The injured mage was carried away first.

  Two workers had improvised a stretcher.

  “Improvised” was an optimistic description. The construction consisted of two long poles and a piece of fabric that had once been part of someone’s coat. The fabric sagged noticeably in the middle, creating a structural depression that suggested the mage would spend most of the journey sliding toward the lowest point.

  From an engineering perspective the design had several weaknesses. From a practical perspective it was currently functioning.

  The unconscious mage lay on it with the rigid posture typical for people who had recently been introduced to agricultural tools. One young mage walked beside the stretcher. Two workers carried it. They moved slowly toward the village.

  I watched them until the group became smaller in the distance.

  Nicholas stood next to me.

  “Alright… what exactly are we doing now?” he asked.

  His voice carried the tone of someone who had correctly identified that the situation was not developing in a productive direction.

  “The mood here is terrible.”

  That was correct.

  The workers still stood in loose clusters along the road. Several of them looked at the remaining mages with open hostility. The mages returned the expression with a mixture of resentment and disbelief.

  Productive collaboration probability: currently low.

  I stepped forward. “Everyone listen.”

  The workers turned. The mages also looked up.

  “Work will stop for today.”

  Several men looked surprised. Others looked relieved.

  “Tomorrow morning everyone returns here. Eight thirty.”

  There were a few murmurs.

  “Until then all involved parties will calm down and reorganize.”

  The roadbuilder nodded slowly beside me. “That sounds reasonable.”

  The workers exchanged looks. One of them raised a hand. “So we’re calling it a day?”

  “Yes.”

  Another worker asked, “And tomorrow we just pick this up again?”

  “Yes.”

  There was a short silence. Then the roadbuilder turned toward his people. “You heard him. Pack up, drink something and calm down.”

  Several workers immediately began collecting their tools. The general emotional temperature of the area dropped noticeably.

  Nicholas watched the scene carefully.

  “Well… that wasn‘t what I expected.”

  “That was temporary stabilization.”

  Behind us the workers were already beginning their unofficial evening discussions. We heard fragments of conversation while we started walking back toward the village.

  “…told you this whole thing would blow up…”

  “…at least we’re done for today…”

  “…never seen a mage dropped with a shovel before…”

  The remaining mages followed us. Their pace suggested they preferred distance from the workers.

  Nicholas glanced back once more.

  “So… would you call that a productive day?”

  “Mixed results,” I replied.

  The walk back toward the village continued in relative silence. The remaining young mage kept several steps behind us, his posture suggesting a mixture of embarrassment and resentment.

  Eventually the court mage spoke. “I expected something like this.”

  Nicholas glanced at him. “Something like what?”

  The mage shrugged. “This happens whenever mages go somewhere they normally do not belong.”

  Nicholas frowned. “What exactly does that mean?”

  The court mage gestured vaguely behind us, toward the road where the workers had been. “Mages live in towers, courts, academies—places where people speak carefully.” He paused. “Workers do not. They speak if they want to. And when you mix those groups… things escalate.”

  Nicholas nodded slowly. “That makes sense.”

  I looked at the mage. “And how do you intend to solve it?”

  He looked at the younger mage walking behind us. “That part is easy,” he said. “I can teach these young ones to lower their arrogance.” He shrugged. “That part can be… corrected.”

  Then he looked toward the road again. “The workers are a problem. If they refuse to cooperate, no work will happen. That situation cannot continue.”

  I considered this for several seconds, then I remembered something. “With cheese.”

  Both Nicholas and the court mage stopped walking. “What?” Nicholas asked.

  “With cheese.”

  They looked at me. “What does that mean?” the court mage asked.

  “It is a security model,” I said.

  This explanation did not improve their understanding.

  I turned to Nicholas. “We will need a large board tomorrow. And chalk.”

  Nicholas frowned. “Where do you expect me to find something like that?”

  Before I could answer, the young mage behind us spoke. “I heard something about that.”

  We all turned.

  “The General of a Store in the village,” he said. “Apparently they started stocking some really strange things.”

  Nicholas raised an eyebrow. “What kind of unusual things?”

  The mage hesitated. “Stuff normal people don’t usually need.” He shrugged. “Some people say it looks like they’re preparing for war or something.”

  The court mage shook his head. “I have heard those rumors too.” He waved a hand dismissively. “They are not preparing for war. If anything, they are preparing for… everything.”

