Infiltration was nothing new to either Nathan or Cleo. Passing himself off as someone he wasn’t was something he’d been doing as long as he could remember. But usually he knew who he was supposed to be pretending to be. Currently, he had no idea.

“Colonel Elijah, sir!” A round faced young man marched up to Nathan and saluted with his right fist held over his left shoulder. “Major Corvus has requested to speak with you in his tent, sir. If you would please follow me, I can lead you right there.”

Of course…

Nathan nodded curtly, taking a conscious effort not to roll his eyes. Not long after entering the camp, Saleh had marched off with the guardsman Coil, leaving Cleo and Nathan to fend for themselves. Nathan was starting to regret not taking Cleo’s advice and killing Saleh when he’d revealed he knew a bit too much about them.

Now, they were smack dab in the belly of the beast. It would take some truly inspired bullshittery to talk their way out of this.

“Lead the way, private.”

The round-faced man gave Nathan an odd look at being called private, then turned and started marching down the dirt pathway between the many tents. Nathan and Cleo started after him, doing their best to act the part.

Cleo nudged Nathan in the ribs, then leaned up and whispered into his ear mid walk. “I knew we shouldn’t have trusted the bastard,” she hissed.

Nathan whispered back. “He said he would be back. Besides, if he wanted to kill or rob us, there are easier ways to do that than going through all this trouble.” His words were sound, but that didn’t help the nagging feeling in his gut.

She scoffed and fell back a few paces, not bothering to hide her scowl. If Sergeant Avery was supposed to be an aggravating bastard, Cleo was doing a damn fine job of portraying her.

After their short walk, the young guardsmen led them to the front flap of the largest tent outside the dungeon. It had a blue sigil of an arm crossed before a shield emblazoned on the front of its flaps, and a same shaded flag flapping from a tall pole that extended from its center.

“Right in here, Colonel.” The guard pushed open one of the flaps and gestured for them to enter. Nathan just nodded and smiled in response, not bothering to call the man ‘private’ that time.

As he stepped in, Nathan had to do a double take. He blinked, looked over his shoulder at the tent’s exit as Cleo was walking in, then looked back around the interior of the tent. The place had to have been three times as large on the inside as on the outside. Some sort of spacial magic, perhaps? Everything was dressed in shades of blue, from the chairs and rugs, to the paintings and light fixtures that hung from the walls and ceilings. It was less a temporary tent of a guild and more a luxurious hall of fineries.

Any intimidation or nervousness Nathan may have felt upon entering, however, melted away at seeing the Major. He looked more fit to pick the winner of next year's pie baking competition than run a pseudo-military operation.

Major Corus was seated in an opulent chair of rich wood and dark blue fabric, one hand holding a generously filled glass of wine, the other brushing a white cat like some James Bond villain. He set down the glass, his plump cheeks reddened by the alcohol, and waved two fingers at Nathan to approach. “Colonel Elijah,” he started, his words slurring just a tad. “I was just informed of your arrival and wanted to be the first to welcome you, sir.” The Major suppressed a belch. “Would you like some wine?”

If this is the kind of leadership they have, maybe Cleo and I could have snuck or fought our way through no problem after all.

“I would love a glass, Major,” Nathan said, standing before the Major’s desk. Cleo stood silent beside him.

The Major snapped his fingers and a slender man in a dark suit approached holding a decanter of rich burgundy wine. He moved to pour a glass, but the Major quickly stopped him, sloshing his own glass in the process. Corvus motioned for the man to lean down so that he could whisper in his ear. “Not that one,” he said, trying but failing to stay quiet enough so Nathan would not hear him, “The cheaper stuff.”

The suited man nodded, walked away, returned with an unopened bottle, opened it, and poured a glass.

“Only the best for my guests.” Corvus gave a side smile that accentuated his double chin. He then lazily drifted his eyes over toward Cleo, looked her up and down, and smiled again. “Would your assistant like a glass?”

The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

Oh, Cleo is going to hate this. Nathan couldn’t be happier.

“I–” Cleo started.

“My assistant–” Nathan said, placing a placating hand on Cleo’s shoulder. He could practically feel her trembling with rage at the thought of being his assistant. “–will have to refuse.”

Cleo smiled forcefully, her lips drawn into a tight line and her right eye twitching. He would pay for this later, but how could he let such a juicy opportunity pass itself up?

Nathan took the glass from the butler and grabbed the back of a chair opposite the Major. “May I have a seat?” he asked.

“But of course.” The major took a gulp from his glass. “Please, make yourself comfortable. I can have someone bring a chair for your assistant as well.”

