Lucas remained by the entrance for a while longer, then turned back into the room.

"Everyone," he said.

They gathered without delay, forming a loose circle around him. The tension in the air had shifted again, no longer just about waiting, but about the next step.

"We cannot move like this for long," Lucas began, his voice calm but direct. "If we are to reach deeper into the capital, we need to blend in properly."

Vorde nodded slightly. "Agreed."

Lucas continued, "That means armor. Not partial disguise. Full integration."

Wesley folded his arms. "How many."

"Seven," Lucas replied. "One for each of us."

There was a brief pause as they all considered it.

Then Murray, Wesley's companion, spoke up.

"We go out one by one," he said. "Isolate patrol units. Take them down quietly. We collect their armor and regroup here."

His tone was matter-of-fact, like it was the most obvious solution.

Bartho frowned slightly, but it was Darmian who spoke first.

"That would mean killing them," he said. "Or at best, subduing them and hiding them somewhere they would not be found."

Murray shrugged lightly. "It is a war."

Darmian's expression did not change. "That does not make it simple."

A brief silence followed.

Then Patrick spoke.

"I do not like that plan."

They all turned to him.

He stood still, his gaze steady, but there was something deeper behind his words now.

"Most of the men you are suggesting we take down," he said, "they were not soldiers before this."

Wesley raised a brow slightly. "They are now."

"They were forced into it," Patrick replied. "Taken from their homes, from their families. Just like the ones you saw outside."

Murray exhaled quietly. "And if they stand in our way."

Patrick did not immediately answer.

His jaw tightened slightly before he spoke again.

"I understand what needs to be done," he said. "But there are ways to move without turning every step into blood."

Lucas watched him closely.

"You have something else in mind," he said.

Patrick nodded.

"I do."

The room grew quiet again as all attention settled on him.

"I have another suggestion. At night," he said, "we go to the brothels."

Murray frowned slightly. "Explain."

Patrick's tone remained steady. "Soldiers go there. Especially the ones off duty, They drink, they relax, fuck whores and they lower their guard. That is where we will find them at their weakest."

Wesley's eyes narrowed, considering it. "And you think we can take what we need there without raising suspicion."

"Yes," Patrick replied. "More than enough, actually. We will not be dealing with alert patrol units. We will be dealing with distracted men."

Darmian crossed his arms, thinking it through. "That still involves taking them out."

Patrick nodded once. "But not in the open. Not on the streets. No missing patrols, no immediate search patterns triggered. It stays contained."

Lucas remained silent, watching him.

Patrick continued, "And there is something else. Any soldier who loses his armor will not raise alarm immediately."

Bartho glanced at him. "Why."

"Because they would be punished for it," Patrick said. "Severely. Losing issued armor is negligence in their eyes. Most would rather stay quiet and find a way to replace it than report it."

That made the idea settle differently in the room.

Wesley gave a faint nod. "So even after we take what we need, there is delay before suspicion spreads."

"Exactly," Patrick said.

Murray exhaled slowly. "And buying them."

Patrick shook his head immediately. "Not an option."

Lucas spoke this time. "Why."

"Because the armors are controlled," Patrick replied. "The usurpers oversee their distribution. Anyone trying to acquire multiple sets without proper clearance would stand out immediately."

Darmian nodded slightly. "So purchasing draws attention faster than taking."

"Yes," Patrick said. "Much faster."

The room fell quiet again as they all processed it.

Wesley glanced at Lucas. "It is cleaner than the first plan."

Murray gave a small shrug. "And less exposed."

Lucas finally stepped forward slightly, his gaze moving across all of them before settling back on Patrick.

"You know the locations," he said.

Patrick nodded. "I do."

Lucas held his gaze for a moment, then gave a small nod.

"Then that is what we do."

The decision was made.

Night fell slowly over the inner provinces, bringing with it a different kind of life.

The streets did not grow empty.

They changed.

Lanterns were lit along narrow paths, casting dim, uneven light that stretched shadows across the ground. Voices grew louder in certain areas, laughter mixing with the dull clink of cups and distant music that carried through the night air.

