Patrick walks through the fort pulling a cart.
He carries a sack of wheat.

He checks the storage of supplies, the soldiers' quarters, and watering holes.
Occasionally, he asks the soldiers where to take the wheat, pretending to be a merchant who has just arrived.

Check the pantry, give the wheat to the soldier in charge of the pantry, and receive payment.

He hides the cart in the shadows nearby and hides himself.

The sun is setting and the streets are slightly less crowded.
The fort is patrolled by patrolling soldiers.
However, they seem to be less vigilant, perhaps because they are less relaxed.

The patrolmen pass by, chatting.

'The kingdom's army is huddled at the back gate of the fort.
'Well, I guess they won't come on a suicide mission to the fort. They arrived yesterday, so they're probably assembling stone throwers right now, right?'

'Then we'll start fighting tomorrow morning?

'I guess so. It's going to be bad on the gates and walls. We're supposed to be the messengers after the night patrol, so it's better yet.
Hmm, the army's already arrived. Now we just need to burn the food and deal with the gate.





Patrick sneaks into the pantry late at night.
Patrick sneaks into the pantry late at night. When he brought in the wheat, he found it unlocked.
He also saw that there were two officers in charge.
He wasn't sure if they were still there at night, but there was no one at the door.
They must be in there.

I opened the door gently.
There was a slight squeak.

The food officer noticed the sound and looked toward the door, and saw a black figure reflected in the slight moonlight.

'Who is it?
At the voice of reproach, the other officer draws the sword at his waist.
The two men approach the door, holding candlelight.
The man with the sword looks around for signs of life, but it is pitch black inside the warehouse.
The candlelight only illuminates a few meters.

When he thought he saw something move from the shadow of a pillar, red liquid splashed from the neck of the man holding the sword.

'Ugeeeeee‼︎'
The other man dropped his candle and hurriedly drew his sword.
The candle is still burning, but the light only illuminates his feet, and his vision becomes even worse.

There was a clang behind the soldier, and when he looked back, he saw that a sword had fallen near the candle he had dropped.
'A sword?　d*mn it!　Oh no.'

The soldier immediately understood that it was just a sword being thrown, and looked around in panic.
His colleague, whose throat had just been slashed, had already expired, or was not moving at all.
The soldier turned his body around as if to turn away from his colleague's death.
That was not good.

The soldier felt a hot shock on his back and reflexively swung the sword he was holding.