  He paused. “Apparently a strange man visited the shop some time ago. Since then the owner tries to be prepared for every possible situation.” He sighed. “New rules. New supplies. Strange ideas about safety.”

  Nicholas looked at me. Then he sighed. “…That might actually work.”

  By the time we reached the inn the sky had begun to darken.

  Nicholas stopped at the door. “Alright. I’ll see if I can find a board. And chalk. If they even have something like that.”

  He looked at me. “Try not to reorganize the village while I’m gone.”

  Then he turned and walked back toward the square.

  At 8:30 the next morning, everyone was present. That alone already counted as progress.

  The workers stood along the unfinished section of the Northern Lane, leaning on tools or sitting on overturned buckets. The roadbuilder was there. The same two workers from the previous day had returned as well, along with the young mage who had helped carry the injured one back to the village.

  The injured mage himself was not present. This was not surprising.

  In the center of the road stood a large green board. Nicholas had apparently succeeded in his procurement mission.

  The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.

  He handed me a piece of chalk. “You’re sure about this?” he asked quietly.

  “About what?”

  “That this… thing you’re about to explain… will actually fix the problem?”

  “It will not solve the problem,” I said. “It will identify the problem.”

  “That does not sound more reassuring.”

  I stepped toward the board. “Everyone sit down.”

  This instruction produced visible hesitation.

  Workers looked at each other. The mages looked confused. Eventually several of them sat down on rocks or toolboxes.

  One of the workers muttered something about “school starting again.”

  Another said, “If this ends with homework I’m leaving.”

  I ignored the commentary and turned to the board.

  “Today,” I said, “I will explain the Swiss cheese model.”

  This announcement produced no improvement in comprehension.

  One of the workers raised a hand. “Why the hell cheese?”

  “Because the metaphor uses cheese.”

  “That doesn’t answer the question.”

  “That is the answer.”

  I drew a circle on the board. The chalk squeaked slightly.

  “This is cheese.”

  A worker behind me said, “Great. We came all the way out here to watch you draw breakfast.”

  I drew three thick slices next to each other. Each slice had several holes in it.

  “Each slice represents a layer of protection.”

  I tapped the first one. “Workers.”

  Then the second. “Mages.”

  Then the third. “Process and organization.”

  They stared at the board. Some looked skeptical, while others looked bored.

  “The holes represent weaknesses. Every system has weaknesses. Workers have weaknesses. Mages have weaknesses. Plans have weaknesses.”

  A worker crossed his arms. “And the cheese is supposed to fix that?”

  “Individually, no.”

  I pointed to the slices again.

  “But if the holes line up…”

  I drew a straight line through all three slices “…failure passes through every layer.”

  “Which is what happened yesterday.”

  Several heads turned toward the spot where the fight had happened.

  I continued drawing. “But if the holes do not align…” I shifted the slices slightly. “…the system stops the failure.”

  The court mage leaned forward.

  “So you’re saying if the mage hadn’t started shouting…”

  The road-builder continued. “…and the worker hadn’t knocked him out…”

  “…and someone had stepped in earlier…”

  “…none of that would have happened?”

  “Yes.”

  They nodded slowly. “That sounds right.”

  The young mage spoke next. “So you’re saying we’re supposed to… cover each other’s weaknesses?”

  “Yes.”

  Silence followed.

  The workers looked at the mages. The mages looked at the workers.

  One of the workers scratched his beard. “So the cheese thing is basically just common sense.”

  “Yes.”

  “Just drawn on a board.”

  “Yes.”

  Another worker pointed at the slices. “So what’s supposed to stop the holes from lining up again?”

  “That,” I said, tapping the chalk against the board, “is what we will now organize.”

  For a moment it seemed as if the explanation was going to work.

  The workers looked at the board. The mages looked at the workers. Several people nodded slowly.

  Then one of the workers stood up again. He pointed toward the mages. “Oh no,” he said loudly. “No chance. Those arrogant mages can go right back where they came from.”

  Several workers murmured in agreement.

  “We were doing this job just fine before they showed up.”

  “Slow, maybe.”

  “But we know how to do it.”

  A young mage interrupted: “Yes. And look how well that worked.”

  One spat into the dirt.

  “Unlike those tower-sitting book readers who’ve never done a day of real work.”

