Arlo followed the guards at a steady distance, keeping his steps even and his breathing calm. The corridor they took was quieter than the rest of the castle, with fewer servants and more stationed soldiers. The air felt heavier here, and the usual casual chatter was gone. Instead, there were short, controlled conversations, the kind that stopped the moment someone unfamiliar walked by.

He kept his pace natural, not too fast, not too slow, his eyes forward while his attention stayed on the two men ahead.

"...they’re already inside the borders..."

"...orders haven’t been confirmed yet..."

"...it’s only a matter of time..."

Their voices were low, but in a quiet corridor, it didn’t take much to hear enough.

’...so it’s worse than the gate guards said...’

They reached the end of the corridor and turned toward a wider section of the castle. Arlo slowed slightly as he approached the corner, letting a pair of passing servants move ahead before stepping through. What opened up in front of him was a large stone hall, its entrance guarded by two armored soldiers standing straight at either side of a heavy wooden door.

The guards he had been following stopped there.

"We’re late," one of them muttered.

"Just get inside," the other replied.

They nodded to the door guards and stepped in without hesitation.

Arlo didn’t move forward immediately. He stayed back just enough to avoid drawing attention, his eyes scanning the area once, calmly.

Two guards at the door. One hallway to the left. One narrow service passage to the right.

’...tight security... makes sense...’

He turned slightly and walked toward the side passage instead, his steps quiet as he slipped into the narrower corridor. The space was dimmer, with fewer torches and more clutter along the walls—crates, broken tools, old cloth, things no one bothered to clean properly.

He moved deeper until he spotted a lone guard standing near a small side door, his posture relaxed, clearly not expecting anything to happen in such a neglected part of the castle.

Arlo slowed his pace, his expression unchanged.

"Hey," the guard said as he noticed him. "This area is—"

He didn’t finish.

Arlo closed the distance in a single step, one hand gripping the man’s collar while the other struck sharply at the side of his neck. The guard’s body went limp almost instantly, his voice cut off before it could rise.

Arlo caught him before he hit the ground.

"...quiet," he muttered under his breath.

He dragged the unconscious man toward the nearby room and pushed the door open with his foot. The inside was worse than the hallway—dust, old rags, broken furniture stacked in corners. No one came here.

Perfect.

He laid the guard down carefully, then moved quickly. The armor came off piece by piece, followed by the outer tunic and helmet. Arlo worked without hesitation, his movements practiced and efficient. Within moments, he had switched clothes, adjusting the fit just enough to pass at a glance.

He pulled the helmet down slightly, letting it cover part of his face.

’...good enough...’

He gave the room one last look, making sure nothing stood out, then stepped back into the corridor, closing the door quietly behind him.

This time, when he walked toward the main hall, no one stopped him.

The guards at the entrance barely gave him a second glance as he approached. One of them nodded slightly, and Arlo returned it with the same level of acknowledgment before stepping through the heavy doors.

Inside, the hall was already filled.

Long tables stretched across the room, occupied by men and women dressed in formal clothing, their expressions serious, their voices controlled but tense. Maps were spread across the surfaces, small markers placed in different positions. At the far end, a raised platform held a larger table where a few higher-ranking officials stood, speaking in low but firm tones.

Arlo moved to the side of the hall, blending in with the other guards stationed along the walls. He kept his head slightly lowered, his posture straight, his presence unremarkable.

And then he listened.

"...the northern clans have already crossed the outer line..."

"...we cannot confirm their numbers yet..."

"...it doesn’t matter, infiltration alone is enough to cause damage..."

Another voice cut in, sharper.

"What about Dayla?"

There was a brief pause.

Arlo’s focus sharpened slightly.

"...we already know about Dayla," one of the officials said. "The information was confirmed yesterday."

Another spoke.

"And the spy?"

"We have reason to believe they are already inside the city."

A low murmur spread across the hall.

"...inside Valerius?"

"...that’s impossible..."

"...then how did the soldiers die without raising an alarm..."

The voices overlapped briefly before one of the older men raised his hand, silencing the room.

"It is not impossible," he said firmly. "It has already happened."

Silence followed.

Arlo didn’t move.

’...so they’re aware... but not fully...’

Another official leaned forward, pointing at the map.

"We are also running short on supplies. Iron, food, and trained soldiers. If this continues, we won’t be able to sustain a prolonged defense."

"And reinforcements?"

"Delayed."

"Of course they are," someone muttered.

The tension in the room tightened.

"...then we need to prioritize..."

"...the city cannot fall..."

"...we focus on defense first..."

Arlo’s gaze shifted slightly across the room, taking in every detail—the positions, the faces, the tone of their voices.

’...short on supplies... short on soldiers... and they know there’s a spy...’

His grip on the spear in his hand remained steady.

’...but they don’t know who...’

The discussion continued, moving between strategies, concerns, and disagreements. Some pushed for immediate action, others for caution. No one had a clear solution.

Which meant opportunity.

Arlo stood there, silent, invisible among the guards, as the pieces settled in his mind.

Supply shortage.

High demand.

Rising tension.

And a city that was about to need everything it didn’t have.

’...iron... food... transport...’

His lips almost curved under the helmet.

’...they’ll pay anything for stability...’

The meeting dragged on, but Arlo had already heard enough. Slowly, carefully, he stepped back, keeping his movements natural as he moved toward the edge of the hall. No one stopped him. No one questioned him.

To them, he was just another guard.

He stepped out into the corridor, the heavy doors closing behind him with a dull sound.

The air outside felt lighter.

He walked a few steps, then stopped.

For a brief moment, the smile he always carried returned fully, no longer just for show.

"...Merchant disguise it is."