I paced in my tent in full armour. It was the next day, and the entire affair hung over the camp like a dark cloud.

  Outside, the construction was paused as men spread gravel, dry leaves, and twigs around, hopefully making it impossible for anyone invisible to walk around unnoticed. I had also asked Isengrim to send someone to secure as many cats as he could from some of the nearby villages, as the animals were very good at detecting invisibility and making it vocally known.

  The elven force was now gone, prowling through the surrounding land. I had hoped that they’d find anyone suspicious, but unfortunately, it had rained in the night. However, my real fear lay in the saboteur remaining nearby.

  For the first time in a while, I felt out of my depth. Even when I had led the Salamander Kampfgruppe in my previous life, this sort of thing just didn’t happen. I knew that there were spies and the like working for and against the Fatherland, but their actions had never really concerned me, and didn’t impact the minutiae of the Imperial Army much.

  The problem was that there were already precautions in place against that sort of thing. Guards at the gates checking any passersby, stationed at important locations around the construction - from the dwellings of commanders to food stores and armouries. Patrols, some with hounds, and other smaller things.

  I had consulted with Roderic and Ortagor, hoping they might possess some relevant experience, but I was already going above what they considered to be regular measures.

  “Clearly, it wasn’t enough,” I muttered. This was mostly due to the somewhat unique nature of my force. If you properly protected your commanders and other high-value targets, there just wasn’t much an infiltrator could do, unless they got very lucky. A soldier stabbed here or there wasn’t something that really affected the overall strength of an army thousands strong. Eventually, such an infiltrator would get unlucky, and that’d be it.

  There were still actions I could take. Searching tents and the soldiers one by one at random, alongside mind magic-assisted interrogations. Guaranteed to lower morale and sow even more mistrust, exactly what the saboteur was going for. It would also be utterly useless if the saboteur was an outside infiltrator instead of one of the soldiers.

  This left only more personal solutions.

  Firstly, magic. I was not the most proficient at divination, but combined with numeromancy, I’d be able to narrow down the list of suspects. This wasn’t my preferred way of doing things, as it meant taking on additional, and possibly in the long term unfeasible, duties, but right now, it might be worth it to put my projects on pause.

  Secondly, bait. The saboteur’s actions had revealed their intentions. Offering enticing targets that would help them with their objective could…

  My eyes widened.

  “Shit,” I muttered, grabbing the staff and striding out of my tent.

  I shielded my eyes from the morning sun, and began briskly walking towards the tents - namely, Sorin’s. The Royal Guards fell into step around me, along with Roderic, who walked beside me.

  There was no other death that would serve the infiltrator’s purpose better than Sorin’s.

  If they were really using invisibility, then they would be heavily incentivised to act now, before my measures were properly implemented. Quite an oversight on my part.

  My head snapped a bit to the left. A flash of Power in the distance.

  I broke into a run, guards following.

  The shouting began soon after.

  When I arrived, Sorin’s tent was once more surrounded by bustling soldiers who fell silent upon my arrival. Two corpses with slit throats lay crumpled in front of it, while the other guards were nowhere to be seen.

  I pushed the tent flap aside, peeking inside.

  Sorin lay on his back, a vacant expression on his face, while a pool of blood grew under him, though much of the tent was stained with blood as well. The reason for his state was obvious - an elven arrow jammed through his heart, arterial blood sprayed around. I doubted it had been shot from a bow - the intent behind its use fairly obvious.

  This shouldn’t have happened. With someone dying in his tent, Sorin had been assigned more guards, and yet…

  I clicked my tongue, releasing my grip on the flap and turning towards the soldiers. A young, black haired man immediately stepped forward. I recognised him as the scout who had led me to the Nazairi sorcerer’s corpse, though I had never gotten his name.

  “It was the black-haired elven bitch who was with Commander Isengrim yesterday!” He practically shouted, almost vibrating in place.

  My brow furrowed, recalling the woman. Aevinne, Isengrim had called her. Shouldn’t she be gone along with the other elves?

  More shouting erupted as a group of four dragged the aforementioned elf towards me, all the while she writhed like a cat, followed by a practically jogging Cyril, whose face was a mix of confusion and anger.

  “Release her,” I commanded. The group listened, taking an instinctive step back as the woman’s hand went to her sword, though she thought better of it at the last moment, turning to me with an expression that strangely mirrored Cyril’s.

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  “No blood,” I stated calmly, “Shoes,” I commanded the elf, whose face flickered with confusion, “Your soles will suffice.”

  Confused, she nonetheless raised her leg in a frankly rather impressive acrobatic feat, letting me see the sole of her shoe.

  “Typical elven shoe,” I nodded with satisfaction. There wasn’t some grand difference when it came to the shoes of humankind and elves, but much like their clothing and architecture, differences existed. Elven shoes tended to be lighter, more artistic, and often made with an intent much more specific than was common for human shoes, at least for this era.

