Infinite Mana - Chapter 187: A Polite Problem (Thank you for your support, Pat Benevento!) (Patreon)

The first man stepped down from the lead carriage with enough weight to make its suspension rise visibly behind him. Another followed, then several more emerged from the vehicles farther back, their armor catching the light as they assembled beside the road.

They wore matching silver plate with deep blue panels along the shoulders, chest, and knees. Overlapping sections protected their joints without leaving the bulky gaps Sieghart had seen in cheaper equipment, and even their buckles followed the same design. Blue capes hung from their shoulders, each embroidered with the same emblem: a sword and spear crossed behind a shield. The stitching was clean, the borders reinforced, and none looked like something purchased from a camp merchant after a profitable expedition.

The choice of weapons made Sieghart pause. Despite the sword and spear displayed so prominently across their backs, every man carried a hammer secured over one shoulder, its handle resting diagonally against the armor beneath his cape.

Some hammerheads were narrow and heavy, intended to concentrate force into a small area. Others had broader striking faces, and one man carried a shorter weapon with a blunt head on one side and a reinforced pick on the other. That made sense. A sword could cut softer material or exploit a joint, but repeatedly striking dungeon stone would ruin ordinary blades. These men had apparently decided breaking their enemies was more practical than trying to slice them.

Sieghart’s first golem had melted well enough, but most people could not afford to spend that much mana turning a saleable construct into hot rubble. Hammers offered a cheaper solution, especially when Aura supplied the force behind them.

The newcomers began unloading before anyone shouted an order. Two checked the hammer straps, another inspected a companion’s shoulder fastening, and several moved equipment cases into a line without blocking the path used by returning explorers. They were accustomed to working together. Sieghart could see that much without Magic Vision, although he briefly activated the spell to examine the equipment while pretending to check the latch on his own carriage.

Fine channels appeared beneath the polished metal, but the enchantments did not explain how casually the men carried their weapons. Their movements reminded him of trained Aura users: balanced, economical, and careless with weights ordinary workers handled using both hands.

Perhaps they belonged to a military unit sent here for training. Golems made reasonable opponents for that purpose, provided someone understood the dungeon well enough to keep inexperienced soldiers away from whatever occupied the deeper levels. There was another explanation Sieghart liked considerably less. Matching armor, expensive transportation, household colors, and a formal emblem could easily belong to people who spent their lives following a noble’s instructions.

He had already delivered one unexpected favor directly to his family’s doorstep. Meeting another group with noble connections sounded like an excellent way to discover whether the world considered that encounter merely an introduction. Sieghart turned back toward his carriage and unlocked the cargo compartment. There were cores to store, ore fragments to sort, and several other perfectly legitimate reasons to avoid watching whatever the important visitors intended to do.

Perhaps he should have pushed deeper sooner. He wanted a stronger core, information about the dungeon, and enough training to improve his defenses. Instead, he had become comfortable selling shields and repairing people while taking his time.

He had not been in a hurry. That was supposed to be one of the advantages of traveling alone, along with choosing his destination and refusing assignments that involved relatives being held inside laboratories. Now somebody with a crest had arrived, and Sieghart could practically feel that freedom becoming less convenient. He would prefer finding the dungeon’s larger constructs before official-looking strangers decided which passages everyone else was allowed to enter.

Still, rushing underground because matching capes made him uncomfortable would be stupid. The newcomers had not restricted anything, threatened anyone, or even looked toward him yet. He was inventing problems before they had the courtesy to introduce themselves.

Sieghart stored his recovered materials, unfolded the side counter, and retrieved an unfinished shield. Its inner plate still needed two connecting grooves before the impact-distribution circuit would work, giving him something useful to do while the camp settled. He clamped it against the work surface and checked the measurements from his notes. The engraver warmed between his fingers, then began cutting a narrow line through the metal with a faint, steady hiss.

Across the trading yard, one armored man separated from the others and approached a group of explorers. He carried himself without the stiff performance of someone trying to make his rank obvious, which immediately made him stand out. The broad woman who had purchased Sieghart’s first shield was among them. She answered a question, gestured toward her companions, and then pointed directly at the carriage where Sieghart was doing his best to look occupied.

Naturally. Selling useful things apparently encouraged satisfied customers to tell other people where he was. Sieghart had appreciated that yesterday, when the result involved silver coins rather than a man dressed like somebody’s personal military problem.

He lowered his gaze before the officer turned, but it accomplished little. Boots started crossing the yard toward him, their measured pace becoming audible beneath the scrape of his engraver and the distant noise of the workshops. Sieghart finished the line instead of stopping immediately. Rushing the final section would leave uneven depth near the junction, and he refused to ruin a perfectly good shield because trouble had learned to walk politely.

The man stopped on the other side of the counter without leaning over it or reaching toward the merchandise. Sieghart noticed that before he properly examined the visitor, mostly because people seemed unusually fond of touching unfinished work.

