Chương 113: Money Was About to Become the Least Important Problem

The town gates remained closed for nearly another hour after Sieghart learned that his departure had been canceled, and during that time the atmosphere changed so completely that even the busiest merchants stopped pretending the situation was normal. People gathered along the main streets while guards moved toward the walls in increasingly large groups.

Messengers crossed the commercial district almost constantly, carrying orders between workshops, warehouses, the local command building, and whoever currently controlled the northern defenses. Sieghart stayed near Vessa and Orin rather than returning immediately to the workshop. Neither craftsman appeared interested in explaining anything until more information arrived, which left the three of them watching the northern gate from several streets away. Then the warning horns sounded.

Three long notes rolled across the town. Every conversation nearby stopped. Sieghart immediately looked toward the walls while several guards shouted for civilians to clear the road leading from the northern entrance. Shopkeepers pulled carts aside, workers abandoned crates, and soldiers formed lines on both sides of the street. The enormous gate began opening. Sieghart expected reinforcements. Instead, wounded soldiers started coming through.

Dozens appeared first, some walking under their own strength while others leaned heavily against spears, companions, or improvised crutches. Several possessed blood-soaked bandages, broken armor, and weapons damaged badly enough that Sieghart doubted they remained useful. More came behind them. Then hundreds. The retreat quickly became impossible to misunderstand. The people entering the town were not rotating away from the battlefield after finishing an assignment.

They were pulling back because whatever defensive line existed farther north had failed completely. Sieghart narrowed his eyes while watching several carts carrying soldiers too injured to walk. One man had lost an arm, another remained unconscious beneath a blood-covered blanket, and several others possessed burns or deep cuts that had only received temporary treatment. Nobody celebrated seeing the walls. That bothered Sieghart more than the injuries.

Soldiers returning to safety should have shown at least some relief, yet most kept looking north while entering the town, as though they expected whatever defeated them to appear behind the last wagon. Sieghart folded his arms.

"So they lost." Vessa did not argue.

"Yes." Another horn sounded from somewhere on the walls, followed by shouted orders that Sieghart could not understand clearly from their position. Guards immediately began closing several smaller passages while civilians hurried farther from the northern district. Orin removed his glasses and wiped them despite the lenses already appearing clean. Sieghart had noticed him doing that whenever nervous, which confirmed that the situation was considerably worse than either craftsman wanted to admit.

"The field defenses collapsed?" Orin nodded.

"Looks that way." That changed everything. The town had originally existed behind the battlefield, protected by soldiers fighting farther north while its workshops, warehouses, and supply routes supported them from relative safety. Now the battlefield had moved. The walls were the defensive line. Sieghart looked toward the stone fortifications surrounding the town and immediately recognized the problem. They were sturdy enough to stop raiders, monsters, or perhaps a small army for some time.

They were not invincible. Once enemies breached the walls, everyone inside would become trapped between the attackers and the remaining fortifications. Civilians could not simply flee south if the fighting spread through the streets faster than the gates could evacuate them. Sieghart turned toward Vessa and Orin.

"Will the command request reinforcements?" The two exchanged another look. Sieghart disliked those looks more every day. Vessa answered first.

"They already did."

"And?"

"Nothing useful is coming." Sieghart frowned. That sounded ridiculous until he remembered what Mira had told him before leaving Lunar Arc. The increased pressure was not limited to this northern region. Multiple borders were threatened simultaneously. Orin leaned against the shop wall before explaining further, speaking quietly enough that nearby civilians would not overhear everything while soldiers continued streaming through the distant gate.

"Every major border territory is on high alert. Some are already fighting. Others are expecting attacks. Nobody wants to weaken their own defenses when another invasion could begin the moment troops leave." Sieghart understood the logic. It was terrible logic only because every available option was terrible. Sending reinforcements here might save this town while creating an opening somewhere else.

Keeping soldiers in place protected those regions while leaving the people here to solve the current disaster themselves.

"Nearby towns?" Vessa shook her head.

"They already sent people."

"Villages?"

"Them too." That answer made Sieghart look north again. The soldiers retreating into town were not merely professional troops stationed permanently along the frontier. Many probably came from every settlement across the surrounding territory. Orin continued after a brief pause.

"Most smaller towns sent their best fighters weeks ago. Villages contributed hunters, guards, militia, anyone with useful combat Aura. They even started taking people whose Auras normally aren't meant for fighting." Sieghart's expression hardened slightly. Noncombat Aura users. Farmers. Craftsmen. Laborers.

People whose abilities might strengthen tools, improve endurance, reinforce materials, or perform dozens of ordinary functions had apparently been pushed onto the battlefield because the regular defenders were no longer enough. Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

"There isn't much left to send." Sieghart remained silent. He had seen this before. Years earlier, when the Firians attacked, the settlements around his grandparents' farm had faced almost exactly the same problem. Local fighters had been exhausted, reinforcements were limited, and ordinary people had eventually been forced into roles they had never expected to perform. His grandfather had gone to fight. Sieghart had followed as a Restorer. The memory returned with uncomfortable clarity. Burned ground. Fire.

Wounded soldiers. Firians consuming flames that should have killed ordinary enemies. His grandfather nearly dying. Back then, Sieghart had prevented the worst outcome by defeating the enemy commander before the advancing force could reach the settlement behind the battlefield. That option had disappeared here. The enemy had already broken the field army. Now the town itself would have to hold.

Sieghart watched the last groups of retreating soldiers entering through the gate while local guards began preparing to close it again. Several carts remained abandoned outside because nobody had enough time to recover everything. He could probably leave. That realization came without much emotion.

