On her way back, Zefaris continued to think on what it was that made her feel uneasy. Perhaps it was the people in the street? Perhaps the distinct absence of zipperheads every couple hundred meters resentfully observing the pedestrians, aggressively haggling with a merchant, or accusing people of being war criminals or domestic terrorists over the slightest sideways glance. It wasn’t that there were no openly hostile Pateirians in sight - there were none. Not a single one, where before they could be seen all over the place, be it as civilians or as thinly-veiled paper tigers, uniforms and military-issue armaments included.

The answer came to her in the form of a rather inconvenient gathering of people in the street. Mostly the common folk, mostly farmworkers with wounded war vets sprinked in, all listening to some young Ikesian guy standing on… Was that an actual, real soapbox he was using for a podium? It still had the labels and everything!

She listened for a short while as she walked, searching for any side alley to duck into so that she might circumvent this clog in the city’s arteries. Strangely, most of those in the immediate vicinity were blocked off by either suspiciously new-looking wooden fencing, or just random piled up objects that reminded her of her days as a soldier.

Such impromptu barricades were common in urban combat zones, but here and now? Even if Willowdale wasn’t the face of cleanliness or ironclad stability, these stuck out like a sore thumb. Something was fishy.

The speaker was impassioned, she had to give him that. All too impassioned, in how he spat vitriol about the filthy foreigners living in their midst or about how Ikesians were just inherently superior to other races.

He was impassioned indeed - cartoonishly so. His clearly rehearsed performative speech harkened back to stage productions, yet somehow even more intense. The pronunciation of every word was perfect, absolutely spot on, beyond even a native speaker. Zefaris couldn’t help herself but recall her anti-infiltrator training - rudimentary though it was, it was polished by real experience. Infiltrators from both Pateiria and Grekuria had their own methods and tells - those from Grekuria were generally less dedicated to the role, but abler in adapting to new circumstances. They were less predictable, but also more prone to occasional slip ups. They didn’t tend to be very good at indirectly damaging a target, usually resorting to subtle, but very direct attacks on infrastructure or simple document theft.

Those from Pateiria, on the other hand… They really got in character. Thanks to their heavy use of geasa, a Pateirian infiltrator could live a fake life for decades, then snap back to their true self at a moment’s notice. Those lower on the ladder would rehearse the particulars of their role to exacting detail until they were nigh-undetectable, but they would slip if one knew where to poke holes and which strings to pull. Their loyalty to their rulers ran so deep that the common soldier’s banter could provoke a Pateirian spy into acting out and exposing themselves.

Perhaps she would poke… No. She didn’t feel like getting into this today. There would be someone else, if the guy was a zipperhead agent he’d quickly act out or get caught in some other way. At least, that was her thought process until he outright just pointed at her and tried to pull her into the performance.

“And you!” he exclaimed. “Know you the tenets of those who wouldst undermine our already ailing nation? Who would deny us our divine rights?!”

Divine rights, yeah, good one. That alone was enough to tip her off, absolutely nowhere near how actual pro-Ikesian radicals or counter-propagandists talked. She let out a sigh, ignoring the feeling of dozens of curious eyes glaring at her.

“If I were to undermine Willowdale in particular? I would try to get the people hating each other, separate them based on superficial things like ethnicity or personal preferences,” she said, and already saw a spark of confusion in the man’s eyes. She picked at his appearance as she went, trying to find any visible sign that he might be Pateirian-affiliated… Bingo. White jade cufflinks and a fabric pattern running down the sides of his trousers that was invented in and almost exclusively used by Pateirian tailors, even if non-Pateirian nobles and traders could get their hands on it.

Zefaris just kept going, rattling off whatever came to mind: “I’d also wait until a bunch of farmers were tired and tense from constantly being set upon by terrorist bugmen-”

He interrupted her with a shout that certainly started with a tonal Pateirian sound, but he quickly transitioned it to make it sound like: “Enough! Yes, yes, that’s quite a good answer!”

That was cute. The provocateur was trying to steer his performance back on track, even though the crowd’s attention had been inexorably drawn to Zefaris and much of it still remained on her. So she reached under her dress, pulled out her gun, cocked its hammer, and pointed it at the guy’s head. Not with the intent to kill, at least not yet - just to really draw attention, and boy did she.

“I would try to whip them into a riot so I could simultaneously damage the target state and blame it on Ikesian extremism later, likely by hiring a freelance journalist,” she continued, projecting her voice with all the power afforded to it by months of living and communicating under battlefield conditions. “More importantly, I would get rid of or at least cover up my white jade cufflinks carved with the Divine Emperor’s seal and the “Soaring Dragon” pattern on my Pateirian Silk trousers. You certainly seem to have had the first half worked out, but you completely forgot a proper disguise. Thought just the skin colour would be enough, didn’t you?”

The young man looked around trying to proclaim his innocence, stating that he had no clue what she was speaking of, then quickly moved to saying how he had been forced into this role and how he had had no choice…