The main tent cast a pool of warm amber light against the surrounding darkness, its canvas walls glowing softly from within. Inside, Master Abel sat hunched over a broad wooden table, his usually immaculate officer's uniform slightly rumpled from the long day. Multiple oil lamps had been arranged around the workspace, their flames steady and bright, banishing shadows from the collection of papers, maps, and reports spread across the polished surface.

  Abel's weathered fingers traced lines across a detailed map of Borov Woods, marking locations where corruption sightings had been reported over the past weeks. Red ink dots clustered in certain areas, forming patterns that suggested the blight was spreading in a deliberate direction rather than random dispersal. Beside the map, neat stacks of patrol reports waited for his review, each one bound with official cord and bearing the garrison's seal.

  The Epic Bard's sharp eyes moved methodically between documents—supply requisitions, scout observations, casualty reports from other units operating in the corrupted zones. His pen scratched occasional notes in the margins, cross-referencing information that might reveal the source of the spreading taint.

  A half-empty cup of cooling tea sat forgotten near his elbow, the steam long since dissipated as Abel lost himself in the analytical work that had consumed his evening.

  The tent flap rustled, and a guard stepped inside with crisp military precision. He snapped to attention, his boots clicking together as he delivered his report with practiced efficiency.

  "Deputy Commander, Conscript Alph is requesting an audience, sir."

  Abel glanced up from the map, his pen pausing mid-notation. The lamplight caught the calculating expression that flickered across his weathered features—not surprise, exactly, but the look of a man whose expectations were being confirmed. He'd been anticipating this conversation since the patrol reports had reached his desk an hour earlier.

  "Send him in," Abel replied, his voice carrying the measured authority of a career officer. He set down his pen with deliberate care and leaned back slightly in his chair, though his posture remained alert and professional.

  Abel folded his hands atop the table and waited, his expression settling into the neutral mask of an experienced interrogator—neither hostile nor welcoming, simply expectant.

  Alph stepped through the entrance with measured steps, his simple conscript's uniform straightened and cleaned as much as field conditions allowed. Though traces of the day's exertions still clung to him—a faint scent of forest loam and something darker that spoke of recent violence—his bearing carried the disciplined composure of someone who understood military protocol.

  "Deputy Commander," Alph said, bringing his right fist to his chest in the proper military salute. His voice carried the respectful tone expected of a conscript addressing a superior officer, but Abel's trained ear caught something else beneath the deference—a steadiness that seemed unusual for someone barely out of their teens.

  Composed, Abel noted silently, his bardic instincts cataloguing details with practiced efficiency. No trembling hands, no darting eyes, no nervous fidgeting. Either remarkably self-controlled for his age, or there's more substance here than the reports suggested.

  Alph held the salute for the appropriate duration before lowering his arm, his dark eyes meeting Abel's gaze directly but not challengingly. The young conscript's posture spoke of military discipline already taking root, yet something in his bearing suggested this wasn't entirely new to him.

  He's studying me as much as I'm studying him, Alph realized, recognizing the calculating assessment behind Abel's neutral expression. A Tier 2 Epic Bard would have abilities I can't even guess at. I need to be careful—truthful where I can be, but not revealing more than necessary.

  Abel leaned back in his field chair, the only seat in the sparse tent. "I understand you had an eventful patrol today, Conscript."

  Alph took a moment to compose his response, his mind working quickly behind his carefully neutral expression. Straight to the point. No pleasantries, no warm-up questions. He wants facts.

  "I separated from the patrol during our sweep, sir," Alph began, his tone measured and respectful. "I was hoping to find additional clues about the corruption patterns we'd been tracking." He paused briefly, as if gathering his thoughts. "During my investigation, I realized I was close to advancement and decided to take the opportunity while I had privacy and the right environment."

  Alph drew in a long, steadying breath before continuing. "After I successfully advanced to Tier 1 Hunter, I was making my way back toward camp when the corrupted bear came charging straight at me." His voice carried a slight tremor as he recalled the moment, his shoulders tensing with what appeared to be residual fear from the encounter.

