It was time to put in some serious quality work to rat out the infiltrators. Of course, it wasn't as easy as it seemed, but my plan was solid — or at least, I liked to believe that.
"Dad, I need you to gather everyone in front of the inn. Every guard who's currently stationed at the gates and patrolling the outer areas. Tell them this is a soldier's party. I want the party to be held tonight — and make sure word spreads to every member."
"I also want you to split the party into two groups — one being your most trusted allies, and the other being the remaining soldiers. That way, we know who to interact with."
"Now next, here's what we're going to do—" I whispered the rest into his ears.
"Hahaha, naughty brat," he chuckled. "I was wondering what kind of plan you'd come up with… and this is what you did."
The party looked ordinary.
Just another gathering under the open dusk sky. Soldiers swapping stories, drink being passed around, the occasional laugh from the younger recruits. But beneath the surface… a trap was already breathing.
But behind every casual drink passed around and every laugh, a net was tightening.
Klein moved among the soldiers like he always did — grinning, joking, blending in like smoke. He was my father's blade in plain sight. The one who could ask dangerous questions with a friendly smile.
The instructions were simple: Talk. Ask. Listen. But not just to anyone — only to those who weren't in the "trusted circle."
And most importantly, ask things they should already know.
"Hey, didn't you patrol the east wall last week? How bad was the wind? "You still using the torch post near that old barrel stack? "You remember who got scratched up last time those stray beasts slipped in?"
Questions like that don't need thinking. Unless you've never been there.
And that's where the cracks started to show.
Two of them — two guards — hesitated a little too long. Their answers were correct on the surface, but too polished. Like they'd memorized them.
I didn't speak. I just watched.
Because I knew the names. Zwekeep. Guacemole. Two words I had overheard. Two ghosts in the uniforms of dead men.
They didn't know I had caught their names in passing, the fact that I overheard their talk.
But I knew.
And now... I was watching.
Hours passed. The fire dimmed, and the songs faded. Plates scraped empty, and some began to lie back against crates and walls.
Then my father stood — slowly, like he wasn't sure what came next.
"Been a while since we had a decent party," he said aloud. "Let's keep it going a bit. Nothing heavy. Just stories."
"Tell me about your first real patrol. The one that made you think, 'Yeah… this job's not so easy.'"
Some grumbled. Some laughed. One by one, they answered — short stories, curse-laced tales of bleeding boots and near-deaths. Each had their scars to show for it.
Until it reached them.
My first bait went first.
"East barricade, three months ago. We ran into a mangled beast hiding in the trash. Tore right through one of our guys. I held him back with a broken spear."
A few heads nodded.
"Same night. Same patrol. I covered him with a crossbow shot to the leg. That's how I survived, but for him it was too late. The rampant mana had already corrupted his soul, so I had no way to save him. He was one of my best friends — Modak."
"East barricade, huh? Soldier, what is your name?"
"Mark, Sir."
"I see. Mark, there's no need to be sad. He died a heroic death. We all have our own shortcomings. But there's one thing that's bothering me. The east barricade never had a beast intervention till now."
Silence.
"You sure it wasn't the south? Because that's the one we sealed three months ago after it collapsed."
A flicker. A tiny twitch — not fear, but calculation. Hey were adjusting.
"Must've been south, yeah. Memory's foggy," the soldier said quickly. "Long days."
"Right, Mark, I understand. I want to thank you for looking out for our small community. We are giving everyone a small token of appreciation. Roy, could you please come forward with the award and the certificate?"
"Yes, Dad."
A tiny but very miasmic intent lightly arose from the gathering. Very subtle for ordinary people to notice but no one's ordinary in here.
The plan was set, and the prey was captured.
I've learned one thing from my past life — that under pressure, no matter who you are or how good you are, at some point in time you will mess up. Humans have a tendency to overlook small things when they don't matter… and regret it later.
That's exactly what we need to use right now — the vulnerability that comes with ignorance.
"Mark, this is the certificate. But could you please tell your real name so that we can award you??",
"My real name, you say? I don't quite understand—"
"Ahh, sorry. Should I call you Zwekeep? Or… perhaps you're Guacamole?" I asked, grinning.
Shhing—
A blade sliced through the air near my ear — but Klein moved faster, intercepting it with a sharp clang.
"Ah, fuck—Zwe, run! We can't fight this many experts together! "A voice panicked from within the crowd.
As I thought — expose one, and the other panics. Hey couldn't afford to let us dig any deeper into their identities.
Before the man could vanish, my father was already there — a blur of motion. He appeared in front of the fleeing one and took his life in an instant.
At the loss of his comrade — no, his partner — Zwekeep exploded with killing intent, every drop of it aimed at me.
"You brat… I should've made sure you died last time!" he roared.
I smiled. "You should've," I said, winking.
Zwekeep lunged.
But Klein was already moving.
A flash of steel. A scream. Blood hit the dirt before anyone even blinked.
Both his arms dropped first. Then a clean slice to the back of his knees sent him crashing down like a puppet with its strings cut.
He writhed. Snarled. Tried to shift his face — maybe hoping to vanish in another disguise. But Klein stepped on his throat. Just enough to remind him: this time, there's no escape.
"Try anything," Klein muttered, pressing his blade to his cheek, "and I'll carve through what's left of you."
My father arrived beside me, slow and composed, brushing dust off his sleeves like he hadn't just ended a life minutes ago.
"Not bad," he said, glancing between me and Klein. "We caught a shapeshifter. High-level too. Took out two of our real men."
I didn't say anything. Just watched Zwekeep bleed into the ground.
"You're sure about this one?" my father asked.
"He's the one," Klein nodded. "The moment Roy said the name, his blood shifted. Pulse too."
"Filthy rat," my father spat.
Zwekeep chuckled through broken teeth, eyes bloodshot and unfocused.
"You think this ends with me…?" he wheezed. "You think you've won?"
"No," I said quietly, stepping forward, "but I know one thing."
He turned his gaze toward me.
"You'll never get another chance," I whispered.
Then turned my back and walked away.