Chương 32: The Camp That Never Cooled

They reached the eastern defensive camp two days later. The journey had passed without an attack, although the convoy encountered several damaged wagons and abandoned farms along the road. Each sign of destruction made the younger recruits quieter and the older fighters more attentive to the surrounding hills. Sieghart spent much of the journey charging equipment according to the schedule he had established with Captain Harlan. The work kept him occupied and allowed the convoy's weapons to arrive ready for battle.

By the second afternoon, the distant camp appeared beyond a low ridge. Rows of tents spread across a wide plain, surrounded by wooden barricades, watchtowers, trenches, and sharpened stakes. The camp was much larger than Sieghart expected. Thousands of soldiers, laborers, healers, craftsmen, and Aura users moved between its different sections, creating something closer to a temporary town than a military outpost. Despite the activity, the place felt gloomy. No one laughed near the entrance.

Soldiers returning from patrols walked with lowered heads, while messengers moved between the command tents with the tense expressions of people carrying news no one wanted to receive. A strange smell lingered in the air. Sieghart noticed smoke first. Cooking fires, forges, burned equipment, and distant patches of scorched earth all contributed to the heavy atmosphere surrounding the defensive line. Beneath those ordinary smells rested something more unpleasant. Burned flesh.

Sieghart recognized it from the night he killed the pig-men at the farm. Here, medicinal herbs, alcohol, blood, and healing ointments mixed with the odor, but none of them concealed it completely. The smell came from the treatment tents. Sieghart could see rows of wounded fighters resting beneath open canvas shelters. Many wore bandages around their arms, legs, torsos, or faces, while healers moved between them carrying bowls and enchanted tools. Some injuries looked ordinary.

Cuts, punctures, and broken bones remained common consequences of any battle involving swords, spears, and physical Auras. The burns were different. Several soldiers possessed darkened skin around the edges of their bandages. Others had lost portions of their armor because heated metal had apparently fused with the material beneath it. One man sat outside a treatment tent while a healer carefully removed blackened cloth from his shoulder.

The wound remained red and swollen despite the pale magical light surrounding the healer's hands. Sieghart looked away before the treatment became more graphic. He had seen enough burned bodies during the farm attack to know that becoming accustomed to the sight wouldn't improve anything. Healing magic and enchanted medical tools existed, but burns destroyed tissue across wide areas rather than creating clean injuries. Repairing that damage should require far more energy and precision than closing a cut.

Firian power probably complicated the process further. If their attacks carried unnatural heat or some form of corrupted energy, ordinary healing might fail until that influence had been removed. Sieghart had once imagined unlocking Healing Magic and becoming invaluable during wartime. Looking across the treatment area made the idea feel less like a convenient way to earn money and more like something genuinely necessary. Unfortunately, wanting a spell didn't create it.

Sieghart still hadn't discovered the emotional state or magical structure required to access White Magic's restoration paths. For the moment, his mana could recharge healing tools. It couldn't repair the people those tools failed to save. The convoy slowed as guards inspected the wagons. Captain Harlan presented the group's orders, allowing them through after the soldiers compared the official seals with their records. Sieghart remained beside Edric while Supply Wagon Four crossed the outer barricade.

Several guards stared at him, but none appeared surprised enough to question his presence. Apparently, news of the five-year-old mana specialist had reached the camp before he did. The convoy stopped near an open section of ground reserved for incoming forces. Edric climbed down first before helping Sieghart leave the wagon. After two days of traveling, standing on solid ground felt strangely unstable. Sieghart stretched his legs while Protection reduced the stiffness in his muscles.

He looked past the camp's eastern barricade. A walled town stood several kilometers behind them. Its stone defenses surrounded tightly packed buildings, while several towers rose above the walls. Sieghart could see civilians and carts moving along the road leading away from the town. Some people were probably evacuating, although the army hadn't abandoned the settlement completely. In the opposite direction lay the battlefield. The land had once contained farms and grasslands.

Now it was covered with blackened soil, broken wagons, collapsed barricades, abandoned equipment, and shallow craters. Sections of earth still smoked despite the lack of visible flames. Several larger patches had hardened into dark glass, suggesting that the temperature reached levels capable of melting the soil. The defenders had established their camp between the ruined battlefield and the town. They clearly wanted to stop the Firians before the enemy reached the walls.

Allowing close-range specialists into narrow streets would probably turn the settlement into a furnace. Stone buildings might survive ordinary fires, but nothing Sieghart had learned about Firians suggested their flames were ordinary. He counted the nearest defensive positions. Archers occupied raised platforms behind trenches, while soldiers carrying long spears guarded narrow passages through the barricades. Several heavy weapons had been positioned near the center.

Most resembled oversized crossbows or enchanted launchers capable of firing projectiles toward the distant battlefield. Even with thousands of Aura users, the camp appeared stretched thin. The defensive line covered a broad area, and many soldiers wore bandages beneath their armor. The reinforcements brought by Captain Harlan numbered slightly more than two hundred. Compared to the force already present, they looked insignificant. Most were children beneath fifteen or older people called back into service.

