LEVEL EVERYTHING UP in my Eldritch Tribe

Chapter 122: Halflings conversation

Lyerin followed the old military soldier through the labyrinthine corridors of the outpost, his footsteps echoing faintly in the silence.

The soldier walked with a purposeful stride, his back straight and his expression serious, though there was a certain weariness in his eyes—a weariness that only years of battle and hardship could bring.

As they moved deeper into the compound, Lyerin took note of every detail, his mind working to memorize the layout, the number of guards, and the locations of the exits.

"This here is the Sector C18 storage area," the soldier began, his voice gravelly and aged, but steady.

"These warehouses hold everything you'll need—food, water, medical supplies. You'll find exercise equipment in some of the larger warehouses, too. The Borgias Family has ensured that even in times of crisis, we have the means to stay strong, to keep our bodies and minds sharp."

He paused, gesturing to a row of warehouses that stretched out into the distance.

"You're free to move between the warehouses as you please, but be mindful of the others. We have people from all walks of life here—soldiers, civilians, Borgias Family members, and yes, even halflings like yourself. Everyone's got their own way of coping with what's happening out there, so try not to step on any toes. Respect the rules, and you'll be fine."

Lyerin nodded silently, keeping up the facade of a meek and grateful halfling. Inside, his mind continued to churn, analyzing the situation from every angle.

The soldier droned on, his voice a constant hum in Lyerin's ears as he spoke about the amenities available to those inside the sector.

"We've got a mess hall in Warehouse 12," the soldier continued.

"They serve three meals a day, hot and fresh. It's not gourmet, but it'll keep you alive. There's also a small clinic in Warehouse 14, staffed by medical personnel—nothing fancy, but they can patch you up if you get hurt. And if you're looking for a place to sleep, most people have set up makeshift quarters in Warehouse 16. Find yourself a spot, lay out a mat, and get some rest when you can."

Lyerin let the soldier's words wash over him, absorbing the information while keeping his expression neutral.

The old man's voice carried a weight of authority, a sense of duty that came from years of service.

But there was also an underlying note of resignation, as if he knew that all the provisions and precautions were little more than a temporary measure—a fragile shield against the chaos that loomed just beyond the city's walls.

"The Borgias Family has done everything they can to keep us safe," the soldier said, his voice dropping to a more somber tone.

"But it's up to us to hold the line, to protect what little we have left. Remember that, Freddie Borgias. This is a sanctuary, but it's also a fortress. We're all in this together, and we can't afford to let our guard down—not even for a moment."

Lyerin nodded again, feeling the weight of the soldier's words.

The man truly believed in the Borgias Family, believed in their ability to protect and provide for their people.

Lyerin couldn't help but feel a pang of guilt as he maintained his disguise, knowing that his true intentions were far more complex and far less noble.

Finally, they reached the entrance to one of the larger warehouses, its massive steel doors standing ajar.

The soldier gestured for Lyerin to enter. "You'll be safe here for now," he said.

"We've got eyes everywhere, so don't worry about any unwanted surprises. If you need anything, just ask one of the guards or one of the other residents. They'll point you in the right direction."

Lyerin offered a small, grateful smile, murmuring a quiet "Thank you" before stepping inside.

The warehouse was vast, its interior filled with rows upon rows of makeshift beds, stacks of supplies, and clusters of people—some sitting alone in quiet contemplation, others gathered in small groups, talking in hushed tones.

The air was thick with a mixture of anxiety and exhaustion, the weight of the world pressing down on everyone inside.

Lyerin's eyes scanned the room, taking in the various faces around him.

Most of them were ordinary people, refugees from the apocalypse that had ravaged the outside world. But a few, like him, bore the telltale signs of Mana users—though none had the distinct aura of a shadow eldren Mana core like his own.

They were all weaker, less experienced, their Eldren Mana cores flickering faintly like dying embers.

'At least I'm not completely out of place,' he thought, feeling a strange sense of comfort in the presence of others who, on the surface, seemed to share his predicament.

It was a rare feeling for Lyerin, who had spent most of his life as an outsider, always on the fringes of society, never fully accepted by those around him. But here, among these people, he could blend in. He could disappear.