  Abel watched intently as the young conscript recounted his story, his bardic training attuned to the subtle rhythms of speech and body language that revealed truth from deception. The words rang with honesty—the cadence was natural, the details consistent, the emotional responses appropriate. Yet somewhere beneath the surface, his instincts whispered that he was hearing perhaps ninety-nine percent of the truth.

  Close enough to truth that most would never notice, Abel mused, but there's something held back. A detail omitted, a nuance carefully avoided.

  Rather than interrupt, Abel allowed the corner of his mouth to curl upward in the faintest suggestion of a knowing smile. He gestured slightly with one hand, a silent command for the conscript to continue his account.

  Alph took another moment, then resumed his recollection with what seemed like genuine embarrassment. "I had to rely on my newfound strength and abilities as a Tier 1 professional to fight the creature. It was... intense, sir. I barely managed to finish it off, but the effort completely drained me." His voice carried the sheepish tone of a young soldier admitting weakness. "I'm afraid I fainted from exhaustion afterward." He lowered his head in apparent shame at the admission.

  Abel began tapping his fingers against the wooden table in a subtle, measured rhythm. To most observers, it would appear as nothing more than an idle gesture—perhaps impatience or contemplation. But the soft percussion carried the precise cadence of bardic manipulation, each tap carefully timed to weave compulsion into the air between them.

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  Alph felt his vision beginning to shift, a strange spinning sensation creeping into his thoughts as the hypnotic melody worked to lower his mental defenses. His mind started to grow foggy, the careful barriers he'd constructed around his secrets beginning to waver under the bardic influence.

  Then Adamant Will surged through his consciousness like ice water.

  The Slayer ability activated with predatory precision, his black eyes blazing amber as the skill shattered Abel's mental intrusion. The hypnotic effects dissolved instantly, leaving his thoughts crystal clear and his secrets intact. With his head still bowed, the telltale amber transformation remained hidden from Abel's sharp gaze.

  The spinning sensation vanished as quickly as it had come, leaving Alph fully aware of both the attack and his successful defense against it.

  Abel, unaware that his bardic influence had been completely neutralized, leaned back in his chair with the satisfied air of someone whose subtle probe had gone unnoticed. "Is that all, Conscript?" he asked, his tone carrying the expectation that any additional details would now flow freely from the young man's supposedly compromised mental state.

  "That's all, sir," Alph replied without lifting his head, his voice maintaining the same respectful tone he'd used throughout the interview. The amber fire in his eyes continued to burn as Adamant Will held firm against any lingering traces of bardic manipulation.

  Abel nodded, apparently content with what he believed to be a complete account. "Very well. You're dismissed, Conscript. Return to your quarters and get some rest—tomorrow's patrol assignments will be posted at dawn."

  "Yes, sir," Alph responded, snapping his right fist to his chest in another crisp salute while keeping his gaze directed downward. The amber glow was already beginning to fade as the Slayer ability's effects subsided, but he maintained his lowered head as a precaution.

  He turned on his heel with military precision and exited the tent, leaving Abel alone with his maps, reports, and whatever conclusions the Epic Bard had drawn from their conversation.

  Abel remained seated at his table, fingers drumming a different, more contemplative rhythm against the wood as he stared at the tent flap where the young conscript had disappeared.

  Abel sat in silence for several long moments after Alph's departure, his fingers continuing their rhythmic tapping against the table's surface. The lamplight flickered across his weathered features as he processed the conversation, weighing what he'd heard against his own instincts and experience.

  Finally, he called out toward the tent entrance. "Guard! Send in my aide."

  Within moments, a familiar figure ducked through the tent flap—a lean man in officer's colors whose efficient movements spoke of years spent managing the minutiae of military operations. He straightened to attention, though his posture carried the relaxed familiarity of someone who'd worked closely with his superior for an extended period.

  "Finished with the questioning, sir?" the aide asked, settling into the more casual tone that marked their private conversations away from the rank and file.