A few experienced officers and support workers improved the group's organization, but they couldn't transform it into an elite unit. Sieghart wondered whether two hundred exhausted, inexperienced, or aging recruits could make any difference in a battle involving several thousand fighters. Perhaps the eastern command didn't expect them to change the war. They only needed additional bodies to maintain watch rotations, carry supplies, fire arrows, and replace those who could no longer stand.

That possibility made the reinforcement order feel even colder. The kingdom hadn't gathered a force capable of winning. It had collected enough people to delay losing. Captain Harlan climbed onto an empty supply crate so everyone could see him. His voice carried across the arriving convoy with the assistance of an enchanted metal device attached to his collar.

"We'll split into four groups," he announced.

"Each group will establish its own section of camp and select a representative. Those representatives will report to the command tent after the tents are secured." The recruits began dividing according to the markings on their identification tags. Each group contained approximately fifty people, although their exact skills and ages varied considerably. Sieghart and Edric belonged to the first group alongside archers, several support workers, two healers, a blacksmith, and recruits carrying enchanted ranged weapons.

Their collection of abilities possessed a clear purpose. They would reinforce the camp's projectile units and maintain the equipment needed to fight Firians from a distance. Edric directed several younger recruits while they unloaded tents from the supply wagon. His age and calm authority made people listen even before anyone formally selected him. Sieghart helped by using Wind Magic to lift the canvas and keep it spread while others positioned the wooden supports.

He limited the strength of the spell, avoiding another demonstration of his abnormal endurance. You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story. Several people still watched him. After two days together, most recruits knew who he was, but seeing a small child use magic efficiently remained unusual. The first group completed its section before the others. Twelve tents stood in two organized rows, with equipment placed near the center and a clear path leading toward the camp's main road.

Captain Harlan returned and asked them to choose their representative. The decision required almost no discussion. Several people nominated Edric immediately. The younger recruits trusted him because he had corrected their mistakes without humiliating them, while the older fighters recognized his experience. Edric attempted to refuse, explaining that he had only come as an auxiliary archer. No one accepted the excuse.

"You already act like the leader," an elderly hunter said.

"You might as well receive the responsibility officially."

"That is a terrible reward for being helpful," Edric replied. Nevertheless, he accepted. Choosing anyone else would only place responsibility on someone with less experience while ensuring that everyone continued asking Edric for guidance. After confirming that Sieghart's tent stood near the center of their section, Edric prepared to leave for the command meeting.

"Stay here until I return."

"I will."

"Don't wander toward the treatment tents or defensive line."

"I wasn't planning to."

"And don't charge unfamiliar equipment without checking the runes."

"That one was already on my list." Edric studied him for another moment. Leaving Sieghart alone inside a military camp clearly bothered him, but the command meeting wasn't optional. He eventually left with the representatives of the other groups. Sieghart watched them follow a messenger toward the largest tent near the center of the camp. Sieghart placed his traveling bag inside their tent and organized his equipment.

His practice bow remained within reach, while his notebook and ink were stored inside a reinforced wooden case. He had barely finished when three soldiers approached. One carried an enchanted crossbow, another held a short spear covered in pale-blue runes, and the third pushed a wooden cart filled with depleted weapons. They stopped when they saw Sieghart standing outside the tent.

"We're looking for the mana charger," the crossbowman said. Sieghart raised one hand.

"That would be me." The soldiers stared at him. The man carrying the spear looked toward the tents, probably expecting an adult specialist to appear and explain the misunderstanding.

"You?"

"Yes."

"How old are you?"

"Old enough to dislike that question." The soldiers exchanged uncertain glances. Sieghart understood their hesitation. Handing military equipment to a five-year-old would normally represent poor judgment. However, he wore an official support tag, and Captain Harlan's records had already identified him as the specialist assigned to the reinforcement group.

"Master Thorne calls people who perform this work Restorers," Sieghart explained.

"Most people prefer mana charger because it requires less imagination." The formal title sounded considerably better. A Restorer returned magical equipment to an operational state by supplying energy, stabilizing storage arrays, and identifying damaged channels. Unfortunately, most soldiers didn't care about professional distinctions. They only wanted their weapons filled before the next battle. The crossbowman hesitantly placed his weapon on the table Sieghart had prepared beside the tent.

Sieghart inspected its runes before touching the central storage plate. The weapon contained six separate arrays, each capable of creating an ice projectile. All of them were empty, although the channels appeared intact. Sieghart activated Mana Transfusion. Pale-blue light traveled along the crossbow's limbs as each storage marking brightened. He completed the work within seconds.

"Done." The soldier frowned.

"What?"

"It's fully charged."

"That isn't possible."

"You can test it if you aim away from the tents." The crossbowman lifted the weapon and pulled the trigger partially. A translucent bolt formed above the firing rail, releasing enough cold air to create frost along the metal. He immediately canceled the activation. All six markings remained bright except the first, which had dimmed slightly before recovering when the unused projectile dispersed back into the storage array. The soldier examined Sieghart again. His original hesitation had become open suspicion.

