The group followed the sound of faint groaning to a clearing, where a lone man lay slumped against a jagged boulder. His leather armor was torn and bloodied, and a deep gash ran across his shoulder. His head hung low, his breathing shallow, and he was clearly unconscious. The ground around him was scuffed, as though he had dragged himself there before collapsing.

  “Over here!” Pip called, rushing forward with her usual disregard for caution. She knelt beside the man, her hands already moving to check his pulse. “He’s alive, but barely. We need to get him to the infirmary—now.”

  Aelin kept her bow drawn, her sharp eyes scanning the surrounding rocks for signs of an ambush. “This could be a trap. We don’t know who he is or what happened to him.”

  Borin stepped forward, his hammer resting on his shoulder. “Doesn’t matter. If he’s alive, he might have information. And if he’s trouble, we can deal with him later.”

  Victor’s core pulsed with agreement. “Bring him inside. I’ve just finished constructing a new infirmary for situations like this. It’s equipped to handle injuries like his.”

  With Borin’s help, Pip hoisted the man onto her shoulders, grunting under his weight. The Steam Sentinels moved in to assist, their mechanical arms carefully lifting the unconscious figure and carrying him into the Wagon-Fortress. The group followed, their expressions a mix of curiosity and wariness.

  The Infirmary

  The infirmary was a small but well-equipped room within the Wagon-Fortress, its walls lined with brass pipes and glowing mana crystals. A cot sat in the center, surrounded by shelves filled with bandages, salves, and strange devices that were cobbled together. The Steam Sentinels laid the man down gently, and Pip immediately set to work, cleaning his wounds and applying a salve to the gash on his shoulder.

  “This place is amazing,” Pip said, her eyes wide as she took in the new infirmary. “When did you build this, Victor?”

  “Just recently,” Victor replied, his voice calm but proud. “I realized we needed a dedicated space for treating injuries, especially with the dangers we’ve been facing. It’s equipped with everything we need to stabilize and heal the wounded.”

  Aelin leaned against the wall, her arms crossed. “Good thinking. We’ve been lucky so far, but it was only a matter of time before someone got hurt.”

  Borin grunted, his arms crossed as he watched from the doorway. “Let’s just hope this guy’s worth the trouble.”

  Victor’s core pulsed with caution. “We’ll know soon enough. For now, let’s focus on keeping him alive.”

  Hale Awakens

  It wasn’t long before the man stirred, his eyes fluttering open. He groaned, his hand instinctively moving to his shoulder before he realized it had been bandaged. His fingers brushed against the clean, tightly wrapped cloth, and he frowned, clearly confused. His gaze darted around the room, taking in the strange surroundings—the brass walls etched with intricate gears, the soft glow of mana crystals embedded in the ceiling, and the group of strangers watching him with a mix of curiosity and wariness.

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  “Where… where am I?” he muttered, his voice hoarse and barely above a whisper.

  Pip stepped forward, her tone cheerful but firm. “You’re in the infirmary of Victor the mobile dungeon. You’re lucky we found you. You were in pretty bad shape when we brought you in.”

  The man’s eyes narrowed as he tried to sit up, wincing as the movement pulled at his wound. “Mobile dungeon?” he repeated, his voice tinged with disbelief. “What in the name of the gods…?”

  Aelin stepped forward, her bow still in hand, though she kept it lowered. Her sharp eyes studied him carefully, searching for any sign of deception. “Who are you?” she demanded, her tone as sharp as the arrows she fired.

  The man raised a hand, as if to show he meant no harm. His movements were smooth despite his injuries, and there was a roguish charm in the way he carried himself. His leather armor, though torn and bloodied, was finely crafted, with intricate tooling that hinted at a life of adventure—or perhaps trouble.

  “Name’s Captain Hale,” he said, his voice gaining a bit of strength. “Leader of the Iron Trader Convoy. And you… are either the luckiest folks I’ve ever met, or the most dangerous.”

  Victor’s core pulsed with curiosity. “What do you mean?”

  Hale gestured weakly at the walls around him, his eyes lingering on the glowing mana crystals and the faint hum of machinery that filled the room. “A moving dungeon? And it’s sentient? That’s not something you see every day. Most dungeons are just… well, dungeons. Static, mindless, and deadly. But you… you’re something else entirely.”

  Pip stepped forward, her curiosity outweighing her caution. “What happened to you? How did you end up out here, half-dead in the middle of nowhere?”

  Hale’s expression darkened, and he let out a low, pained sigh. “Rust Pirates,” he said, grimacing as he shifted his weight. “They ambushed my convoy a few days ago. Hit us hard and fast. We didn’t stand a chance. I barely got away, and my people… they’re scattered. Some might still be alive, but the pirates are still out there, picking through the wreckage.”

  Victor’s core pulsed with caution. “Why should we trust you? For all we know, you could be working with these pirates.”

  Hale laughed bitterly, the sound dry and humorless. “You shouldn’t trust me. Not yet, anyway. But if you help me get back to my convoy, I’ll reward you. We’ve got supplies—gears, mana crystals, rare metals, anything a dungeon could need. And if you’re as smart as you seem, you’ll realize that’s an offer worth considering.”

  Pip’s eyes lit up at the mention of mana crystals. “Mana crystals? Those could power the Frost Core for weeks! Victor, this could be exactly what we need.”

  Borin crossed his arms, his expression skeptical. “Sounds too good to be true. How do we know this isn’t some kind of trap? For all we know, he’s leading us straight into an ambush.”

  Hale’s jaw tightened, and he met Borin’s gaze with a steely look of his own. “I’ve got no love for the Rust Pirates. They’ve cost me everything—my convoy, my people, maybe even my life if you hadn’t found me. I’m not asking you to trust me. I’m asking you to trust that we’ve got a common enemy. And if you help me, we both win.”

  Victor’s core pulsed with resolve. “We’ll consider it,” he said, his voice calm but firm. “But for now, rest. You’re in no condition to go anywhere.”

  Hale nodded, leaning back against the cot with a weary sigh. “Fair enough. But don’t take too long. Time isn’t on our side. Every hour we waste is another hour the pirates have to strip my convoy bare—or worse, hunt down the survivors.”

  Pip placed a hand on his shoulder, her tone softer now. “We’ll figure something out. Just focus on getting your strength back.”

  As Hale closed his eyes and drifted back into a restless sleep, the group exchanged glances. The infirmary was silent except for the faint hum of machinery and the steady rhythm of Hale’s breathing.