As I walked closer to the camp, I received a better view of the workings of the operation. Some details, like the mismatched pieces of armor and damaged weapons, I already expected to see. Some, like the constant verbal battles between different patrol groups, even more intense than I expected, was a surprise.

However, most of my attention was firmly fixed on the way they were fighting. It was unnatural. Even among the patrol teams, there was absolutely no coordination, each battling against a creature, even to the point of occasionally injuring each other.

Yet, that wasn't as interesting as the way they swing their weapons. Every single warrior I could see was … for lack of a better term, stiff. Some limited themselves to wide, sweeping slashes, while others limited themselves to stabbing movements. For some, it was reasonable, as a spear was rather limited in terms of attack options, but even the ones that were using others weapons, like halberds and great swords, were limited in their attacks.

And, every single one of them had the same curious habit I had observed back when I had fought against the servants. Every single hit was delivered fully, with no holding back, only to go back to their starting position.

Even at the cost of taking easily avoidable damage. Yes, their wounds recovered quickly, but that shouldn't be a reason to take such wounds.

Such an interesting way of making battle.

Since everyone was fighting like that, I chose to limit myself to slashes, delivering full, wide strikes whenever a beast had drifted too close — though I made exceptions whenever I would take damage. My Health was depleted enough.

That was hard to notice when the distance between me and the camp was measured in miles, but the shorter the distance became, the more likely for someone to notice the irregularity. Luckily, the shorter the distance got, the easier for someone to notice that some of my attacks had been cut short.

Luckily, that wasn't the only change. The closer I got to the camp, the less the beasts targeted me, attracted by the larger group instead.

"What an interesting world," I murmured as I continued observing the people, this time focusing on their physical attributes. On that, their feature of delivering full strikes was useful, giving me a rather accurate sense of their Strength and Agility. It wasn't a trivial thing to achieve, especially at a distance, but my Perception, combined with a lifetime habit of measuring others — another valuable talent in my old line of work — I was able to get a reasonable sense.

And, my measurement was enough to confirm that only a few had stats that surpassed me, whether in Agility or in Strength, and it wasn't hard to see those were lacking in other stats. The strong ones were clumsy, unable to recover fully from their own swings, while agile ones lacked the strength to deliver one-hit kills.

Only ones I couldn't exactly rival were the fast ones, dashing around with alacrity I couldn't rival. Interestingly, some of them lacking both Agility and Strength. From my training, I guessed Speed was the reason for their state.

"Agility is harder to hide than Strength," I decided as I closed in, adjusting my combat capabilities accordingly. I didn't want to hide my Strength forever as well, but until I could get a better sense, it was better to be conservative. As I killed the occasional beast that attacked me I started holding back, even when it meant that, against some of the larger beasts I had to hit several times.

No one told anything to me, or even looked my way for more than a few seconds, which encouraged me about my strategy. I knew most wouldn't even call marching across an open field, in plain sight, a strategy.

But for me, it was the best way to accomplish my goal. After all, only someone without any bad intentions would just walk into a camp filled with thousands and thousands of people, every single one of them armed.

I walked forward about half the distance; I was certainly close enough to get their attention. About fifty yards away from me, I could see a group of twenty dragging one of the larger breasts — larger than an elephant — but they didn't even pay attention to me.

What a shame.

For a moment, I hoped that it was going to be the extent of what I was dealing with.

… then I noticed a lone warrior walking toward me, his gaze leaving no doubt that I was his target. He was wearing silver armor, the design of it similar to the ones the soldiers back in the flying castle had been wearing — though simpler and cheaper, and carried no mark — which distinguished him from the crowd that was walking around him.

Though I didn't need to recognize his armor for that, the way the others parted around him was enough to clue.

I suppressed the temptation to start running like a new gang member might do, and instead looked at him. "Hey, you, follow me," he ordered immediately, before he started walking back, his tone brokering no argument, expecting to be obeyed.

Following him was a good idea, especially since he was confident — or reckless — enough to turn his back. I had dealt with many kinds of enforcers, both lawful and lawless, and one thing was common. Not one of them was stupid enough to walk recklessly if they weren't absolutely confident in their security.

It wasn't the time to test that.

I walked, fast enough to close the distance, doing my best to copy the slightly worried look of a civilian accosted by a sudden military checkpoint.

Just because his back was turned didn't mean that others weren't observing my position.

The armored warrior brought me toward the mobile butcher station where everyone had been carrying the carcasses of the beasts. Or more accurately, three hundred yards behind it, toward a smaller, but much fancier tent.

