Every footfall above sent ripples through the soil. Every clash of steel pressed a different frequency into the stone. The earth was an instrument, and right now, thousands of soldiers were hammering out a bloody symphony on its surface.
He focused, narrowing his senses even further. He sensed too many signatures in too short a distance from one another to parse individually, but weight… that was measurable. He wanted to measure how much pressure they exerted on the ground. To do so, he honed his senses on exactly that.
A ripple from a lightly armored scout was different from the deep, stubborn stamp of a samurai in full kit.
Using this method, it didn't take long for the Fujimori elites to stand out.
How could Quinlan tell that they were elites?
Their weight told them away. Each one pressed the earth harder, thicker, not just because of body mass, but because of the sheer weight of their equipment.