Sieghart was already becoming familiar with that reaction. People asked him to charge their equipment, watched him succeed, and then frowned as if competence were a personal insult. The spearman handed over his weapon next. Sieghart identified a Frost Sweep enchantment capable of releasing a curved wave of freezing air from the blade. The spear held enough mana for only three activations. Sieghart filled the storage array and returned it before the soldier finished questioning the crossbowman.

The third man uncovered the cart. Nearly thirty weapons rested inside. Most were magical bows, ice-enchanted blades, frost spears, force shields, or devices designed to release concentrated water. Sieghart examined the collection with growing interest. The eastern army had clearly selected enchantments intended to counter the Firians. Fire weapons were almost entirely absent. The few remaining pieces appeared to belong to ordinary soldiers rather than specialized units.

Ice enchantments dominated the cart, although most possessed shallow storage arrays. The weapons could carry only enough mana for several activations before requiring another Restorer or mana stone. The magical bows suffered from the same limitation. Most stored between five and ten enhanced arrows, far fewer than Master Thorne's older bow. That seemed backward.

Modern weapons used refined designs and standardized materials, but their reliance on replaceable mana stones encouraged craftsmen to build smaller internal storage arrays. The military could insert another stone when the first became empty. Unfortunately, the current demand had apparently exceeded the available supply, leaving hundreds of weapons without enough energy to function. Sieghart began charging them while recording each item inside his notebook.

He listed the type, storage capacity, visible damage, and amount of mana transferred. His father might have received the payment, but Sieghart intended to maintain evidence of every service he performed. More soldiers arrived as word spread. Some carried individual weapons, while others brought carts from different sections of the camp. Their hesitation disappeared after witnessing the first few successful transfers.

It was quickly replaced by impatience as everyone realized that Sieghart could restore their equipment faster than other specialists. Sieghart refused to work without order. He created separate lines for ranged weapons, defensive tools, and damaged items requiring inspection. Any weapon with broken runes went onto another table. He possessed enough control to charge unstable equipment, but doing so would risk destroying the weapon or injuring its user during activation.

A military enchanter eventually arrived to examine the damaged pile. She was a tired woman with soot-stained hands and a metal lens covering one eye.

"You identified all of these?" she asked.

"The energy channels are leaking." The woman tested the nearest sword before nodding.

"You were right."

"I prefer being right before something explodes." She took the damaged items toward the repair section. The soldiers waiting nearby became considerably more respectful after that exchange. Sieghart continued charging until the setting sun painted the camp in dull orange light. His mana remained infinite, but maintaining a believable pace while inspecting hundreds of runes required genuine concentration. The equipment itself disappointed him.

The enchantments were useful, but their low capacities made them dependent on a constant supply of stones or Restorers. The kingdom possessed thousands of Aura users and sophisticated magical weapons, yet the logistics supporting them remained fragile. If the Firians disrupted the supply of mana stones, many enchanted tools would become ordinary metal after several activations. Sieghart could solve that problem temporarily.

He couldn't remain beside every archer during battle, and charging the weapons beyond their designed capacity might damage them. The shallow arrays were the true limitation. Once again, the world possessed plenty of useful magic but had built everything around the assumption that mana was scarce. Sieghart looked toward the command tent. Edric still hadn't returned, although the meeting had already lasted more than an hour. Several representatives had emerged, spoken with messengers, and entered again.

Whatever the commanders were discussing clearly involved more than assigning tent locations. Sieghart finished charging another ice bow and closed his notebook. He had worked beyond the schedule established with Captain Harlan, but the camp's condition made refusing the weapons difficult. The soldiers around him began lighting lamps. Cooking fires appeared between the tents, while the last sunlight faded behind the western hills. Sieghart expected the temperature to drop quickly.

The open plain lacked trees capable of blocking the night wind, and autumn had already begun cooling the evenings around the farm. Instead, the air became warmer. At first, Sieghart assumed the nearby forges and cooking fires caused the change. He moved several steps away from the tents, but the heat followed him. Protection made him more sensitive to the way external energy interacted with his body. Warmth pressed against the spell from every direction, growing stronger with each passing minute.

The soldiers noticed soon afterward. Several removed cloaks, while others looked toward the battlefield with expressions that immediately made Sieghart uneasy. The temperature wasn't merely failing to fall. It was rising. A dry wind swept across the eastern barricade. It carried ash, smoke, and a distant scent resembling heated metal. One of the ice bows on the table began releasing mist as frost formed along its runes and immediately melted. Sieghart looked toward the ruined battlefield.

Darkness had covered most of the plain, but a faint red glow appeared beyond the farthest trenches. It stretched across the horizon like the first light of sunrise. The sun had set in the opposite direction. A soldier standing near the supply cart whispered a single word.

"Firians." Then the alarm horn sounded.