The walls might be sealed against ordinary travelers, but they were not designed to contain someone capable of Wind Magic, Telekinesis, reinforced physical movement, and several other tricks nobody expected from a disguised ten-year-old. Sieghart could climb a quiet section of wall at night. Wind could reduce his weight and extend a jump. Telekinesis could pull against stone projections or help correct his movement. If necessary, Mana Sword could probably create temporary footholds.

Escaping would not be particularly difficult. The intelligent choice might even be leaving immediately. Mira had explicitly sent him here to work inside the town, not participate in a siege. Remaining meant risking his disguise, revealing more of his abilities, and potentially becoming trapped beside thousands of people fighting an enemy powerful enough to defeat the northern army. Sieghart still did not want to leave. Part of that decision had nothing to do with heroism.

He did not know these people well enough to pretend otherwise. Vessa and Orin had treated him fairly, taught him useful skills, and offered him an apprenticeship after only one week, but that did not suddenly make Sieghart responsible for everyone living inside the walls. There was another reason. Something he wanted to confirm. The thought had been bothering him since Bellhaven, and later discoveries had only made the possibility more interesting.

A battlefield offered conditions impossible to reproduce safely inside Lunar Arc. Sieghart did not yet know whether his suspicion was correct. He intended to find out. Leaving now would mean abandoning that opportunity, and Sieghart had already spent too much of his second life discovering important magical rules only by accident. This time, he could watch deliberately. Experiment carefully.

And if the town genuinely needed every capable person available, nobody would question a support mage helping from behind the walls. Probably. Sieghart turned back toward the two craftsmen.

"What happens now?" Vessa looked toward the workshop.

"We work." That answer came without hesitation. Orin nodded.

"Constantly." Sieghart raised an eyebrow.

"You still have materials?"

"Enough for now." Vessa gestured toward the warehouses farther down the commercial district, where workers were already moving crates at a pace far faster than earlier that morning.

"Everyone inside the town might have to fight if the walls start failing. Guards, merchants, craftsmen, hunters. Anyone who can hold something dangerous without killing themselves." Sieghart looked toward Orin.

"That requirement would eliminate both of you." Orin stared at him. Vessa laughed once despite the situation.

"That was one explosion." Sieghart decided not to argue because the joke had at least removed some of the tension from their expressions. Unfortunately, it lasted only a moment before Vessa became serious again.

"We'll make whatever we can."

"Repair everything that comes back from the walls."

"Charge whatever needs mana."

"Then sell it cheap." Sieghart tilted his head.

"How cheap?" Vessa shrugged.

"Enough that people can actually afford it." That surprised him slightly. The town was about to face a siege, which meant demand for magical equipment would become enormous. Vessa and Orin could theoretically make considerably more money than they earned during ordinary business. Orin apparently recognized what Sieghart was thinking.

"Money's useless if everyone dies." Sieghart nodded slowly. That was difficult to argue with. Vessa continued.

"We'll still charge something when we can. Materials aren't free, and if the town survives, we'd prefer not to become homeless afterward."

"Reasonable."

"But anyone actually defending the walls gets a major discount. If someone needs something and genuinely can't pay, we'll figure it out." Sieghart studied both of them for several seconds. Only yesterday, they had been joking about apprenticeships and arguing over whether their prototype explosion counted as small. Now they were discussing how much money they could afford to lose while arming civilians. People adjusted quickly. War forced them to. Vessa looked toward Sieghart.

"You don't have to stay here." Sieghart had expected the offer eventually.

"You're supposed to be heading back south. Once the roads open again, you should leave. Until then, you can stay somewhere away from the northern wall." Sieghart shook his head.

"No." Orin frowned.

"No?"

"I'm helping." Vessa crossed her arms.

"You've already finished your job."

"I know."

"You're not obligated to work for us."

"This might get dangerous." Sieghart looked toward the northern wall. That was an impressive understatement.

"I noticed." Vessa seemed prepared to argue further, but Sieghart turned toward the workshop before she could begin treating him like an ordinary child again. He had already made the decision. Escaping remained possible if the situation became completely hopeless. For now, staying gave him access to information, runic equipment, wounded soldiers, active defenders, and whatever magical conditions he wanted to investigate. More importantly, Vessa and Orin genuinely needed help.

Sieghart could charge every weapon they produced without ever slowing down. He could engrave simple circuits while their mana recovered. He could organize supplies. He could potentially heal people if necessary. Pretending otherwise simply because Mira had originally assigned him for one week seemed pointless. Sieghart stopped at the doorway and looked back.

"How many blank weapons do you still have?" Orin blinked.

"A lot."

"Poison circuits?"

"Several dozen prepared." Vessa looked toward a stack near the side wall.

"It's going to get worse once the wounded start turning in equipment." Sieghart nodded. That was enough information. He set his travel bag down beside the same wall where it had rested during his first day and removed the runic engraver they had helped him create. The tool felt considerably more important now. One week earlier, engraving a lamp had been practice. Today, every completed weapon might end up in someone's hands before sunset. Sieghart rolled his shoulders and headed toward the nearest workbench.

"We should start working, then." Vessa studied him for several seconds.

"So you're really staying?"

"For now." Orin sighed. Sieghart ignored him. Vessa eventually gave up arguing and pushed a stack of prepared circuit diagrams toward Sieghart while Orin began sorting weapon frames beside the opposite table. Within minutes, the workshop returned to activity. Only now, the rhythm was different. Nobody experimented. Nobody wasted materials. Nobody argued about prototypes. They produced things meant to keep people alive. Outside, the northern gate finally closed behind the last retreating soldiers.

The heavy sound carried across the town like a warning. Sieghart looked toward the wall for only a moment before returning his attention to the weapon in front of him. The battlefield had reached them. Whether he liked it or not, his simple support job had just become part of the war.