Infinite Mana - Chapter 220: Rumors at the Border (Patreon)

Sieghart reached the town near the border while the sun was already sinking behind distant hills, painting the western sky orange and red. By his original estimate, he should have arrived several hours earlier, but that estimate had assumed he would remain awake.

He had not. Sometime after putting enough distance between himself and the goblin dungeon, Sieghart had pulled the carriage beside the road, secured everything as well as possible, and fallen asleep hard enough that waking several hours later felt almost troubling.

The dungeon run had exhausted him more than he wanted to admit. Fighting continuously inside the underground city, surviving the Champion, and then spending hours channeling Healing Magic into his burned arm had drained everything except the one resource he never needed to worry about.

His left arm had improved considerably during the trip. The worst burns no longer felt as though somebody had pressed heated iron directly against his nerves, and he could move every finger without immediately wanting to swear at himself. Several marks remained, however. New skin looked slightly discolored in places, and darker patches followed the areas where the deepest burns had damaged tissue before First Aid and his improvised treatment managed to restore it.

Sieghart looked down at the arm while guiding the carriage through the town gate. It still looked troublesome, but at least it no longer burned like a bitch whenever cloth brushed against it. By his standards, that qualified as meaningful progress. The town itself was larger than he expected from the map, though its location explained why. Thick stone walls surrounded crowded streets, while warehouses, smithies, inns, supply yards, and military buildings occupied far more space than ordinary residential districts.

Even at sunset, traffic remained heavy near the main roads. Wagons carrying grain, barrels, arrows, medical supplies, and armor moved between guarded storage compounds, while armed travelers filled the streets in numbers that immediately made the border conflict impossible to ignore.

Unfortunately, shopping would have to wait. Most craftsmen were already closing their doors, merchants were covering stalls, and several runic shops Sieghart passed had either locked up completely or posted signs showing that business would resume the following morning. Trying to convince exhausted smiths to design custom equipment after closing sounded like a good way to receive either terrible service or an inflated price. Sieghart therefore abandoned the idea and started searching for somewhere to park instead.

Another dark alley eventually presented itself between an old warehouse and a three-story building that looked like rented storage. The location was narrow enough to discourage casual traffic while still allowing the carriage to leave quickly if something unpleasant happened nearby.

Sieghart had become disturbingly accustomed to sleeping in places like this. Dark alleys, hidden roadside clearings, abandoned corners, and inconvenient spaces behind buildings had gradually become the closest thing his travels possessed to regular lodging. What he had not become accustomed to was sacrificing several more hours of sleep because his carriage still lacked a proper defensive system. Chains and a removable steering wheel discouraged theft, but neither would stop someone determined to break inside.

He could build alarms easily enough. Automatic defensive spells were more complicated because anything capable of hurting an intruder could also hurt some drunk idiot, curious child, guard, merchant, or innocent passerby touching the wrong part of the carriage. That problem had prevented Sieghart from installing the more aggressive ideas he considered. Unfortunately, every night he spent half-awake listening for footsteps made the lack of proper security increasingly irritating.

“Armor for me, defenses for the carriage, better suspension, storage expansion, maybe flight eventually, and apparently a magical alarm that can somehow distinguish thieves from idiots. The list keeps getting cheaper every day.”

He continued driving slowly while searching for a better position. Somewhere near the edge of a crowded tavern district, several voices caught his attention because they were discussing exactly the subject everyone in town seemed unable to avoid: the border conflict. Sieghart slowed the carriage without making the change obvious. A group standing beside stacked barrels spoke loudly enough that he did not need Enhanced Smell, Magic Vision, or any other spell to listen while pretending to check the road ahead.

According to them, fighting had only started recently. Nobody seemed certain which side attacked first, where the first deaths occurred, or whether either army had formally declared anything resembling war, but clashes were already happening around several routes near the contested territory.

Rumors had naturally moved faster than soldiers. One person claimed an entire human company had disappeared. Another insisted the Fallen had already lost hundreds. A third swore both stories were nonsense invented by merchants hoping to increase prices.

Sieghart believed the third person slightly more than the others, mostly because supply merchants had historically demonstrated an almost magical ability to turn distant violence into an immediate explanation for why everything suddenly cost twenty percent more. He kept moving and heard variations of the same story elsewhere. Adventurers were traveling toward the border, mercenary groups were taking contracts, merchants were rushing supplies forward, and several inns had doubled prices because available rooms were disappearing.

