Infinite Mana - Chapter 180: Absolutely Not a Family Reunion (Thank you for your support, wolfsbanesolterra!) (Patreon)

Lucelia tilted her head slightly after noticing that he had not responded to her introduction, apparently confused by the sudden silence.

“And you are?”

Sieghart wanted to run. Not figuratively. He genuinely considered feeding enough mana into the carriage to accelerate away from the estate before anyone nearby could ask another question. He had fought Firians, corrupted orcs, Chimerians, bandits, dungeon monsters, and an earthworm capable of consuming active magic without experiencing this particular kind of panic.

His little sister politely asking his name somehow made immediate retreat feel like the most strategically intelligent option available. Sieghart opened his mouth and nearly said his complete name through sheer habit before stopping himself fast enough that the first syllable became the only thing escaping.

“Si...”

Lucelia blinked.

“Si?”

“Silvester Standalone.”

He refused to elaborate. Using Sieghart would already create unnecessary risk.

Adding Emberhart would turn an uncomfortable coincidence into the kind of family confrontation Sieghart had crossed half the country specifically to avoid. Lucelia smiled faintly and performed another smaller gesture of thanks while the approaching guards became increasingly suspicious of the unfamiliar teenager sitting inside an unusual magical carriage.

“Thank you, Silvester Standalone.”

Sieghart wanted to slam mana into the carriage and leave the noble district at maximum speed, but doing that would accomplish the exact opposite of what he needed. An unfamiliar teenager accelerating away from the Emberhart residence immediately after returning their missing daughter would attract attention, particularly when several household guards had already watched him leave.

Running suspiciously fast was still running suspiciously. Sieghart therefore forced himself to maintain the same speed as every other carriage traveling through the eastern district, even while every instinct insisted that distance from the estate was currently more valuable than subtlety.

His hands remained steady around the steering wheel, but his mind refused to cooperate. He kept imagining guards emerging behind him with orders to stop the young mage who had returned Lucelia.

That would probably be the innocent version. Nobody knew he was Sieghart Emberhart. As far as his parents were concerned, some traveling mage named Silvester Standalone had encountered their daughter somewhere in the capital and safely returned her without demanding anything.

Which meant gratitude was entirely possible. Sieghart hated that possibility. His father might send guards after him with a reward. His mother might want to thank him personally.

Sieghart wanted none of it. He had just spent nearly a year of accumulated income in one afternoon and still considered meeting either parent too expensive a price for recovering the money.

“They could cover me in gold and I’d still rather keep driving.”

The carriage rolled through another noble avenue while Sieghart resisted looking backward. Several mounted guards passed in the opposite direction, and his shoulders tightened automatically before he realized they were not interested in him. That reaction irritated him almost as much as the situation itself. He had walked willingly into dungeons and enemy territory, yet the possibility of having an awkward conversation with his parents made him behave like a wanted criminal.

Technically, he had once been a wanted criminal.

That probably did not help.

The false accusation surrounding his grandparents’ deaths had eventually lost practical importance inside Lunar Arc, but Sieghart had never forgotten what happened when powerful people controlled the story around him. He had no interest in giving his family another opportunity to decide what his life should become, even if their intentions were completely different now. Especially if they were different now.

Sieghart could imagine the possibility too easily. Their supposedly useless son had somehow become a useful mage. Perhaps his father would suddenly decide magical talent deserved reconsideration. Perhaps his mother would regret sending him away. Perhaps they would apologize.

Sieghart discovered that he wanted to hear none of those possibilities nearly as much as he once expected. An apology would not return the years with his grandparents. Approval now would not erase rejection then. And discovering that Sieghart had become useful enough to deserve attention would probably make everything considerably worse.

He guided the carriage into a busier district, allowing ordinary traffic to surround him while keeping his apparent expression relaxed beneath Phantom Image. At least the crowds made following him more difficult.