“No need,” Nathan said, sitting down in the wooden chair. “She prefers to stand.” Behind him, he heard a sharp intake of breath from Cleo.

“Very well.”

“Fantastic wine, by the way. May I ask what it is?”

Corvus shifted uncomfortably in his chair, obviously not wanting to reveal the true nature of what Nathan was drinking. It wouldn’t matter, Nathan didn’t know anything about this world’s wine, but Corvus didn’t know that. “Erhm… It is a, um, vintage. Yes, a vintage.”

“Vintage,” Nathan said with exaggerated awe. He swirled his glass in the air, watching the way the light filtered through the wine. “I can tell.”

Corvus nodded and smiled more, his cheeks flushing further. Like an overstuffed pig, full of wine and greasy meats. He reminded Nathan of every executive or politician back on earth, telling who to kill from the comfort of their mansions, fat on greed.

The cat leapt from Corvus’s lap, causing him to spill yet more dark wine on his white shirt. “Gah,” he groaned, touching at his damp shirt, then inspecting his fingers before sucking the wine off of each one with a wet plopping sound. “Apologies, Colonel. I was just celebrating our successes in the dungeon when you arrived. I am usually in a more proper state than this, but was not informed that you would be arriving.”

“Successes?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Of what kind?” How did they get inside without the key? Is the key only for a certain part of the dungeon?

“I daresay of the only kind that matters,” Corvus said, leaning forward with a lecherous grin. “Riches, Colonel. The dungeon hasn’t been touched in several decades, letting it stew and grow fat.” Like you. “Now it's all ripe for the plucking. We’ll have its gate cracked within the week, then send in some fodder to soften things up for us. After that, we can waltz on in and have our pick of the litter.”

Fodder? Is that the word he uses to refer to the people under his command? Hardly an inspiring leader… and exactly like the cowards in control back on earth. Nathan gripped the stem of his glass so hard that it threatened to crack. He must have let slip his emotions a bit, as Corvus shied away, an expression of worry growing on his face. But Nathan fought the feeling down, taking a deep breath.

“What kinds of riches, Major Corvus?” He forced out.

The Major carefully selected a piece of juicy meat from a platter sitting on the side of his desk and noisily shoved it into his mouth. “The kinds you find in dungeons, Colonel.” This was a man that was used to getting what he wanted without much effort.

Is he trying to be difficult, or does he think it should be obvious to me?

“Wonderful, I will inform Commander Tyson that the dungeon is filled with the things we find in them.” Nathan leveled a cold stare at Corvus.

The man stopped his chewing, paused with wide eyes, then swallowed heavily. He sucked his lips in, eyes shifting warily between Nathan and Cleo. Then the Major’s mouth split into a big nervous grin. “Of course, of course, I am only joking, Colonel Elijah.” He wiped his greasy fingers on the front of his shirt, smearing it atop the wine stain. “I will get a full detailed report ready for you.”

Corvus cleared his throat and snapped his fingers. “Willen!” he called.

The suited man returned. “Yes, sir?”

“Go get the Colonel here an official report of the dungeon’s rewards.”

“Yes, sir.” Willen turned and briskly walked away, exiting through the main tent flap.

Corvus turned back to Nathan, smiling amiably. “We don’t have lots of specifics on what is inside the dungeon as of yet – we will only know that once we have gotten inside and seen everything, of course, but the reports are very promising. The Threads have saturated the dungeon, undisturbed, for some time now. Rewards should be well beyond the usual, that is for certain.” He rolled his head back and licked his greasy lips. “We’re talking rare resources, Thread-Bound items, Ability scrolls, who knows.”

Nathan glanced up at Cleo. She wasn’t outwardly showing it, but he could tell that she was just as confused as him. Thread-Bound items? Does that mean magical? I could go for a nice magical sword. Or a gun – I’d really like a gun.

“That all sounds well and good,” Nathan said, scooting back his chair and standing up. “I think I would like to see it all for myself. Don’t bother with the report, I will take a look for myself at the dungeon’s entrance.”

Corvus watched him with surprise evident on his face. “The entrance?” he asked, sounding a bit worried.

“Yes. The entrance. Come, assistant.” Nathan motioned with two fingers for Cleo to follow. He could feel her eyes like daggers, boring into the back of his skull, but she followed.

“But, you can’t–” Corvus started.

“I can, and I will,” Nathan snapped. He brushed his way out of the tent and back into the warm sunlight.

If you think I’m going to trust you or the guild to give me a factual report of what you find in there, you are sadly mistaken. He pushed his hand into his pocket, wrapping his fingers tightly around the key Arnold had given him. His Veil was able to extend enough around him to keep anyone else from sensing its magical aura.

Those rewards are ours.