The new dungeon appeared repeatedly in those conversations. Some people believed whoever controlled it would gain access to rare resources. Others claimed its materials could produce unusually effective potions, though nobody Sieghart overheard seemed capable of explaining what those potions actually did.

That detail reminded him of Aldren. Sieghart frowned and tried reconstructing everything the captain had told him during their time inside the golem dungeon, separating actual statements from assumptions he had made afterward.

Aldren had been preparing his soldiers for a major operation near the border. It was supposed to be the first serious human offensive into lost territory in decades, with the stated objective of destroying a Fallen tribe and reclaiming land. The political context had mattered too. Human populations historically disliked offensive wars because civilians paid for them in taxes, supplies, and casualties, while nobles and military leaders were often suspected of wanting whatever valuable resources existed beyond the border.

That attitude was apparently changing because dungeon activity had been worsening for years. More monsters, more aggressive behavior, and increasingly frequent concerns about dungeon breaks were making people wonder whether allowing the Lost Lands to expand uncontested was sustainable.

Aldren had mentioned rumors connecting that deterioration to the Fallen and territories outside human control. Reclaiming land could therefore provide more than resources; it might also test whether controlling territory somehow affected nearby dungeon behavior.

The Fallen tribe itself had gained access to valuable dungeon materials and was producing large quantities of potions. Aldren had suggested that those supplies might be preparation for a larger conflict, though he had admitted much of the information remained uncertain. Sieghart compared that memory with what people were saying now. A new dungeon near the border, valuable materials, potion production, humans moving aggressively, and the Fallen refusing to surrender access created an ugly combination even without knowing which rumor was accurate.

The problem was that Sieghart knew almost nothing about the tribe itself. Aldren had never given him its name, population, leadership structure, military strength, magical specialties, territory, or relationship with neighboring Fallen groups. At the time, Sieghart had not cared enough to ask. Aldren’s operation sounded like somebody else’s war, and Sieghart had been more interested in golem mechanics, Aura observations, and why dungeon monsters were suddenly multiplying.

Now he was standing in a border town close enough to hear rumors from people supplying that same conflict. The missing details suddenly felt far more relevant, especially if he intended to buy equipment before deciding where to travel next.

Sieghart finally found a narrow alley far enough from the taverns that drunken foot traffic seemed unlikely. He guided the carriage inside, turned it carefully, and positioned the rear close to one wall without trapping himself completely. Once satisfied, he shut down the engine, removed the steering wheel, chained the wheels, and checked every compartment twice. The routine had become automatic enough that his hands completed most of it while his thoughts remained on the border.

He still did not know whether the new dungeon mentioned by the young adventurers was the same one supplying the Fallen tribe’s potions, a separate discovery nearby, or something rumors had already merged into one convenient story.

That uncertainty alone justified researching the situation before moving anywhere closer. Sieghart had no desire to accidentally drive into a military checkpoint, Fallen raid, supply convoy, or contested dungeon entrance simply because his map failed to include current battle lines.

He climbed into the carriage and checked his arm once more before settling against the interior wall. Healing Mana moved slowly through the remaining damaged sections while the sounds of the town gradually changed outside. Tomorrow he would find craftsmen, sell the modified goblin weapons, inspect the Champion’s cleaver and shield, and order equipment designed around his actual weaknesses instead of pretending Protection could solve everything forever.

After that, he needed information. Proper information. The Fallen tribe, the new dungeon, current fighting, nearby roads, military movements, and whatever exactly those potions were supposed to accomplish all belonged on the list. Sieghart closed his eyes, then opened them again when footsteps passed the alley entrance. Nothing approached the carriage. He waited anyway, already irritated by how easily his lack of security prevented him from relaxing completely.

“Tomorrow, research first. Then shopping. After that, maybe I can finally leave town without accidentally becoming involved in somebody else’s war. I’m not optimistic, but technically there has to be a first time eventually.”

He leaned back again and resumed Healing Magic on his arm. Somewhere beyond the walls, people were already fighting over territory and a dungeon Sieghart knew almost nothing about. By morning, he intended to know considerably more.