A False Front ( 276 )

The battlefield was silent. The only sounds were the crackling of fires, the distant wails of the dying, and the rustling of scavengers picking through the remnants of the fallen.

And then—

The Secret Unit arrived.

They moved like shadows, slipping into the bloodied field with disciplined efficiency. Each carried bundles of tattered Armand-adorned clothing—worn, dirt-stained tunics that made them resemble a ragtag force of impoverished peasants.

At the head of the unit, their commander saluted Lord Garius, awaiting orders.

Garius sat atop Giddie, his golden Pekko eerily still, eyes surveying the aftermath.

His lips curled into a smirk.

"Change all the enemy soldiers' armor. Strip them of their weapons and gear—replace everything with these." He gestured toward the worn-out clothing. "Let the next wave think they fought a ragged militia, not a standing army."

The secret unit immediately got to work.