As he walked around the clump of tents for what felt like the tenth time, he still couldn't find them, however at least the walking distracted him.

Finding his way to the pot, he was about to have some soup and head out of the wagon circle to search the other side, when he got a good glimpse at one of his fellow night owl's faces.

It was Olivier, Bertrand didn't know much about him and had only learned his name yesterday but what he did know was that they were very pious and had been brought in for questioning about the battle.

They also seemed to know his squadmates rather well, so maybe he could ask them where they went.

“Hey Olivier, do you know where Francois and Césaire are?” he said, his voice sounding horse.

Glancing over at him, Olivier’s dim eyes brightened. “Bertrand, I heard about what happened, the Seer must have guided your safe return.”

“Indeed, the Seer and the power of their grand shields. Still, we almost got wiped out, even with the power of a mage.”

“Ah, but you prevailed did you not? And thanks to your bravery a horrific demon has been purged, I would have joined you had it not been for my need to give a report.”

Bertrand was a little surprised to hear that given how afraid they had seemed in the last battle, normally he would have just ignored that comment, but curiosity got the better of him. “I thought you didn't want to fight them as only the Seer’s shields are capable of defending against the end times?”

Bertrand couldn't quite figure out Olivier’s facial expression at his question, they looked both offended and excited, most of all though, they looked fanatical.

“We may not be shields my brother but we can still support them, what use is a shield if it is held by a child, it needs proper support so it doesn't get knocked away in one hit. We are that support!”

“That's quite an attitude change, have you done some reviewing of your holy books?”

“Yes, yes I have, and when I return to the Earlock temple I will have much to teach my flock.”

Bertrand almost failed to hide his shock, Olivier was a priest, Seer that was news to him. They almost never had priests in the skirmisher corps, he had just thought Olivier was just overly religious.

“You will no doubt receive your Brass buttons for this, not many men have the gall to be bait, even amongst us, such fellows are rare.”

This time Bertrand did fail to hide his shock, he almost wanted to punch himself for how stupid he had been.

Now it all made sense, they were sent out there to ambush the ambushers, not to scout. Seer, how had it taken him this long to realise the truth?

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It stung to have been lied to but what stung even more was the thought that he might have been lied to by his squadmates. What was he supposed to do if they knew the truth, in order to stage a perfect ambush the deception was probably necessary.

But in order to form a perfect squad trust was needed, if he couldn't trust his own teammates who was he supposed to trust?

“Are you alright brother?” Olivier said, his words sounded faint to Bertrand’s ears. There was only one thing he wanted now and it wasn't a conversation with Oliver, it was an answer from his squadmates.

“Where are they?”

“Francois left to give his report when you got back, I would imagine he would be done now, so probably drinking with Césaire at the barn?” Olivier answers, even pointing in the rough direction of where he should find them.

“Thanks.” Bertrand said, before standing up and storming off towards the barn, all thoughts of soup or stew gone from his mind.

He didn't even bother to go to the small gap in the wagon circle, opting instead to crawl under it. He just didn't want to waste any more time.

Still despite how quickly he was moving the barn was still quite far away, meaning that by the time he got to the oversized tent he had calmed down quite a bit.

At least to the point he no longer felt like strangling someone.

Walking into the rowdy tent was a strange experience, half a dozen hours ago he had been fighting for his life, and now he was inside a makeshift gambling den and bar.

It was a good place to relieve stress, though he did feel some pity for the poor souls who had to set up their tent near this one.

It wasn't exactly a massive tent, but it was still the size of a large house, which made navigating it a pain when it was so crowded.

He had to nudge his way through five people just to move forward ten steps, there must have been two hundred soldiers gathered here.

Nearly double the amount there usually was, he guessed the recent incidents had people troubled.

Especially the skirmishers, he had been wondering why the inner camp had been so deserted, it was because almost every skirmisher left had made their way to this tent.

Finally after what felt like hours but was probably closer to ten minutes he caught a glimpse of yellow hair, there were only a few people with that type of hair colour, so he started pushing his way through the crowd, finally making it to Césaire.

They were sitting on a stool, bent over a large flat rock from Seer knows where, playing a game of cards.

Bertrand took a look around for any signs of Francois but found none, it would appear that Césaire was alone.

Leaning over, he pats Césaire twice on the shoulder to get the addicts attention.

Turning around with their signature smirk, before pausing, staring at Bertrand for a few seconds in mild surprise. Then they let out a light laugh.

“Haha, drinking and now gambling, Bertrand you truly are my prodigy, now all thats left is to teach you a bit about mercantilism.”

“Thats a big word Césaire, how about you just call it swindling instead.” One of the opponents he was playing against said, a drunken smile plastered on their face.

“Actually I was wondering about earlier. Did you know that we were meant to be bait?” Bertrand questions, and as much as he trys to prevent it his words still came out accusatory.

The twinkle in their eyes dying slightly, but smirk still firmly on their face, Césaire motions at Bertrand to sit down on one of the stools.