  On the other hand, the run-of-the-mill human soldiers of my force generally wore simple leather shoes with reinforced soles.

  I was hardly an expert when it came to such fashion, but the simple fact was that Aevinne wore shoes with different soles than my human soldiers.

  I glanced at the ground, though I was already confident in my conclusion.

  “Aevinne, if you would be so kind, please stomp on this bit of dirt, so that all may see.”

  Understanding flashed through her eyes, and she complied.

  The nearby soldiers gathered, doing their best to see.

  Indeed, there were no such steps in the dirt leading into the tent, the tracks of the previous day erased by the night’s rain, leaving only the prints of the common soldiers.

  “But, but, I saw her!” The young scout exclaimed.

  I ignored him for the moment, instead turning to Cyril, “Were the two of you together?”

  The man blushed slightly, “We were playing dice for the past hour.”

  The saboteur had misstepped, then. Likely, they had not been aware of the more social nature of this particular elf, an easy mistake to make. I had not known Aevinne had remained behind, but if I did, I would not have expected to find her playing games with a human.

  “Illusions,” I spoke up, “It seems our saboteur is no amateur, though they have overstepped now.”

  I smiled, hopefully providing the watching soldiers with confidence. As I saw some gulp, I realised that I still had a long way to go before these men truly learned to trust me.

  Grealghane was swiftly dismissed as an option. Sorin likely only saw an illusion before his death, and if not, the spell was too crude to let him describe the culprit properly, just as it had been with Ithilven, whose testimony was likely useless for the same reason.

  That didn’t mean I didn’t have options.

  I went back into the tent, and carefully removed the arrow, before striding outside once more, levitating the bloody arrow above my palm.

  “Va’esse aep t’ess vael n’incael,” I chanted as numbers flashed before my eyes. Divination was a trying and costly discipline that often provided dubious results, but this was a near-perfect use. The sympathetic link between a murder weapon and a murderer largely depended on the weapon; with the arrow being a mere stolen tool, it wouldn’t be that strong.

  But I didn't need it to be strong.

  The arrow shattered, unable to handle the coursing Power, as my mind settled on a single number.

  Ninety-six point seventy-three percent. That was the likelihood that the culprit was still present.

  My smile grew even wider. That the saboteur would wish to observe my reaction and orders was logical, though I had been unsure if they were brave enough to do so. Perhaps they had realised their error once I had begun casting - but by that point, running would have been the same as confessing.

  They were at least smart enough not to attempt to cast illusions right in front of my face.

  The confirmation made my next step easy.

  “Mir lohar gynvael a'baeths,” I incanted, drawing as much power as I dared into the spell as an ethereal mist spread from my position with the speed of a fired arrow.

  “Dhu Muire,” I whispered right after, not waiting for the spell to do its job.

  A second later, one of the unassuming foot soldiers watching from the front row was gone, replaced by a wide-eyed young woman wearing a blood-splattered traveller’s cloak.

  The dark tendrils of Dhu Muire grasped her a second later, coiling around her torso and throat, immobilising her. In the next second, I moved, plunging my dimeritium dagger into her thigh before she even realised what was happening. I left the dagger in.

  The spy let out a strangled scream as the surrounding soldiers backed away in fear and surprise.

  With a flex of my will, the tendrils released the woman before surging towards her hands and raising her up into the air by her wrists. Then they constricted.

  The infiltrator’s screams redoubled in strength as her wrists broke, before the dark tendrils of Dhu Muire disappeared, letting the woman fall to the ground.

  “Grab her,” I barked, the surrounding soldiers quickly regaining their confidence, though it was Aevinne who moved first, twisting the saboteur’s arm behind her back with perhaps a bit too much zeal, eliciting another pained yelp. Another soldier removed a mace from her belt, alongside a few knives.

  “Return to your duties,” I dismissed the surrounding, and mostly gaping, men, “I see more training is still necessary,” I muttered, causing some of the nearby soldiers who overheard to recoil.

  “Cyril,” I turned to the man, ignoring the muffled sobs of the spy, “Station someone at the gates. Have Isengrim join me the moment he returns. Before then, find out what happened to the other four guards.”

  The commander nodded rapidly before barking off orders of his own.

  Then, I turned my attention to the spy. She looked to be in her twenties, with short blond hair and average height. Her blue eyes flickered around frantically, while blood trickled from her thigh.

  “Towards the laboratory,” I nodded to Aevinne, sending two of the royal guards to flank her, while the remainder surrounded me. The elf practically dragged the prisoner towards the makeshift laboratory - a regular tent I used to dissect the occasional monster - while I followed behind, watchful for any trickery.

  At this point, it was fairly obvious that our infiltrator was barely a hedge witch, likely not capable of much magic at all, even without any dimeritium stuck in her body. I wasn’t willing to take any chances, regardless.