“Excuse me.”

“Almost done.”

The officer waited. That alone improved Sieghart’s opinion slightly, although not enough to justify looking away from the tiny connection he was finishing. One slip would turn a clean repair into another hour spent correcting the plate. Sieghart lifted the engraver, set it inside its holder, and finally looked up. The man appeared to be in his late twenties, younger than his composed manner had initially suggested from across the yard.

Short brown hair lay flattened where his helmet had pressed against it, and a pale scar interrupted one eyebrow. His face was lean, his nose slightly crooked, and his gray eyes looked tired rather than bored or dismissive. He was tall without possessing the exaggerated bulk Sieghart associated with some Aura warriors. His armor fitted closely around his waist and shoulders, allowing easy movement, while worn leather beneath the gauntlets suggested the equipment received regular use.

A hammer remained strapped across his back. Up close, Sieghart could see old chips along its striking face and a polished patch near the handle’s lower end, where repeated use had smoothed the wrapping.

“Captain Aldren.”

The man inclined his head slightly before continuing, offering a greeting rather than waiting for Sieghart to guess his name, identify the emblem, or demonstrate the proper amount of respect toward somebody wearing expensive armor.

“I was told the merchant here uses healing magic as well. We’d like to hire your services.”

Sieghart kept one hand resting beside the shield. He had expected a request for equipment, perhaps a demand to reserve whatever he produced next. Being approached as a healer was less irritating, though potentially more complicated.

“For your men?”

“Yes. We’re going into the dungeon.”

Aldren glanced toward the entrance rather than presenting that statement like an announcement everyone should find impressive. Behind him, two soldiers were checking the fit of their gauntlets while another adjusted the straps securing his hammer.

“The explorers said you treated fractures. Joint injuries too.”

“Some. Depends what happened to the joint.”

The captain did not seem offended by the qualification. He looked back toward the shield, noticed the unfinished circuit, and kept his hands away from it while Sieghart waited for whatever unreasonable expectation usually followed requests from people with authority.

“We’d rather have someone with us than keep carrying injured men back here. Is that work you’d consider?”

There it was. He did not merely want Sieghart waiting beside the carriage with First Aid ready; he wanted him underground, close enough to intervene when heavy stone met something less durable. Ordinarily, Sieghart would have refused before the man finished speaking. Traveling with uniformed strangers meant instructions, questions, shared risks, and the possibility that declining a later request would be interpreted as disrespect toward whoever paid for their capes.

The captain’s manners made refusing slightly less satisfying. He had introduced himself, waited while Sieghart worked, and asked whether the arrangement interested him. Nothing about his behavior suggested that a young merchant should feel honored simply because he had been noticed.

That did not make him trustworthy. Politeness was easier to learn than decency, and Sieghart had known enough powerful people to avoid confusing the two. Still, Aldren had provided no immediate reason to dislike him beyond the uniform. More importantly, the men behind him were Aura users carrying weapons selected for this dungeon. Watching them fight would offer something Sieghart could not obtain by dismantling another dozen stone golems entirely on his own.

The roadside swordsman had nearly stabbed through his head before Sieghart understood how little distance mattered. Learning that lesson while somebody tried killing him had worked, but it was not a method he needed to repeat every time.

These soldiers might favor completely different techniques. A hammer’s balance, recovery, and striking angles differed from a sword’s, and coordinating several reinforced fighters around one heavy enemy would create problems individual duels never revealed. Sieghart wanted to see how they managed that. When did they commit their weight? How did they recover after a blocked strike? What did the others watch while one fighter attacked?

He could study those things without being the target. That sounded considerably more comfortable than using Protection to discover exactly how much force another unfamiliar weapon could deliver through his ribs.

There were other advantages as well. Healing genuine injuries during combat, protecting allies, and perhaps lending summoned equipment would provide the opportunities he had already been considering before the armored visitors arrived. Apparently, he had spent too long thinking about finding a temporary party. Now one had come directly to his counter, dressed in precisely the kind of clothing that made him reluctant to associate with it.

Sieghart looked beyond Aldren toward the remaining soldiers. One laughed quietly at something a companion said, then bent to tighten a boot strap. Another tested a hammer’s grip, moving it through a short arc before returning it to his back.

He would still need to know their destination inside the dungeon, what they expected during a retreat, and whether their captain understood that hiring a healer did not purchase the right to make every decision for him.

None of that required an immediate refusal. Sieghart had wanted useful experience with other fighters, and rejecting the possibility simply because he disliked noble-looking armor would make his preferences more important than his actual goals. Aldren waited without interrupting his silence. Sieghart appreciated that enough to consider the request seriously, then glanced toward the lockbox beneath his counter and remembered that experience was not the only thing worth obtaining.

“Depends on how much you’re paying.”