But he knew better than to let his guard down.

This place, this moment of calm, was nothing more than a brief reprieve.

The reality of being a halfling in the Borgias Family was a nightmare, and it was only a matter of time before that nightmare caught up with him.

As he walked deeper into the warehouse, Lyerin considered the idea of inviting some of these people to his tribe.

They were vulnerable, disconnected from the power structures that dominated the magical world.

In another life, they might have made valuable allies, or at the very least, companions on the long road ahead.

But then, he hesitated.

Something in the back of his mind warned him against it. He hadn't confirmed anything yet—about his mother.

Besides, bringing anyone to his tribe would put them at risk, and he couldn't afford to endanger his people for the sake of a few strangers.

'No,' he decided, shaking his head slightly. 'Not yet. It's too soon.'

He was pulled from his thoughts by the sound of footsteps approaching.

A young woman, with soft features and a nervous smile, came up to him, her hands fidgeting with the hem of her worn coat. "You're new here, aren't you?" she asked, her voice tentative.

Lyerin nodded, offering her a small, friendly smile. "Yes, I just arrived. My name is Freddie."

"I'm Talia," she replied, her smile growing a little more confident. "It's good to see a new face. Things have been pretty tense around here lately, with everything going on outside."

Lyerin nodded, trying to match her casual demeanor. "I can imagine. It's been… a lot, hasn't it?"

Talia nodded, her expression turning somber. "Yeah, it really has. Sometimes it feels like the whole world is falling apart, and we're just trying to hold on to whatever pieces we can."

As they talked, a few others began to gather around them, drawn by the sight of a new face and the chance for conversation. Lyerin noticed their approach, and welcomed it, knowing that blending in with the group would only help solidify his cover.

One by one, the others introduced themselves—Aidan, a tall, lanky young man with a quiet demeanor; Mira, a sharp-eyed girl with a quick wit; and Jonah, a burly, older man with a gruff exterior but a surprisingly gentle voice. They formed a loose circle, the conversation flowing easily as they shared stories of where they had come from and what they had seen.

"Most of us were scattered in different sectors," Jonah said, his deep voice carrying a note of nostalgia. "Before everything went to hell, that is. We've all got different stories, different lives, but we've found some common ground here. It's not much, but it's something."

Lyerin nodded along, contributing to the conversation with carefully chosen words. He listened more than he spoke, letting the others fill in the gaps, all the while assessing their personalities, their knowledge, and their potential usefulness.

Their conversation was interrupted by a crackling sound from a loudspeaker mounted high on the warehouse wall. A voice, cold and authoritative, echoed through the space, cutting through the murmur of voices.

"Volena Borgias, your father is safe. Come to the gate to enter the city."

The message hung in the air for a moment, the name lingering like a ghost. The group fell silent, their previous lighthearted chatter replaced by a heavy, contemplative mood.

"Volena Borgias…" Talia murmured, her brow furrowing. "So, it's her father this time. Interesting."

"Yeah, have you noticed that?" Mira added, her tone curious. "Every time they call someone to the gate, they always mention the father if it's a girl, and the mother if it's a boy. It's like they're trying to make it personal, to reassure them or something."

Aidan frowned, nodding in agreement. "Yeah, I've noticed that too. But it's weird, isn't it? I mean, why do they even need to say that? If someone's parent is safe, wouldn't they know it already?"

Jonah scratched his chin, his expression thoughtful. "Maybe it's just a way to keep them calm, to give them hope. Or maybe… maybe there's something else going on. Something we're not seeing."

Lyerin listened quietly, his eyes drifting to the ceiling as the others speculated. He knew better than to take the Borgias Family's words at face value.

The truth was likely far more sinister than what was being presented.

As Lyerin stared at the cold, metallic ceiling of the warehouse, his mind drifted to darker thoughts.

The Borgias Family was known for their manipulation, their ability to twist truths to suit their needs.

They were ruthless, cunning, and willing to sacrifice anything and anyone to maintain their power.

The notion that they were genuinely concerned about the safety of these halflings or their parents was laughable.

At most, they are probably dead.