Within moments the activity in the camp increased tenfold. The quiet of the forest was replaced by rustling, clinking, and the hollow sound of footsteps.

As though reaching for a crescendo voice, sounds of movement, and various items crashing against each other filled the forest, giving the impression of movement close to Kent. Flitting eyes, searching for the origins of the sounds registered no movement, however.

It calmed him down considerably. Yet there was still some worry in his expression.

Kent briefly wondered how no one else had found out about the foreign army in the first place if their stealth capabilities were that low. Before remembering that the forest's edge was several leagues away from the village and even someone with a vastly inflated senses stat couldn’t hear that well. The camp, a good bit away from the forest's edge, would compete with the sounds of the forest, so maybe there was no need for hiding.

Once most of the sounds had quieted down again and the soldiers' sounds faded into the background of rustling leaves and the occasional bird Kent scooted closer, as slowly and steadily as possible.

He had no idea how anyone would react to the current happenstance, or even what their routine was. How would he know when to expect them to fall asleep or be affected by the berries – would they even notice?

And how much would the low level of the turrls affect the wakefulness of soldiers?

Slowly but steadily, he began doubting his plan. It was reliant on so many factors he had no influence on. Somniferous Turrls were feared not because of their strength but the potency of their saliva. Would a sip of slightly polluted water be enough to take out a full-blown soldier? Musing on what their levels and stats might be was pointless. He could only act.

A better person than him, someone with traits, would have had a skill to tell them some of that. Kent, as a mere mortal didn’t. He had no chance of gauging his chances.

He chose an evergreen shrub as his final hiding place. Close enough to the military encampment that he would be able to observe a small part of the camp while still being well obscured.

It seemed like the two drunks of the previous night had been simply removed from their chairs and were now laying on some mats by the tents. Both had various obscene figures drawn on their faces, the coloring spoke of what was likely charcoal. They were too far away to be certain.

The rest of the camp was quieter than expected. Maybe the outburst of whoever had found the two guards had resulted in the camp being ordered to stay quiet, or maybe they were all worried about something.

There were no certainties.

“Darnage, are you alright?” a voice asked.

“I bet the bastard joined the night watch and got drunk too. Heck if I can figure out a way to stomach occupying villagers, unprovoked,” returned another voice from halfway across the camp. “I’m gonna go get something from my tent, leave some wine for me should you get started.”

He observed the few soldiers he could see drink, eat, and relieve themselves. They talked to each other, complaining about various ailments, and how they were still so tired, how hard their job was, and bad the pay, there was another mention of a quest, but he wasn’t quite sure what that was about. Some came within twenty paces of him to relieve themselves.

Quite scary all in all, but nobody seemingly noticed. Then again, maybe that was where he was safest. No one wanted to be aware of others watching them while relieving themselves, and no one wanted to observe people relieving themselves.

When one of the soldiers got up and almost fell again, stumbling towards the waste tree he almost screamed.

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So tight and narrow-focused from the stress he didn’t notice that the camp had quieted down.

Everyone was quiet. Maybe someone was still awake, but it seemed like most weren’t. Of the 16 people he had counted in total four people were asleep with their heads on a table.

Could this be a trap? No, if they knew I was here, they would have just killed me.

He drew his new knife, and carefully approached the man on the ground. When he stood over the presumed passed-out body he slowly reached for the neck.

The pulse was beating rhythmically, but slow and weak.

Kent looked down at his knife. Could he just stab a person?

After a long minute of considering the answer was no, he might not even have the physical strength to penetrate the skin. He felt uncomfortable fighting against monsters already, and that was with them being the offensive party. A passed-out human, no matter their intentions...

He tried to bring his hand towards their throat but couldn’t. Something inside him screamed against him.

I should have thought this through better.

He left the sleeping body behind him to scout the remainder of the camp. All 16 soldiers he had seen before were accounted for, all asleep.

Not knowing how strong the saliva of the turrls really was made the next moves a lot more dangerous. To better anticipate the results of his next actions he looked for the healthiest-looking soldier around.

People with a high vitality had an air about them. Their faces unblemished, healthy hair, and a plethora of other marks. He would experiment with this person.

He filled the healthiest looking soldier’s mouth, a rather young chap with full dark hair, with the juice of tollkirschs. With clumsy positioning and pressure, he got them to swallow most of the liquid if not all. Apparent by the coughing of the unconscious body.

There was no other reaction. Next, he tried to cut into the soldier's leg.

Kent shivered, he just couldn’t do it. It felt wrong. He had most likely already doomed the man to dye so why couldn’t he just finish it. There was a disconnect between doing something that would inflict death, and just murdering someone directly and he couldn’t pass that barrier for humans.

He ended up being disgusted by his own indecisiveness but also the situation in general. Using a knife wouldn’t get him to remove the threat the soldiers posted in the first place.

What had a better chance was combining multiple damage sources.

As fast as possible he gathered as much tollkirsch as fit into five hand-sized canteens and administered it to each of the unconscious bodies. Next, he tore down the tents, bed rolls, clothes, and firewood in a place.

Imagining that all the soldiers had died helped with the next part of his plan. He collected the soldiers on a pile of flammable material and quietly asked for forgiveness.

As far as humans had come, they still very much lived in the reality of their ancestors, either be the hunter or live too passive enough to become the prey. It wasn’t an ideology he subscribed to, but the last few days had driven the sentiment home more often than he would have liked.

He threw still-burning pieces of wood from the fire onto the pile of bodies. Before rummaging one last time through the few things that remained of the camp. He found a few skins that smelled of high alcohol contents, and threw them on the fire as well, inviting the pyre to burn even brighter.

Panicking a bit, unsure of what to do with the tent pegs he threw them right on top of the bodies, trying to get rid of all the evidence. He wasn’t sure why, but it felt right. It alleviated some of his worries.

When the first sounds from the fire were replaced with too human-sounding noises he left in a hurry, back to where he had previously stored his salvage.

From there he continued on, away with a few things he thought he would be able to carry but left most behind. If there were some soldiers, there would be no doubt be others and he had to be fast, first and foremost.

Eventually, his stamina dropped below what he was comfortable with, and he slowed to a what he liked to think of as a casual march. His pounding heart proved that it wasn’t.

Equipped to survive several days in the wild, unless he should encounter some monsters, he approached the road to Reinsteel.

He hoped that he would be safe there. Maybe, should they have not heard of him, they wouldn’t inspect people at their gates, and he could enter, or maybe they would shoot him down the moment they saw him.

Or maybe they didn’t have gates in the first place. Blueleaf didn’t, so maybe a town wouldn’t either. It was all speculation. His parents had never spoken much of Reinsteel, and neither had anyone else he knew.

*Ding – Notification pending*

…

*Ding – Notification pending*

He just ignored the pings, dreading what he would see there. He counted them though, just to be safe. As the count reached fifteen it stayed there. Not budging another bit.

That was bad. There were too many scenarios Kent drew out in his head. A murdering psychopath running through Blueleaf, murdering everyone to get revenge for burning him and his friends alive. A person almost burned to a crisp but still walking choking him in his sleep.

He focused back on the path ahead. Once he got to the road travel would get easier, but he would also have to be more careful.