An interesting position for a high-ranking commander to take, I decided. The thick smell of blood and smoke from the bonfire was hardly the most comfortable location. Maybe he was there to make sure there was no thievery.

Or maybe not, I corrected myself as I turned my gaze to the skies, and looked at the sky, taking note of the density of the flying beasts. They were densest right on top of the tent, attracted by the butchering operation.

Though, despite the constant killing, I was yet to see anyone leveling up in my immediate surroundings.

Interesting.

I wondered if I could use that detail to my benefit if things had turned too dangerous. Maybe I could trigger the level-up and disappear from the confusion. Not to retreat, but to slip into the camp, already trying to find the best path inside the camp.

That was just a last resort, of course. I had no intention to risk myself unless things reached a dangerous point. I continued following the group, until we stood in front of the tent, where four armored figures were waiting for us. Three more warriors, wearing identical silver armor…

And a teenager, barely fifteen in my guess, wearing an armor that was fancier than Captain had been wearing back in the flying castle.

It was the teenager that spoke. "Who are you?" he asked, trying to sound serious, though with his age, that only came across as petulant. Not that it mattered much, when that feeling was accompanied by the pressure of Charisma, ordering me to obey.

With my current Resilience, ignoring that was trivial. I only paused a moment to take note of the intensity and the shape, to fake a perfect answer.

The first rule of lying, always acts how they expected. It was a lesson I had used many times during my career, especially the times I was still working as a freelance … problem-handler, the permanent kind. A statement to the police about an assassination I 'saw' was much more effective while faking a panic attack.

The pressure he radiated was more similar to Falael's direct orders rather than Toross' weird aura of likable obedience — before his weird transformation — but the intensity was significantly lower than Falael's iron orders.

Interestingly, the pressure was still stronger than the nameless captain could generate.

So, rather than the frustrated yet helpless expression of the soldiers, I wore the slack-jawed expression of the servants whenever they were ordered by Falael.

"My name is Euon, my lord, a retired resident," I said, putting a dazed cadence in my tone as I used the name of the unlucky servant that I had robbed back then.

Since neither the warriors nor the young man looked alarmed, it seemed that my ploy was sufficiently convincing. "And why are you here, alone?" he asked, the pressure lessening as he asked.

"My group had decided to ignore the orders and decide to raid the abandoned settlements until the carts are full, of greedy traitors," I explained. "So I left the group to join the bigger caravans." It seemed like the best explanation, as whatever the danger was, it was clearly important enough to trigger widespread evacuation, and the morons that decided to prioritize furniture over safety made a convenient excuse.

"They are ignoring their orders, traitors!" he gasped in shock, the intensity could only be generated by a sheltered youth with little experience. Warriors around him just grunted, but none of them bothered to say anything. "We should go and teach them a lesson! How dare they ignore their orders."

Just like my questions, that order came with the weight of Charisma.

The warriors reacted immediately, each standing straight, their weapons drawn, like they were about to charge forward. "If you wish, my lord," one of them through squeezed teeth after several seconds, pushing himself to the limit to say his words. "But what about our order to defend the camp against stronger beasts," he managed to say.

I didn't say anything, just waiting obediently in front of him, looking at the ground. The pressure was not targeting me. Yet, the warrior showed me that, it was possible to ignore orders backed by Charisma, at least indirectly.

"You're right," the teenager murmured, and the pressure disappeared. "My father won't like it if I don't complete my mission perfectly," he said as he turned and disappeared into the tent.

I continued to look at the ground, faking a tremble. "What's your class and level," the soldier asked.

"Farmer, and level twenty-eight, sir," I answered, just as quick, but without the hypnotized tone I used earlier. It was a dangerous lie, especially about a class I didn't have, but unless I wanted to admit I was a Hero, my option was to spout one of the classes I heard from the soldiers back when I was gambling.

And since they despised farmers as particularly pathetic, I expected that to bring the least questioning.

"At this age?" murmured one from behind. "Pathetic!"

"Any useful skills," he asked.

I said nothing, as I didn't know the names of the skills, and didn't want to risk spewing. Instead, I took that as an invitation to display, and pulled my dagger, showing a few slashes, all repeating the same pattern of fully completed hits.

"Just a slash, somewhere in the intermediate area," the soldier growled dismissively. I nodded.

"Useless, go into the camp and try to find something to do," they said, the mention of my class enough for them to fully dismiss me.

Enough to ignore the fact that I had somehow walked from one camp to another without dying…

Interesting bias…