. Patching the roof. If they’re building, they aren’t panicking."

"I’ll rewrite the duty roster," she said, making a note. "mandatory service for aid."

"Fair trade," I said.

I finished my tea. I stood up to leave.

"Armand?"

"Yes?"

"Thank you," she said. "For the rivets. And for... staying."

"I’m not going anywhere," I said.

I walked back to the dorms in the dark. The lamps were dimmer tonight—saving oil. The shadows were longer.

I passed Seraphine’s old room. It was still dark, the seal broken but the door closed. It felt like a missing tooth in the hallway.

I entered my room. Marrow was waiting in the corner. Hollow was perched on the headboard.

I sat down and opened my kit. I took out the Bone Lantern.

The battery—a small mana crystal—was dimming. I didn’t have a replacement.

I took a tool and carefully adjusted the aperture, focusing the beam so it would do more with less.

Scavenge. Adapt. Survive.

The easy days were gone. The parades were over. Now came the long haul. The cold war.

I looked at the lantern light, small and stubborn against the dark.

"Work," I said to the empty room.

It wasn’t exciting. It wasn’t heroic.

It was exactly what I needed.