Patrick led them through the winding streets with quiet confidence, avoiding the more heavily patrolled routes and guiding them toward a section of the city that felt… different.

Less rigid.

Less watched.

But not unguarded.

"This is it," he said under his breath as they slowed near a row of buildings that stood out from the rest. Light spilled from their entrances, and figures moved in and out, some steady, some clearly not.

Brothels.

The scent of alcohol lingered thick in the air, and the atmosphere was loose, careless in a way the rest of the city was not.

Lucas gave a subtle glance to the others.

"Stay natural," he said quietly. "No grouping."

They all nodded.

One by one, they separated slightly, entering as individuals rather than a unit.

Inside, the noise grew louder.

Men sat in clusters, some speaking loudly, others slumped over tables, cups in hand. Laughter rang out, uneven and unrestrained, while others moved with unsteady steps, their focus dulled by drink and distraction.

And among them were soldiers.

Plenty of them.

Armor worn loosely, some partially removed, others still carrying themselves with the remnants of discipline that alcohol had not fully stripped away.

Lucas stepped in, his posture relaxed, his movements unhurried as he blended into the environment. He did not draw attention, did not scan too obviously, but his eyes missed nothing.

Across the room, Wesley had already taken a position, seated with a drink in hand, his gaze casually drifting from one group to another. Not far from him, Murray leaned against a support beam, appearing uninterested, though his attention was fixed on a pair of soldiers deep in conversation.

Darmian moved toward a quieter section, where a lone soldier sat heavily, his head slightly bowed as he drank.

Bartho remained near the entrance, keeping track of movement in and out.

Vorde had already disappeared deeper into the space, blending seamlessly into the shifting crowd.

Patrick stayed closer to the center, his familiarity with the environment allowing him to move without suspicion.

Each of them had already begun to mark their targets.

Drunk.

Distracted.

Isolated enough to be taken without immediate notice.

Lucas's gaze settled on one in particular, a soldier leaning back in his seat, laughing loudly, his armor slightly loosened, his awareness clearly dulled.

He watched him for a moment longer.

Then looked away.

Timing mattered.

Coordination mattered more.

No one moved yet but the intent was clear.

By the time the first light of morning began to creep through the narrow gaps in the windows, they had already returned to Patrick's house one by one.

There was no celebration, no noise, only quiet efficiency as each of them stepped inside and confirmed what the others already knew.

It had worked.

Seven sets of armor were now laid out across the room, carefully placed rather than thrown, as if even in success they still treated the situation with caution. The metal bore the marks of use, some slightly worn, others cleaner, but all still serviceable enough to pass as standard issue from a distance.

One by one, they began to adjust.

The process was not uniform. Some armors fit too tightly, others too loosely, requiring quick exchanges between them. Plates were shifted, straps adjusted, inner padding redistributed where possible. The goal was not perfection, only believability.

Wesley tested a chest piece, then exhaled lightly. "Too tight on the shoulder."

Murray glanced over. "Switch with mine."

They moved quickly, swapping pieces without hesitation.

Darmian adjusted his gauntlet, flexing his fingers to test movement. "Mobility is slightly restricted," he muttered.

"Better restricted than exposed," Bartho replied as he tightened a strap on his side.

Patrick stood slightly apart, already suited in his adjusted armor, watching them as they worked through their own fittings. His expression was focused, but there was a quiet satisfaction in the fact that the plan had moved this far without complication.

Lucas observed them all without speaking at first, his gaze moving across each of them as they finalized adjustments.

The armor did its job.

At a glance, they were no longer a covert unit moving through enemy territory.

They were soldiers.

Blended into the system.

Part of it.

Once the final adjustments were made, silence settled again.

Lucas finally spoke.

"From this point," he said, "we do not separate unless necessary."

No one objected.

The meaning was clear.

They had crossed another threshold.

What had begun as infiltration was now deep cover.

And the next move would decide how far they could go without being exposed.