The dawn light over Delwig was still pale and cold, seeping through the cracks in the fortress walls as Damien and Captain Apnoch made their rounds through the garrison after the departure of Arielle and Lyone.
The clatter of boots and the hum of mana forges filled the morning air, but beneath that order, Damien could still feel it—the faint, lingering tension of something wrong.
They passed through the barracks first, where rows of disciplined soldiers stood in quiet formation.
The armories gleamed, meticulously arranged, each weapon accounted for. The guards saluted as the two men passed, and everything looked perfectly routine. Too routine.
Apnoch's brows drew together, his patience thinning by the minute. "This is a waste of time. If those impostor guards left a trace, it would've been gone by now."
"Maybe," Damien said, voice calm as he trailed a gloved hand along the stone wall.
