Chapter 679: Room For More

Hajin climbed onto the empty freight platform while Ferra’s apprentices chalked numbers along every waiting wagon bed.

"Last lot, everybody," he hollered, cracking his knuckles over the glowing catalogue, "the final slice of the founder’s money, so nobody blink!"

"Nobody was blinking until you started yelling," Ferra grumbled from beneath the nearest axle.

’Four lots down, one to go, and I still haven’t bought a single thing that sparkles.’

"System, sweetheart, give me pulleys and shelters, the boring kind that keep people breathing."

[ Earth lot | 400 pulley sets | 500 credits each | 200,000 credits ]

[ Earth lot | 100 weatherproof shelters | 2,000 credits each | 200,000 credits ]

[ Purchase confirmed | 400,000 credits deducted from spendable funds ]

[ Wallet total | 5,648,985 → 5,248,985 credits ]

[ Relief reserve | 5,000,000 unchanged | Spendable | 248,985 credits ]

Crates slammed onto the platform in tidy stacks, and rope coils spilled the smell of fresh oil across the yard.

"That’s all of it, two million gone on rope and tents," Hajin announced, spreading his arms like a conquering king.

[ HearthKeeper: Five lots, zero sparkly junk, I’m so proud of this man. ]

[ Seoul_Tactician: Rope and tents, the most heroic shopping spree in stream history. ]

Ferra crawled out from under the axle, snatched a pulley block, and held its joining pin against the wagon’s frame. She checked the pin, then the bracket, then the strap rings, scowling harder at every gap she found between them.

"These pins fit an empty wagon, and nobody’s dragging an empty wagon up a gorge," she spat, flicking the bracket hard enough to make it ring.

"So they’re junk?"

"They’re fine once I swap every bracket to the loaded side, you lump, so go fetch the billets."

He saluted with a crate lid and scurried off, muttering about smiths who bullied paying customers.

Juna wandered over from the ration wagon, sniffed a folded shelter, and wrinkled her nose at the oiled canvas.

"Smells like a wet fish."

"It keeps the rain off, so it gets to smell however it wants," Hajin shot back, patting the canvas.

"Then I claim the one nearest the cookpot," Juna muttered, tail flicking as she dragged it toward her pile.

’Yesterday a quarry beast wrecked her best crate, so today every joint gets tested twice.’

---

Loccy hoisted a loaded handcart over her head with one arm, then set it down very gently on a sack.

"Okay, pretend somebody’s leg is under this, and pretend I’m busy elsewhere," she declared, wagging a finger at two apprentices.

"Can’t you just lift it?"

"Not if I’m three wagons away eating lunch, so you two get the pulley."

The apprentices hooked the block to the rail, threaded the rope, and heaved together with enormous confidence and no plan. The cart rose a hand’s width, the knot slipped, and both of them landed on their backsides in the dust.

Loccy snorted so hard that her ears flopped forward over her eyes.

"That was awful," she wheezed, hauling them up by their collars, "truly the worst lift I’ve ever seen, so do it again."

"You’re not going to say it was good?"

"Nope, it was bad, and now you know where the knot slips."

The second pull held, and the cart rose clean off the sack while the apprentices gaped at their own hands.

She watched the rope run through the wheel, her tail twitching faster with every steady inch of lift.

’Nobody’s pretending, nobody’s scared of me, and I actually like this a lot.’

"Ten silver says you two can lift a full wagon by tonight," Loccy chirped, already grabbing a third volunteer.

"Deal," the smaller apprentice squeaked, rubbing his bruised backside, "but you show us the knot again first."

"Gladly, and this time watch my hands instead of my face."

[ ShadowMage44: Loccy teaching rope work with zero patience for fake praise, perfect teacher. ]

The third volunteer got the knot right on the first try, and Loccy made her do it twice more anyway.

Hajin leaned against a stack of folded shelters and watched her teach without a single show of strength.

---

Nyra found him there with her attendant hovering two steps behind and the wooden duck tucked under one arm.

"I’m staying," she announced, chin lifted, "with my attendant and the house, for the first part of the road."

He crouched until his eyes sat level with the duck’s painted ones.

"Good choice, the garden needs somebody who actually knows which leaves are squash."

"I want news, though, proper news, not bridge news."

"Name it."

She counted on her fingers with the deadly seriousness of a magistrate, "What they eat for breakfast out there, whether the children play the stone game, and whether they have real ducks."

"And if they do?"

"Bring me one feather for him," Nyra said, lifting the wooden duck, "so he knows what he’s supposed to look like."

Hajin held out his little finger, and she hooked hers around it with grave, careful solemnity.

"One feather, from a real river duck, I swear it on every crate in this yard."

"And you come back with everybody," she added, squeezing his finger hard.

"Everybody, and Loccy owes you a pastry for keeping her cushion warm."

"A whole pastry," Nyra corrected, "not a crumb."

’That’s the most important job on this whole expedition, and nobody’s allowed to argue.’

---

His vision flickered as a private row slid across the corner of the catalogue.

[ Ashley → Hajin | Private: orbital_founder says measuring a mark through a packing strap isn’t measurement, it’s faith. ]

He glanced toward the fitting’s crate and winced when he spotted the thick strap sitting dead across the marked joint.

’A strap, seriously, a genius on another world just got beaten by a strap.’

"Hey, the rich guy from Earth is complaining about your strap."

"My strap?" she barked, stomping over with the gauge already in her fist.

She yanked the buckle loose, slid the strap two fingers sideways, and lifted the fitting straight up toward his face. Then she closed the gauge across the mark’s two arms and held it there until the camera read both numbers.

"There, tell your rich man the arms still sit true, and tell him to ask before he grumbles."

[ Hajin → Ashley | Private: She moved it, she’s swearing, and he got his view. ]

[ ashley(mod): Public frame posted, gauge reading visible, strap relocated by a very annoyed smith. ]

[ IronVanguard: Ferra fixed it herself instead of letting anyone guess, legend. ]

---

By late afternoon the wagons sat loaded, with pulleys on the side rails and shelters lashed beneath oiled canvas.

Ferra walked the line twice, thumping every joint with her hammer and listening to each answer.

"Third and fourth wagons carry a full row empty," she grunted, rapping the planks, "who left a hole?"

"Me," Hajin said, laying a folded blanket across the vacant bench, "that space is for people coming back."

She narrowed her eyes at the bench, then at him, and finally gave one short nod.

The convoy driver from Garrow’s old ambush limped over with his cap twisted between both hands.

"Which road, sir?"

Hajin spread the map across a crate and traced the ridge with his thumb until he found Eirwen’s mark.

"The sheltered path behind the ridge, the one Lady Eirwen found when the signals failed, not the Crown road."

"Longer, but it skips the fort’s food stop," the driver murmured, tapping the line twice, "we roll at first light, then?"

"First light, with full ration bags and nobody left waiting at the gate."

The driver nodded and limped off to wake his mules, whistling an old road tune under his breath.

Hajin rolled the map and tucked it under his arm, "Somebody tell Vella the shelters are hers to inspect before dawn."

[ TacticalNerd: Five lots, a whole expedition, and an empty bench saved for strangers. ]

[ HearthKeeper: He’s packing room for whoever needs rescuing, I’m not okay. ]

Loccy flopped down onto the reserved bench, then sprang up guiltily when Ferra glared at her.

"Not for you, you’d crack the damn planks."

"Fifty silver says I don’t," Loccy cackled, ears flicking back.

Hajin ran his palm along the empty planks while the sun slid down behind the yard wall.

’Somebody past that fort needs a seat home, and this one stays open for them.’