Sieghart began breathing more normally. Then he remembered Lucelia’s face. The resemblance became painfully obvious now that he knew who she was. He had failed to recognize his sister because, in any meaningful sense, Sieghart had never actually seen her to remember.

Now that Sieghart had actually seen her, however, another face kept returning from somewhere much deeper inside his memories. His mother. He had almost forgotten what she looked like. Nearly ten years had passed since Sieghart regularly saw her, and even with memories from two lives, details faded when nothing refreshed them.

He still remembered blond hair and blue eyes. A controlled posture. The way she seemed considerably more comfortable evaluating training than handling an unwanted son whose future did not match family expectations.

But the smaller details had become blurred. Lucelia had pulled them back unexpectedly. The nose was almost identical. So was the shape around the mouth, particularly when she straightened her expression and attempted to look dignified despite clearly wanting to cry.

Even the general shape of her face resembled their mother enough that Sieghart finally understood why the girl had bothered his memory immediately. The red hair and green eyes came from their father. Everything else had apparently leaned strongly toward their mother. Sieghart found that strangely unsettling.

He had spent years barely thinking about his parents except when some old resentment became relevant. Seeing their features recombined inside a child who had done absolutely nothing to him made the family suddenly feel more real than he preferred.

Lucelia had not chosen to replace him. She had probably never even understood what happened. She might not know him at all. That possibility should have been comforting.

Instead, Sieghart found himself remembering the way she studied his face before he left. Maybe something remained. A half-remembered older brother. A family story. Sieghart really hoped it was the last option.

He passed another intersection and finally saw the southern wall ahead between the buildings. The enormous gate was still fully open beneath morning traffic, with streams of wagons, riders, travelers, and livestock entering and leaving without meaningful interruption.

Sieghart almost increased speed immediately. He stopped himself. Not yet. The guards near the gate looked relaxed, but several watched passing vehicles closely enough that a teenage driver suddenly accelerating toward freedom might create exactly the memory Sieghart wanted to avoid.

He remained behind a merchant wagon carrying barrels, matching its irritatingly slow pace while pretending his heart was not asking why wheels had been invented if nobody intended to use them properly.

A pair of city guards walked beside the traffic. One glanced toward Sieghart. Sieghart looked forward. The guard kept walking. Another soldier inspected the carriage briefly, probably confused by the missing horses, then returned his attention toward a group entering with several large covered carts.

No one stopped him. Sieghart passed beneath the massive gatehouse. Stone walls surrounded him for several seconds while the road crossed through the twenty-meter fortifications separating the capital from the open countryside.

Then sunlight returned. The carriage crossed beyond the walls. Sieghart still did not accelerate. There were watchtowers outside. Travelers filled the road. Archers could probably see him from above.

He maintained an ordinary speed until the southern gate became smaller behind him and the traffic gradually spread across several branching routes. Only when the capital had become sufficiently distant did Sieghart finally turn onto a secondary road indicated by his new dungeon map.

He waited another several minutes. Then he increased mana. The engine roared. Fire Runes brightened beneath their reinforced housings while the pistons accelerated, sending the carriage forward quickly enough that the nearest ordinary wagons began disappearing behind him. Sieghart released a long breath.

“Finally.”

The relief felt embarrassingly strong. He had expected the capital to become dangerous because somebody might discover his illusion, recognize his carriage, involve him in politics, or create another emergency he could not comfortably ignore.

Instead, the city had somehow attacked him with his own family. That felt considerably more unfair. Sieghart looked backward one final time. The capital remained visible above the landscape, its walls and distant towers occupying much of the northern horizon.

No riders followed him. No magical signal appeared. No messenger came racing along the road with an expensive reward and an invitation to meet his parents.

Sieghart faced forward again and allowed the carriage to maintain higher speed. He could finally relax. Somewhat. The coincidence still bothered him. His family residence stood roughly a week away from the capital during ordinary travel, yet somehow his parents had brought Lucelia here at exactly the same time Sieghart decided to visit.