  "I am," Abel replied, leaning back in his chair. "The boy's story checks out, for the most part. Separated from patrol to investigate corruption signs, advanced to Tier 1 Hunter during his reconnaissance, then got ambushed by the corrupted bear on his way back to camp." He paused, his expression thoughtful. "Fought it off with his new abilities but exhausted himself in the process."

  The aide nodded slowly, his own expression carrying a hint of concern. "That matches what I was able to piece together from the physical evidence and witness accounts. There's just one problem I can't quite reconcile."

  "The bear's death," Abel finished, his tone indicating he'd reached the same conclusion.

  The aide nodded emphatically. "The way it was killed was too... professional," he said, pausing as he searched for the right word to express his concerns. "Look, the arrows embedded in the bear's head and hind legs—that level of precision is exactly what you'd expect from a newly advanced Tier 1 Hunter. I can accept that part of his story without question."

  He leaned forward slightly, his voice taking on the puzzled tone of someone trying to reconcile conflicting evidence. "But the rest of it? Those precise cuts at the bear's weak points were too clean, too surgical. It's as if the boy knew exactly where to slice and where not to—which joints to target, which arteries to sever for maximum effect."

  The aide shook his head in evident disbelief. "I've seen veteran hunters with decades of experience who couldn't achieve that level of anatomical precision under combat stress. How does a seventeen-year-old conscript, newly advanced and fighting for his life, demonstrate that kind of surgical knowledge?"

  Abel nodded thoughtfully, his fingers stilling their rhythmic tapping as he considered his aide's assessment. "I believe the Tier 1 profession the young lad advanced to might be a variant," he said, his voice carrying the weight of experience. "A powerful one at that. It would explain the surgical precision you observed."

  The aide's expression shifted to one of understanding, though confusion lingered in his eyes. "That would make sense of the evidence," he admitted. "But why would someone keep such a good thing secret? A variant profession is the kind of achievement that opens doors, earns recognition, maybe even noble patronage."

  Abel leaned back in his field chair, a knowing look crossing his weathered features. "All people have their own secrets," he replied with the philosophical tone of someone who'd learned not to pry too deeply into every mystery. "Besides, Lord Ashworth showed particular interest in this boy during the trial proceedings. He wouldn't focus his attention on just any common conscript."

  The aide's eyebrows shot up in surprise, his casual demeanor replaced by sharp attention. "Is that true, sir?" he asked, leaning forward with renewed interest. "The Lord showed personal interest in a mercenary conscript?"

  Abel nodded with certainty. "Indeed it is. I made it a point to investigate the boy after the trial proceedings." His expression grew more intrigued as he continued, "I came across many influential names when reading through the reports." He paused, a knowing smile spreading across his weathered features as he leaned back in his chair. "An interesting fellow, that lad is."

  The Epic Bard made no attempt to hide his curiosity now, letting it show plainly on his face as his eyes gleamed with the kind of fascination that came from encountering an unexpected puzzle worth unraveling.

  Seeing his superior's expression, the aide couldn't help but smile in exasperation. "Sir," he said with the familiar tone of someone who'd worked with Abel long enough to recognize when his scholarly instincts were getting the better of him, "please don't go overboard with this. We're still on a mission here."

  The aide's expression grew more serious as he shifted back to operational matters. "Speaking of which, sir," he continued, "Elder Beramund from the Stone-Root Kinship will be arriving tomorrow. The Tier 4 Druid Elder needs to be properly received, and that responsibility falls to you as deputy commander."

  Abel's elated expression deflated visibly at the reminder, his shoulders sagging slightly as the weight of protocol and politics reasserted itself over his scholarly curiosity. The knowing smile faded from his weathered features, replaced by the resigned look of a man remembering his mundane duties.

  "Don't worry," Abel said with a heavy sigh, his gaze drifting to the burning candles that cast flickering shadows across his collection of maps and reports. "I'll handle the reception properly."

  He stared at the dancing flames for a long moment, his thoughts clearly turning to the diplomatic complexities that tomorrow would bring.