  The roadbuilder stepped forward immediately. “That’s enough.” His voice carried across the group. “You want to keep earning your bread here? Then you keep your mouth shut.”

  Before the tension could settle, one of the younger mages jumped up. “Oh come on,” he said sharply. “You call this work?”

  He pointed toward the road. “You people hit dirt with sticks and call that engineering. You wouldn’t last a week in the academy.”

  That comment had approximately the same stabilizing effect as throwing oil on a fire.

  Several workers stood up.

  Nicholas stepped forward.

  “Hey—”

  The shouting grew louder.

  “You think you’re better than us?”

  “At least we don’t spend our lives reading books!”

  “Oh yes, because digging holes requires extraordinary intelligence!”

  Nicholas raised both arms. “Stop!”

  No one stopped.

  “Stop!”

  Still no result.

  The roadbuilder and the court mage shouted at the same time. “Enough!”

  The sudden authority in their voices finally had an effect. The crowd flinched slightly and the shouting stopped, reluctantly.

  Everyone sat down again, though the irritation remained clearly visible.

  I turned back to the board.

  “What you just demonstrated is the problem.”

  Several people frowned.

  I pointed at the slices of cheese I had drawn earlier.

  “Each group has weaknesses.”

  I gestured toward the workers. “You possess practical experience, but you lack certain tools and methods.”

  Then I pointed toward the mages. “You possess power and knowledge, but you lack experience with physical work and cooperation outside controlled environments.”

  The workers and the mages looked equally displeased.

  “Yesterday those weaknesses aligned.” I tapped the chalk against the board. “That is why the situation escalated.”

  I paused.

  “The purpose of cooperation is to prevent that alignment.”

  One of the workers crossed his arms. “And why exactly should we care?”

  “That is a relevant question.”

  I pointed down the road.

  “This road is the main road for the merchants and leads to the rest of the kingdom. If it fails again next year, trade becomes slower. If trade becomes slower, fewer merchants arrive. If fewer merchants arrive, the kingdom earns less.”

  I pointed toward the mages.

  “If the kingdom earns less, fewer resources exist to support research, which means fewer towers, fewer laboratories, fewer academies.”

  Then I pointed toward the workers.

  “And if the kingdom collapses economically there will be no kingdom left that needs roads.”

  The group fell silent.

  I concluded: “In short, if this road fails, everyone loses.”

  Several workers exchanged uncertain looks. The mages did the same.

  No one looked convinced, but the hostility had weakened. Under the circumstances, this qualified as success.

  The worker cleared his throat. “Well… that’s the first sensible thing I’ve heard all day.”

  The workers did not cheer. The mages did not celebrate. But no one stood up to argue again.

  For the moment, the system had stabilized.

  I turned back to the group.

  “Here is how this will work,” I said.

  Several workers crossed their arms again. The mages watched cautiously.

  “The workers determine the structure,” I continued.

  I pointed toward the road.

  “You know how thick the sand layer must be. You know how thick the earth layer must be. You know when the material is correctly placed.”

  Then I pointed toward the mages.

  “You apply force. You compact the layers. The workers will tell you when the layer is correct and where the pressure must be applied.”

  The court mage raised a hand. “One moment.” He spoke calmly, but his voice carried across the group. “Our mana reserves are not infinite.”

  The young mages looked relieved that someone had mentioned this.

  I considered the statement. This was correct.

  I recalibrated.

  “Revised procedure,” I said.

  “The workers place the sand and earth. The mages compress the layer. Then pause. Then repeat.”

  The court mage considered this.

  “With enough breaks,” he said slowly, “that should work.”

  I nodded. “Then the workflow will proceed as follows.”

  I drew a quick sequence on the board.

  “Workers prepare layer. Mages compact layer. Workers verify. Next layer.”

  I turned back to the group. “This reduces physical exhaustion and prevents magical depletion.”

  Several people nodded. Not enthusiastically, but acceptance probability had increased.

  The roadbuilder clapped his hands once.

  “Well. Now that this is settled.”

  He pointed toward the road. “Come with us. We’ll show you how this works. And where you’re supposed to do it.”

  He nodded once toward Nicholas, then toward me, then he walked toward the road with the others following him.

  Within seconds the group had moved away.

  Nicholas and I remained where we stood. He watched them for a moment.

