Aldo counts the days again.
Not with chalk.
Not with marks on a board.
In his head.
Seven.
Seven days since they entered the deeper veins of the Samel Swamp. Seven days of ambushes, patrols, negotiations with prisoners, quiet marches through knee-deep water and root corridors.
Seven days since the first Mireborn rose from the peat.
He exhales slowly.
The night air is cool enough that steam barely rises from the men resting nearby. Armor pieces hang from branches like dull metal fruit. Leather straps stretch across wooden poles while they dry. Some soldiers sleep. Others sit quietly sharpening hatchets or cleaning musket locks.
Firelight flickers low and carefully shielded by stacked roots so it does not shine too far.
Aldo crouches near the edge of camp.
He runs his fingers through damp soil.
"Seven days," he murmurs.
[Too long.]
Behind him, footsteps approach.
Lei Delun returns from the darkness.
Mud stains his boots nearly to the knee. His musket hangs loose across his shoulder. Two soldiers follow behind him, equally silent.
Lei steps into the dim light.
"Commander," he says.
Aldo glances up.
"Report."
Lei removes his hat and wipes sweat from his forehead.
"The swamp tribe we fought," he begins, speaking quietly so the resting men are not disturbed. "Their village still stands. I observed it from a distance."
He pauses, recalling the scene.
"The injured tribesmen we sent back earlier were received. They are being tended."
Aldo nods slightly.
"Composition?"
Lei shifts his weight.
"Mostly women, elders, and children."
He gestures faintly toward the dark tree line.
"The young males…" he exhales. "Those were the ones who fought us. Most died or were captured during the engagement."
For a moment only insects hum.
"The remaining ones who can fight are guarding the tribe," Lei continues. "Not many. Maybe a handful of older warriors."
Aldo listens without interruption.
Then he nods once.
"Continue monitoring," he says calmly.
Lei blinks.
"Monitoring?"
Aldo stands and stretches his back slowly.
The leather of his underlayer creaks softly.
"Yes," he replies. "Observe if they organize another ambush."
Lei stares at him for a moment.
Then he lets out a short scoff.
"Commander…"
He gestures back toward the swamp.
"They barely have any young men left to fight. What ambush could they possibly organize?"
Aldo watches the dark canopy above them.
"Then it could be the women." he says.
Lei frowns.
"The women?"
Aldo shrugs slightly.
"Or the children."
The words hang in the air like an odd echo.
Lei raises his eyebrows.
"Children?"
Aldo looks back at him, expression completely neutral.
"Those who are a few years away from adulthood still understand terrain," he says. "And they still understand revenge."
Lei studies his face.
[He cannot be serious,] he thinks.
"You're overpreparing." Lei mutters.
Aldo does not respond immediately.
He simply looks out toward the swamp again.
"Never underestimate anyone." he says quietly.
The words are not dramatic.
Just a statement.
Lei shakes his head with a half-amused snort.
"You worry too much." he says.
But he adjusts his musket strap again.
"Fine."
He turns and signals with two fingers.
The two soldiers behind him straighten immediately.
"We move again." Lei tells them.
They nod.
Without another word, Lei steps back into the darkness of the swamp, his small patrol fading between tree trunks until even the sound of their boots disappears.
Aldo watches until the last ripple in the water settles.
Then he turns toward the resting soldiers.
Several are already awake, having listened quietly to the conversation.
He raises one hand.
A simple signal.
Time to move.
Men stand slowly.
No one complains.
They gather equipment in practiced silence.
Armor plates slide back into place. Leather straps tighten. Muskets are checked. Powder horns reattached.
Those who had been assigned earlier nod to Aldo as they pass him.
Each nod means the same thing.
Ready.
The camp dissolves.
Where twenty minutes ago there had been a small organized rest point, now there is only flattened grass and faint footprints in the mud.
From the upper branches of a nearby tree, someone watches.
A tribeswoman.
Young.
Thin and agile.
Her skin blends easily with the shadows of bark and moss.
She had been following the company from a distance for hours, climbing between trees the way others walk roads.
Now she sees something curious.
A paper.
It lies on the ground near where Aldo had been crouching earlier.
The company left it behind.
Carelessly.
The tribeswoman tilts her head.
She waits until the last soldier disappears into the deeper swamp.
Then she drops silently from the branch.
Her feet barely splash.
She approaches the spot.
The paper lies partially weighted by a stone.
She lifts it carefully.
Strange markings cover the surface — lines, symbols, arrows.
A map.
Or a plan.
She cannot read the language, but she recognizes the pattern.
Attack routes.
Timing marks.
She bares her teeth slightly.
[Foolish invaders !] she thinks.
The tribeswoman rolls the paper quickly and ties it to a cord at her waist.
Then she climbs again.
Up the tree.
Across another branch.
From there she moves rapidly between the canopy paths toward a different destination entirely.
Toward the Witch Enclave.
Below her, hidden behind a cluster of reeds, Onaga Kei watches.
He had seen her.
He had seen the moment she took the paper.
He does not move.
He does not shout.
Instead he looks back down at the wounded soldier lying beside him.
"Hold still." Onaga murmurs.
He presses a fresh cloth bandage over the man's shoulder.
The soldier winces.
"You saw that ?" the soldier whispers.
Onaga nods once.
"Yes."
"You're not going to stop her?"
Onaga adjusts the bandage knot.
"No."
The soldier looks confused.
Onaga wipes his hands on a cloth.
"It is part of the plan…" he says calmly.
He continues working.
Nearby, another pair of soldiers carry a wounded tribesman to the treatment area. Onaga gestures for them to lay him down gently.
Above them the branches sway slightly.
The tribeswoman is already gone.
Not far away, Hano Kichiro walks beside Aldo through a narrow corridor of roots.
The swamp grows darker as the moon hides behind slow drifting clouds.
Hano suddenly stops.
He taps Aldo lightly on the shoulder.
"Taicho-sama !" he whispers.
Aldo pauses.
"What?"
Hano gestures back toward the camp direction.
"The paper."
Aldo turns his head slightly.
"Taken?"
Hano nods.
"By a tribeswoman. Fast climber."
Aldo looks up through the canopy.
The faintest smile touches his mouth.
"Good." he says.
Hano studies him.
"You expected it." he says.
"Of course." Aldo replies.
He glances toward the men behind them.
"Time to disperse."
He raises his hand and signals.
The detachment breaks apart.
Instead of marching as a single company, they split into smaller squads of four and five soldiers.
Each group slips into a different corridor of swamp.
Boot splashes become quieter.
Soon the night swallows them.