Luckily he saw nothing throughout the night.

Perhaps they could have sneaked by but Bertrand was doubtful of that, almost everyone was on the walls so even if his eyes failed theirs shouldn't.

But although the wall was defended and no further instructions occurred there was still fighting within the town.

At one point an officer had approached them, bloody and bruised.

He had been put down like a sick horse though when it was found out he couldn't speak.

Bertrand almost blasted the man who shot the officer but when he watched them rise back up with a gaping hole in their chest he knew that the lineman had made the right call.

It was a shocking but useful experience, at least now he knew they couldn't speak.

Apparently they also had trouble mimicking facial expressions but because he had been so far away he hadn't been able to get a good look at their face so he didn't know how truthful that claim was.

He thought the adaptor who attempted to intercept them was rather expressional when it was disguised.

He could have sworn he saw real fear from it, though he was running past it and everything happened rather fast. So perhaps he was overthinking it or falsely remembering what had actually happened.

Maybe it even had some kind of aura like the watcher, only its one was more suitable for stealth.

Other than that fake officer event though nothing else happened, at a certain point the noises of battle also started to dim down.

Seer tonight was brutal, Bertrand wondered how many of them would be left at the end of it.

Was what they were fighting even zombies though?

Or some form of elite shock troop from an unknown group because although the chances of some secretive force attacking them with this much power was low it didn’t make sense.

The corpse of his fellow skirmisher in the watchtower was still there and although he had been keeping a careful watch over the plains, he had also dedicated some attention to looking over the body every now and then.

And so far it had shown no signs of turning, so then that must mean it wasn’t killed by a zombie.

So then adaptors weren’t zombies, same with the watcher.

But as far as he had been told zombies attacked everything they could get their hands on, cats, dogs, sheep, humans, Seer even birds weren’t safe.

And everything they killed got turned into a zombie, well almost everything, it’s a bit hard for something as small as a bird to turn as by the time the zombies done with them, there’s nothing left to turn.

Francois had also explained that it had something to do with body mass, so even if a zombie only bit off a bird's wing and left it to die the bird still wouldn't turn because it was too small.

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And there was more than enough mass left on his fellow skirmisher for them to be turned but they hadn’t, they didn’t so much as twitch.

So then the only conclusion he could come to was that adaptors weren’t zombies, but if they weren’t zombies then why didn’t they get targeted by them.

Or maybe they were, what if the adaptors and watchers did get attacked by zombies, what if the only reason they thought watchers could lead zombies was because they left a trail of food or perhaps a scent of blood behind.

Kind of like how you could lead wild wolfs by laying out fresh meat for them, the wolfs would still attack you but that didn’t change the fact you could lead them.

Seer, there was just too much he didn’t know.

“Movement.” A voice called out, one of the infantrymen had spotted some figures emerging from the street.

Bertrand only briefly glanced over at them before focusing back on surveying the plains, while making sure to tighten his control over his mana vein and the mana cube.

The moment he heard fighting he was going to swing around and suppress the potential adaptors with his beamer.

Even if he couldn’t kill them he should be able to keep them contained enough that they became easier targets for his fellow comrades.

Thankful he hears talking instead of battle cries.

He was too high up to actually hear what was being said and as much as he wanted to clamber down and join in on the conversation but he couldn’t.

It would be a bit rude but considering everything that had happened he was sure he would be forgiven, the real issue was that he had to man his post.

He wouldn't put it past the adaptors to strike the moment everyones guard was down.

So he would remain alert, just in case. That way he could at least give a warning before they got attacked.

Though maybe he was giving himself to much credit, the skirmisher before him certainly hadn’t been able to prevent their attack.

But still, there was little he could contribute in a conversation and much he could contribute by guarding.

Eventually the conversation quieted down so much that he couldn’t even hear a wisp of it.

He did hear someone climb up the ladder though, their boots going thunk on the heavy wood.

Ironically the ladder was more stable and sturdy than the tower it was attached to.

Turning around when he heard them reach the top, he came face to face with the most grizzled veteran he had ever seen.

They wore no uniform which clearly marked them as a skirmisher and by the Seer did they seem to be an experienced one.

A giant jagged scar ran down their face, from their forehead, down the bridge of their nose and ending at just below their chin.

Bertrand couldn't even begin to guess how they got such an enormous scar.

“Our relieve you, go back and rest alongside the rest of your squad.” He said, his solemn tone fitting him perfectly.

“I don’t know where the rest of my squad is.” Bertrand replied, subconsciously almost saying sir at the end.

The man just looked too similar to some of the instructors Bertrand had back in boot camp.

“Then your leave with one of the other squads, safety in numbers.” They said, looking completely unfazed by Bertrand’s rather grim words.

Nodding his head at them, Bertrand moved past the veteran and started his descent down the ladder.

Cutting himself midway down thanks to a splinter the size of his thumb sticking out from the wood.

The veteran must have broken it off while he was climbing up.

He certainly had the weight to do it, being six foot two and weighing what Bertrand would guess to be two hundred pounds of pure muscle.

Getting to the bottom of the ladder he moved over to where a clump of linemen were.

No words even needed to be exchanged as they beckoned him over and together they all began to head back to the housing section together.