  “You really think this will work?” he asked.

  “That remains to be determined.”

  He sighed. “I have a bad feeling about this.”

  “That is understandable.”

  He looked at me. “You don’t?”

  “I am familiar with something that usually convinces workers of all classes to cooperate.”

  Nicholas looked interested. “What?”

  “Money.”

  I opened my notebook.

  Nicholas leaned closer. “Money? What are you writing?”

  “A note to the king.”

  Requesting temporary compensation bonuses for both workers and mages, because they currently represent the most critical structural element in maintaining the kingdom’s trade infrastructure.

  Nicholas exhaled slowly. “Couldn’t you have written that before we left the castle?”

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because problems rarely announce themselves in advance.”

  Nicholas watched me finish the note.

  Then he groaned.

  “I have a really bad feeling about this,” he said slowly.

  I looked up from the notebook.

  “About what?”

  “About who will have to ride back to the castle later to deliver that message.”

  “That suspicion is statistically justified,” I said.

  He stared at me. “…You’re serious.”

  “Yes.”

  He sighed deeply. “Of course.”

  He looked toward the road where the workers and mages had already begun reorganizing themselves.

  “Well… before I get sent on another delivery mission, I want to watch this for a bit.”

  He gestured toward the work. “I’ve never seen a mage help build a road before.”

  “That statement is also statistically rare,” I said.

  We stood there and watched.

  At first the process looked chaotic. Workers shouted instructions. Mages argued about angles and pressure. Several attempts failed immediately.

  But gradually something interesting happened.

  Patterns emerged. That was usually the point where systems started working.

  The workers began forming the layers with practiced movements. The mages stepped in afterward and pressed the soil flat with controlled bursts of force.

  At first the results were uneven. Then the layers began holding their shape.

  By late morning the rhythm had stabilized. Workers prepared. Mages compacted. Workers inspected. Then the next section began.

  Nicholas folded his arms. “Well,” he said. “That’s… actually working and faster than I thought.”

  “That was predictable.”

  He looked at me. “Why?”

  “Because the holes in the cheese are currently not aligned.”

  He shook his head slowly. “I will never get used to the way you explain things.”

  Around midday the work had become almost efficient. The shouting had changed tone. Less hostile. More technical.

  Workers pointed. Mages followed instructions. A few even started talking normally.

  Nicholas nodded toward the road. “Look at that. They’re actually cooperating.”

  “Yes.”

  He scratched his chin. “Maybe the cheese thing worked.”

  “It helped identify the structural weaknesses.”

  “And the money note?”

  “That will help maintain the system.”

  Before he could reply we heard another sound. Hoofbeats. Fast.

  I turned.

  A horse approached the road at speed. From an observational standpoint the animal’s movement pattern suggested urgency rather than careful planning. Dust followed behind it in a long trail.

  The royal messenger slowed only slightly before reaching us. He jumped down from the saddle and pulled a rolled parchment from his belt. Without ceremony he unfolded it.

  “Max Mustermann and Nicholas Feranor are hereby ordered to immediately investigate the dragon activity observed yesterday.”

  He continued reading.

  “You are to determine why the dragons entered our lands and why the dragon who negotiated the agreement failed to prevent this incident. This investigation is to begin immediately.”

  Nicholas sighed.

  I looked at the messenger.

  “Understood,” I said. “You may inform the king that we are already on our way.”

  The messenger nodded once.

  I reached into my coat, took out the note I had written earlier, and handed it to him.

  “This should also be delivered to the king.”

  He accepted the paper and glanced at it briefly, as if confirming that it was indeed written words and not another administrative complication disguised as a message.

  “I will see that it reaches him,” he said.

  “Good,” I replied.

  The messenger rolled both documents together, secured them, and turned back toward his horse.

  The message would reach the king.

  I turned toward Nicholas. “Then we should leave.”

  Nicholas stared at me. “We just got the road working.”

  “Yes.”

  “And now we’re going dragon hunting again.”

  “That is an imprecise description.”

  He rubbed his face. “This is exactly how people die.”

  “That remains a possibility.”

  He sighed once more. “Fine.” He gestured toward the road. “But if the kingdom collapses while we’re gone, I’m blaming you.”

  “That would be procedurally inaccurate.”

  He groaned. “We just came back…”

  Then we began preparing to leave.

  Structural Addendum: