Chương 119: The Firestorm Apparently Smelled Terrible

Sieghart woke the following morning feeling as though someone had replaced his bones with damp wood during the night. His entire body felt sluggish, heavy, and considerably less cooperative than usual. He remained beneath the blanket for several seconds, staring at the ceiling while calculating exactly how much sleep he had managed after returning from his experiment outside the walls.

The answer was somewhere around four hours, perhaps slightly less, which was miserable for anyone and particularly rough when the exhausted body involved belonged to a ten-year-old child. His parameters allowed him to endure considerably more punishment than an ordinary boy, yet increased Strength and Endurance did not magically remove every biological requirement attached to growing properly. Sieghart had become careful about that during the previous years.

Infinite Mana allowed almost continuous magical training, but his muscles, bones, nerves, and mind still required proper recovery. He had absolutely no intention of becoming absurdly powerful while accidentally preventing himself from developing properly because he had decided that sleeping was less important than throwing spells around.

Sieghart slowly sat upright and rubbed both eyes, resisting the temptation to remain in bed until somebody came upstairs and announced that the siege had politely resolved itself overnight. The town sounded relatively peaceful outside. Carts rolled across the streets and people shouted somewhere below, but there were no explosions shaking the windows or warning horns demanding everyone reach the walls.

That was encouraging enough for Sieghart to finally stand, although a brief wave of dizziness immediately reminded him how little rest he had received during the previous night.

"..." Sieghart stretched until several joints cracked, then walked toward the basin near the window and splashed cold water across his face until his thoughts stopped attempting to return to sleep. The reflection inside the small mirror still displayed the dark-brown hair and gray eyes created by Phantom Image, conveniently hiding every feature that might connect him with inconvenient rumors.

Nobody looking at him would imagine that this apparently ordinary child had spent part of the night floating above an army while dropping Poison Spheres and Giant Fireballs across thousands of enemies. Sieghart changed clothes, checked that his newly constructed runic engraver remained safely stored, then headed downstairs while mentally promising his body several additional hours of sleep tonight.

He did not particularly believe that promise, but pretending the possibility existed made walking toward another day of nonstop work slightly easier for his exhausted mind. The smell of heated metal reached him before he entered the workshop, followed by the faint scraping of equipment moving across wood and the occasional clinking of freshly delivered weapons.

Vessa and Orin were already awake and working, naturally, because apparently approaching armies were excellent motivation for destroying every reasonable concept of schedules, breaks, and healthy sleeping habits. Sieghart entered the main room and found Vessa checking blank sword frames while Orin unpacked spearheads from a newly delivered crate beside the opposite workbench. Neither craftsman looked remotely rested.

Dark circles surrounded Orin's eyes, while Vessa's already chaotic hair appeared to have somehow become even more disorderly during the previous night. Sieghart stopped beside the nearest table and looked between them, briefly wondering whether they had slept at all after spending most recent nights surviving on only several hours.

"Sorry. I didn't sleep much." Vessa glanced toward him.

"The chaos outside?"

"Yes." Sieghart rubbed the back of his neck and glanced toward the northern wall through one of the windows, maintaining the expression of someone merely inconvenienced by distant fighting.

"It was a little noisy." Orin nodded seriously.

"Terrible." Sieghart stared at him for several seconds because Orin had successfully slept through almost everything, including explosions powerful enough to make the workshop windows vibrate. The man's snoring had occasionally become audible between attacks, meaning the invading orc army had somehow failed to defeat something as simple as his ability to remain unconscious.

Vessa had apparently performed almost as impressively, and neither craftsman showed any interest in acknowledging that they had passed out through nearly the entire battle. Sieghart decided not to expose them. Surviving on roughly three hours of sleep every night had probably trained both craftsmen to become unconscious with supernatural determination.

Vessa pushed another crate toward the workbench before pointing toward the growing mountain of equipment waiting for enchantments, repairs, charging, or some combination of all three.

"New deliveries came before sunrise." Sieghart examined the weapons and immediately concluded there were far too many. Apparently, every weapon seller in town had independently decided to send work toward the same workshop. Six large crates were already visible. Two contained swords, another held spearheads, while the remaining boxes carried knives, tools, axes, and improvised weapons intended for desperate civilians.

"You people know I'm leaving eventually, right?" Vessa continued sorting materials.

"We'll worry about that later."

"That sounds like trouble." Sieghart sighed and approached his usual workbench, where prepared diagrams had already been arranged beside unfinished weapons requiring the relatively simple poison enchantments he had recently learned. His breakfast could apparently wait, and complaining would accomplish nothing while every minute potentially meant another weapon becoming available to someone protecting the town.

Sieghart picked up the runic engraver and started with a short sword whose circuit had already been marked faintly enough that mistakes remained possible if his hands slipped. His movements felt slower than yesterday, but repeated practice compensated enough that the first lines remained clean despite the exhaustion making his eyes occasionally want to close.

Vessa worked nearby while Orin continued unpacking equipment, and the workshop gradually settled into a familiar rhythm filled with scraping metal, shifting tools, and occasional quiet complaints. Eventually, Orin broke the silence while continuing to examine a damaged spearhead that had apparently returned from the walls sometime before Sieghart woke.

"People are saying it rained fire last night." Sieghart kept engraving.

"Sounds crazy."

"It was dramatic." Vessa placed another finished blade aside before selecting a new one from the growing pile sitting beside her workstation.

"Apparently half the northern sky turned orange." Sieghart carefully completed one curved line before beginning another, keeping his expression neutral despite knowing exactly how accurate that particular description actually was. Several Giant Fireballs descending simultaneously had illuminated enough of the battlefield that even civilians deep inside town could probably see orange flashes appearing between rooftops.

Orin adjusted his spectacles before continuing, clearly enjoying the increasingly exaggerated stories soldiers had already begun spreading throughout the commercial district.

"One soldier claimed thirty fireballs fell at once." Sieghart paused.

"That's exaggerated." Vessa looked toward him.

"How would you know?" Sieghart immediately resumed engraving, realizing that sounding too confident about the exact number of mysterious Giant Fireballs might become inconvenient surprisingly quickly. If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.

"Thirty sounds excessive." It was also completely incorrect because Sieghart had never maintained that many Giant Fireballs simultaneously, even if their mana costs meant effectively nothing to him. Shaping multiple giant spells still demanded concentration, and Sieghart had preferred repeatedly summoning smaller groups rather than discovering what happened when his mental control failed above an active battlefield.

Apparently, battlefield rumors multiplied numbers quickly, especially when frightened soldiers witnessed something unexpected from a distance while concentrating primarily upon surviving the enemies directly ahead. Orin continued working while apparently recalling another version of the story he had heard from someone who possessed an even stronger imagination than the previous soldier.

"Another man said an archmage was flying above the clouds." Sieghart glanced through the window and remembered that there had barely been any clouds during the previous night, making that version particularly impressive.

"People really like stories."

"People like explanations." Vessa shrugged before testing the edge of another sword, apparently considering mysterious archmages considerably less important than completing equipment before another customer arrived.

"And nobody knows who did it." That was exactly what Sieghart wanted. An unidentified archmage appearing briefly above the battlefield was considerably safer than people discovering that the attacker was a disguised child staying nearby. He intended to keep the situation that way, particularly because revealing his identity would immediately produce questions about Infinite Mana, his age, Lunar Arc, and several other secrets.

The silence lasted another minute before Orin smiled faintly, apparently remembering the second unusual phenomenon soldiers had been complaining about since returning from the wall.

"They also say it rained something else." Sieghart already knew where the conversation was going, but he continued engraving as though the subject carried absolutely no personal relevance.

"What?"

"A terrible smell." Vessa immediately grimaced.

"I heard about that too." Sieghart remained expressionless while remembering the enormous quantities of Poison Spheres he had dropped behind the enemy formations and the purple haze eventually drifting toward the defenders. According to the rumors, part of the battlefield had become covered by a foul-smelling mist shortly before the defenders suddenly gained enough advantage to push the orcs backward.

Some people apparently believed the smell came from burning enemy supplies, while others suspected the orcs themselves had attempted some kind of failed poisonous attack. Sieghart strongly preferred those theories because neither involved anyone wondering why the temporary assistant inside Vessa's workshop had suddenly developed beginner Poison Magic shortly before the mysterious attack.

Vessa wrinkled her nose as though merely hearing the description had somehow restored memories of a smell she had never actually experienced personally.

"One guard said it smelled like rotten meat mixed with sewage." Sieghart continued carving.

"That sounds unpleasant."

"It made the orcs dizzy."

"Useful."

"It made some humans dizzy too." Sieghart nodded thoughtfully.

"Less useful." Orin laughed quietly.

"That's exactly what the soldiers said." Sieghart already understood the problem considerably better than they realized. His Poison Spheres had worked wonderfully against concentrated enemies until the wind carried the diluted effect toward friendly forces. That part needed improvement because battlefield poison incapable of distinguishing allies from enemies remained useful for controlling territory, but dangerously unreliable whenever friendly soldiers advanced into contaminated areas.

Sieghart mentally added another experiment to his growing list. Perhaps carefully controlled Wind Magic could surround Poison Spheres and direct their vapor after detonation instead of surrendering everything to natural currents. The idea sounded completely possible, which unfortunately meant it also sounded like something Sieghart would eventually attempt despite knowing that one mistake could poison everyone nearby.

That was another problem for later, a category that had accumulated enough unresolved magical experiments to occupy him for several years if nothing else went wrong. Sieghart completed the first sword, placed it beside several finished pieces, and allowed several minutes to pass before casually introducing an explanation for the mysterious attacks.

"Maybe someone from Lunar Arc was nearby." Vessa immediately looked toward him.

"You think?"

"Maybe." The theory was believable enough because Lunar Arc remained the most obvious organization to blame whenever large quantities of unusual magic suddenly appeared somewhere inside human territory. Orin stopped working briefly and looked toward Sieghart with greater interest, apparently remembering that the disguised child had admitted knowing several people associated with the guild.

"Do you know anyone there who could do something like that?" Sieghart considered the question carefully because technically he knew exactly one Lunar Arc-associated person capable of reproducing the previous night's attack under identical conditions. Admitting that person was himself would obviously be inconvenient, so Sieghart instead reviewed the small number of guild members he actually interacted with regularly.

"I know some noisy kids." Vessa waited.

"An annoying middle-aged man." Orin smiled.

"That sounds specific."

"It is." Sieghart continued.

"And the guild master." That summarized Sieghart's closest Lunar Arc relationships surprisingly well. Mellia's group qualified as noisy children, Ronan remained painfully annoying, and Mira apparently required no additional description. Thinking about Mira reminded Sieghart of something that had bothered him since the roads closed and the town effectively became isolated from the rest of the region. Why had she not contacted him?

Mira possessed Telepathy and had demonstrated enough mental abilities that speaking directly into another person's thoughts appeared almost effortless whenever distance remained reasonably short. Sieghart suspected distance was exactly the problem. Traveling from Seraphina to this town required several days, meaning Mira's effective Telepathy range probably ended somewhere far before the northern border.

That realization immediately made Sieghart want the spell more, because limitations involving mana expenditure tended to become unusually negotiable whenever the caster possessed an infinite supply. Telepathy probably belonged beneath Psionics, perhaps through another branch related to mental communication rather than Psychokinesis and its focus upon manipulating physical objects.

If Sieghart learned it, he might eventually develop the spell until range stopped being a practical problem, assuming distance primarily increased mana cost rather than creating an absolute limitation. The possibilities were immediately useful. Sieghart could contact Mira during dangerous missions, report unexpected threats, request information, or complain whenever another supposedly simple assignment became catastrophic.

More importantly, if another person learned compatible Telepathy, Sieghart could potentially maintain communication across enormous distances without messengers, letters, magical devices, or several days of physical travel. It would essentially become a magical telephone powered by Infinite Mana, which sounded valuable enough that Sieghart immediately decided Mira needed to stop being stingy. The biggest problem remained convincing her to provide the necessary knowledge.

She had already refused to casually hand over every magical book she possessed simply because Sieghart asked. Perhaps another job would work, although his recent experiences suggested accepting mysterious assignments in exchange for magical knowledge had an unfortunate tendency to become much more complicated than advertised. Vessa noticed the faint smile appearing on Sieghart's face while he imagined repeatedly bothering Mira until she surrendered another useful book.

"What are you thinking about?"

"Magic."

"That explains nothing."

"It usually doesn't." Vessa narrowed her eyes, but Sieghart continued working until another customer entered carrying several damaged spears and ended the conversation before she could become more curious. The man looked exhausted enough that Sieghart immediately suspected he had come directly from the walls rather than waiting until morning inside a comfortable home.

Blood covered one sleeve, several fresh cuts crossed his armor, and one spearhead had broken completely enough that repairing it would probably cost more effort than replacing it. Vessa stopped joking immediately, inspected the damaged equipment, asked several questions, then promised everything salvageable would be repaired before evening.

The soldier thanked her and left without discussing the previous night further, apparently having much more important things occupying his mind than mysterious firestorms and poisonous smells. Sieghart watched him disappear through the doorway and felt the atmosphere inside the workshop change slightly despite nobody saying anything about it. Last week, every completed magical item had represented technical practice and another opportunity to understand Runic Engineering through something more practical than books.

Now every weapon might return to the wall within hours and determine whether someone came back tomorrow carrying damaged equipment or never returned at all. Sieghart began working faster after that, although he remained careful enough not to ruin circuits simply because exhaustion and urgency encouraged him to become impatient.

He engraved simpler formations while Vessa handled advanced enchantments, and whenever Orin's mana reserves dropped too low, Sieghart quietly assumed responsibility for charging completed equipment. The pattern continued throughout the morning as customers arrived, weapons disappeared, damaged equipment replaced them, and frightened civilians searched for anything capable of helping them survive.

Vessa maintained the promise she made before the siege intensified, reducing prices enough that many customers were probably paying little beyond the actual cost of materials. One elderly farmer arrived carrying an ordinary woodcutting axe and eventually left with a reinforcement rune engraved across the blade because he possessed no proper weapon. Sieghart watched the man disappear into the street while wondering what kind of Aura he possessed, assuming it had anything remotely useful for combat.

Perhaps farming, trees, harvesting, endurance, or some other practical ability had defined the man's entire life until an invading army suddenly decided he needed to become a soldier. That reality kept Sieghart focused whenever exhaustion encouraged him to slow down, because the weapons beneath his hands were no longer simple exercises created for his education.

By afternoon, his fingers had become sore despite his Dexterity, since Runic Engineering demanded tiny precise movements repeated for hours without the explosive physical motions associated with ordinary combat. Sieghart actually enjoyed that discomfort because it represented another kind of training, one where improvement appeared through cleaner lines, fewer corrections, and faster recognition of mistakes.

His hands became steadier, his control improved, and complete circuit diagrams gradually stopped looking like confusing collections of symbols connected through arbitrary paths. Storage, activation, poison conversion, delivery, and safety discharge became recognizable parts of a larger language rather than isolated runes Sieghart copied without properly understanding.

That feeling satisfied Sieghart almost as much as gaining a level because understanding something previously incomprehensible represented progress no one could take away through simple circumstances.