They crept around towards what approximated as the front gate of the camp. Wheel ruts in the softer parts of the ground showed where Fire’s carts had most likely come and gone from Shemil, and where they met the tents, there was a wider thoroughfare into the camp.

“So all we have to do is pick a fight there,” Alric said quietly as they got to the wheel ruts. “We approach from this direction, act like we’re supposed to be there, and let me do all the talking.”

“I was unaware that there was another option on that front,” Hirrus said.

“Was that a joke?” Alric asked with a sudden grin. “Did you just razz on me? It’s hard to tell because you’re just so fuckin’ awkward, bud.”

Hirrus smirked.

Just the quirk of his mouth sent Alric cackling.

“Alright, alright, you got me,” Alric said, clapping a hand to Hirrus’s shoulder. “I just want to make sure you know that I love and respect you as a person. I know all you NPCs are real people and all that. But I might need to behave in a way that I don’t believe in to make this plan work, so I apologize for that.”

Hirrus grimaced with a nod. Alric was going to start a fight with people just like Hirrus. It seemed sensible to warn him that his words might piss him off as well.

“The biggest thing we need to do is to not be recognized,” Alric continued. “We need them to think we’re randos who stumbled on this place. The second you pull out Fidelis’s sword or what's-his-name’s axe, the jig is up. Or if you obliterate a dozen people with Arcana that Fire and his crew would have seen you use a dozen times.”

Hirrus nodded again, with the same grimace. His weapon options were relatively poor if he wasn’t using those two, but he could improvise. It would be far easier to limit his Arcana use. Just one or two buff Arcana, and he could fight unarmed. It was something he didn’t think he’d ever done, and so it wouldn’t match his previous style at all. It would also let him keep Fidelis’s sword equipped to benefit from its stats and legendary property. He just had to avoid drawing it.

“We aren’t looking to wipe them out, though,” Alric warned. “If you’re gonna pop off and murder like thirty dudes all by yourself, you may as well be screaming your own name the whole time. So you’ll need to hold back. Let them get away. The ones that get away will call for help, and that’s what we want, right?”

“Right. Nidra is the actual point of attack,” Hirrus said. He gestured ahead, as they drew closer to the camp. “We’re just the feint to draw the eye.”

“Right, right,” Alric said, nodding along. He gestured up ahead. “So what are we looking at here?”

Hirrus looked ahead. There were a half-dozen people standing around the entrance to the camp, and he could easily distinguish them as members of three separate groups. Three of them were dressed in a familiar way, with normal armor that all matched. They had to be ordinary guards. Regular folk who had not been liberated from their decision tree yet. If Rumi had turned a guard captain or a noble to his cause, he could get them to give orders that guards’ decision trees would be forced to obey.

Two of the others appeared to be normal adventurers. They were dressed in a way that fit a cohesive theme, but it looked like anything anyone would call a uniform. The one man was dressed in what looked like a tuxedo made of boiled leather, reinforced with armor plates on his shoulders and thighs. The other wore thick fur breeches, and a short leather jacket that left his midriff fully exposed despite the cold of this tundra region. Both wore one of those dark purple cloaks that marked them as Rumi’s followers.

The sixth was the one he was most concerned about. He stood with the three guards, but his outfit was more akin to what Hirrus was wearing. Mismatched pieces without cohesion. A red leather cuirass clashed horribly with a forest green pleated skirt of thick hide, and neither matched at all with the purple cloak. He had picked up whatever was most powerful heedless of aesthetic, just like Hirrus had. That he was standing with the guards warned that he had been liberated from his decision tree. If the fight escalated too fast, this man would have a Merciless form. He could rip Alric limb from limb in a flash, or force Hirrus to take the fight more seriously than he wanted.

“Trouble,” was all Hirrus said to Alric.

“Right,” Alric said with a smirk. “Helpful.”

“Just one like me,” he clarified. “Two like you. Three normal folk.”

“Okay, I can work with that,” Alric said, his smirk taking on a slightly menacing quality. “Just wait for my signal. You’ll know it when you see it.”

Hirrus nodded. At this point, they were plainly in view approaching the six guards. A couple of them straightened up and watched them come. The adventurers were too busy chatting between themselves to pay attention, but the sixth man snapped something at them and they perked up, though even from this distance, their expressions conveyed irritation. Hirrus wondered if Alric was going to use that subtle hint of unrest to drive a wedge between the two groups. Obviously Hirrus had planned on being the primary target of the brawl, but if the fighting could be between Rumi’s own thugs…

“Ho there!” Alric called cheerfully, waving a hand at the guards. “What’s all this, then?”

“Fuck off,” one of the adventurers called back. The one with the bare midriff. “We don’t want any fucking girl scout cookies.”

“Speak for yourself,” the other adventurer snapped with a wide grin, elbowing the first in the ribs. “Some of us would love some fucking girl scout cookies.”