What were the odds?

Probably not impossibly small. His father was a major noble and military figure. Visiting the capital should not be rare enough to qualify as supernatural intervention. Still, Sieghart had developed an increasingly unhealthy relationship with coincidence. Every time something unlikely happened, the consequences seemed determined to become his problem personally. The solution appeared obvious.

“I need foresight magic.”

He nodded to himself as though that settled everything. A book. A teacher. A magical artifact. Sieghart did not particularly care which one provided the foundation, as long as somebody had discovered a reliable method for seeing inconvenient events before walking directly into them.

The next time he visited a major library, foresight would immediately become one of his highest priorities. Price did not matter. Sieghart paused. He had just learned an important lesson about saying that.

“Reasonable price preferably.”

Of course, foresight magic probably came with limitations, paradoxes, vague imagery, terrible accuracy, mental strain, impossible prerequisites, or some ridiculous requirement involving destiny.

Nothing useful in this world remained simple. Sieghart would investigate anyway. Once the capital finally disappeared completely behind the southern hills, the last tension across his shoulders faded.

The road ahead became quieter, with only scattered farms and distant tree lines separating him from the next region marked on his dungeon map. He had several days before reaching the nearest dungeon.

That meant training time. Sieghart immediately returned to the subject his unexpected family encounter had interrupted.

Poison Magic.

More specifically, something capable of ruining an Aura user’s day. The fight against the bandit leader remained fresh enough that Sieghart could remember every physical disadvantage with uncomfortable clarity.

Twenty meters had become close combat. Simple thrusts carried enough force to threaten Protection. Repeated Impulse casts strained Sieghart’s body much faster than mana consumption could ever become relevant.

And if the Aura user had been stronger, Sieghart’s illusion trick might never have worked. He needed better answers. Direct Poison Sphere had potential, but ordinary toxins worked too slowly against somebody capable of killing Sieghart within seconds.

Sieghart wanted something less indirect. A poison that attacked the exact advantage Aura warriors depended upon. Their bodies. He formed a small Poison Sphere above his left palm while keeping his right hand on the steering wheel.

The green sphere rotated slowly, its unpleasant odor immediately becoming noticeable despite Sieghart deliberately keeping the spell weak. The basic principle still involved invasive mana entering tissue and disrupting biological function.

His earlier experiments had tried shaping that disruption toward fatigue rather than general poisoning. That direction felt even more important now. The Aura user had relied upon explosive movement repeatedly, generating terrifying speed through reinforced muscles and enormous physical output.

What happened if every burst cost twice as much stamina?

Three times?

What if recovery slowed?

What if the muscles gradually stopped producing full strength regardless of how much Aura reinforced them?

Sieghart concentrated. He did not understand Aura deeply enough to attack the vital energy directly. That could become another research path later. For now, attacking the body carrying it sounded simpler. He imagined the sensation after repeated Impulse use.

Heavy legs.

Burning muscles.

Breathing too quickly.

A heart working harder.

Arms that responded more slowly after absorbing too many impacts.

That was the condition he wanted the poison to create artificially.

The green mana shifted.

Sieghart reduced the corrosive aspects and strengthened the portion intended to spread through biological systems. The structure collapsed. He formed another. This one lasted slightly longer.

Sieghart kept driving while repeating the process, allowing the carriage to follow the relatively straight southern road while most of his attention remained divided between navigation and magical experimentation.

His eagerness felt different from ordinary curiosity. This spell was no longer simply something that sounded useful. Considering his luck, it felt necessary. He had encountered one powerful Aura user shortly after leaving Seraphina. His father was one of the strongest Aura users in human territory.

The capital contained countless Aura-trained nobles.

Sieghart’s journey would eventually carry him through regions where mages were far less common than warriors who strengthened themselves physically. He would absolutely fight more Aura users. Pretending otherwise would require an optimism Sieghart had never possessed.