“I wasn’t talking to you boys,” Alric shot back. Somehow, the man had drawn all eyes straight to him, making Hirrus blend into the background. If he didn’t know any better, Hirrus would have wondered if it was the work of an Arcana. “I was speaking to this absolute vision. Nothing would please me more than the assistance of this lovely woman.”

Alric gestured at one of the guards. She was an older woman, and Hirrus’s decision tree told him that she was a senior guard, and that her orders held authority over him. He could obviously ignore the compulsion, but the guards still bound likely couldn’t. The skin of her face was as sun-damaged as Hirrus’s own, and creased deeply by crow’s feet and laugh lines. Despite the signs of age, she was still striking enough that Alric’s compliment didn’t catch her off-guard.

She had a weary expression that told Hirrus that he and her had been cut from the same cloth. The guard had been at this work for long enough to find adventurers a tiresome burden. But without being liberated from her decision tree, she had no choice but to do her job.

“I’ve got a quest for a man named Nick,” Alric continued. He managed to walk right up to her, stepping in too close to her personal space. As much as she bristled, he couldn’t brush him off. “He’s supposed to be in Shemil, but imagine my surprise when I arrive there and there’s nothing left. Would you kindly do your job and give me directions to where I might find him?”

Hirrus almost reached forward to yank Alric back. The disrespect oozing off of him was almost too much to bear. But they’d gotten all the way to the gate without anyone giving Hirrus more than a passing glance, let alone a weapon drawn. Hirrus had to remind himself that Alric was playing a part.

“I don’t know of any Nick,” the woman said gruffly. Alric’s leering face was barely more than eight inches from her own, but she couldn’t do anything despite her obvious discomfort.

“How about his brother Aaron?” Alric said, tilting his head with feigned confusion. “Come on, it’s your job to give me directions, right? How hard can it be to Control-F a questgiver and put a pin on my map for me?” His smirk returned quickly. “Although maybe the pretty ones don’t have to be good at their job to keep it.”

The plan became painfully obvious as soon as the insult left Alric’s mouth.

Painfully being the operative word.

As Alric drew all eyes to his disrespectful spectacle, Hirrus wasn’t the only one bristling at the act. The man in red leather and green skirt had been growing visibly agitated, and where Hirrus had shoved down the urge to slap Alric around, this man had much less restraint.

A huge, gauntleted hand snapped out and grabbed Alric by the collar, nearly yanking him off his feet. Alric was pulled right up into the face of a man who was no doubt seconds away from turning to his Merciless form to rip Alric limb from limb.

“You aren’t worthy to lick her boots,” the man bellowed into Alric’s face, “and you dare to speak to her like that? I ought to teach you some proper respect!”

“Please teach me. I would love that,” Alric purred, his grin not faltering for even a second. He reached up and patted the man’s cheek, as if utterly oblivious to the violence about to occur. “Though I warn you, I suffer from a very sexy learning disability.”

One of the adventurers burst out with a guffaw. The other grabbed him and shook his head, clearly grasping the gravity of the situation.

The man fumed for a moment, and Hirrus could almost see him at war with himself. It was likely that he had directions from Rumi - or a representative of him - to refrain from fighting with adventurers. Or, perhaps, it was the use of his Merciless form he was debating. But without the binding of a decision tree, he was free to do what he truly wanted to do. No unseen hand was literally restraining him.

He could pop Alric like a grape if he wanted.

And with each passing second, it seemed more and more likely that he was going to give into the urge.

The man slowly lifted Alric by the collar. This revealed quickly that this man was someone to be feared. Unlike some of the foes they’d faced, he had spent some amount of time gathering power properly. He had the strength to lift Alric’s feet entirely off the ground. It was a display of strength that meant Hirrus was looking at a proper equal to himself. And unlike the fight against the captain, Hirrus had to keep his use of Arcana to a minimum to avoid giving himself away.

Shortly after that realization, Hirrus noticed that Alric was flailing the fingers of one hand wildly. It didn’t look like an Arcana, but it looked like he was pointing at Hirrus as he did it.

“What are you doing?” Hirrus hissed at Alric.

“The fucking signal, idiot,” Alric said, his grin breaking for a moment. “Save my ass, please! I don’t think this man has the purest of intentions for it!”

Hirrus stepped up, and the man reached out, shifting to hold Alric up one-handed and grasping with his other to grab Hirrus the same way. In a flash, Hirrus slapped the hand away, lunging forward.

His fist cracked against the man’s jaw, dishing out just shy of three thousand damage.

Alric landed on the ground and scrambled away as the man staggered back, more surprised than hurt by the punch. His glare of rage pivoted cleanly from Alric to Hirrus.

“The fuck are you guys doing?” Alric yelled at the adventurers. “He just sucker-punched your boy! Are you gonna let him get away with that?”

“I don’t know why I expected this to go smoother,” Hirrus grumbled, curling his hands into fists and hoping that Alric knew what he was doing.