Chapter 17: The True Enemy

Dawn broke over the camp, casting a golden glow over the dew-kissed earth. Yet the warmth of the sun did little to chase away the tension that lingered in the air. The previous night's arrest had only stoked the flames of suspicion. Soldiers exchanged wary glances, their voices lowered in hushed conversations.

Dikun Silver stood near the barracks, his arms crossed as he watched the young thief being led to the command tent. Despite the man's pleas of innocence, Captain Rhylen would not be swayed without proof. The weight of the situation pressed heavily on Dikun's shoulders. He'd seen desperation before — men willing to risk everything for a scrap of food — but the rebel threat remained unresolved.

Joran and Eron approached, their expressions grim.

"Word's spreading fast," Joran said, his voice low. "Half the camp thinks we caught the spy. The other half thinks the real traitor's still out there."

Dikun nodded, his jaw clenched. "That's exactly what worries me. If there is a spy, they'll grow bolder now. They'll know we're closing in."

Eron crossed his arms, his gaze narrowing. "We need a plan. Waiting for them to make a move isn't enough. What's our next step, Sergeant?"

Dikun's mind raced. The captain had given him the authority to conduct the investigation — but with it came responsibility. One wrong move could lead to innocent men suffering unjust punishment.

"We start with the supply tents," Dikun said firmly. "That's where the thief was caught. If anyone has been tampering with the provisions, the quartermasters would know."

Joran gave a short nod. "And what about the soldiers? If there's a spy, they might slip up. A loose word. A sudden change in routine."

"Exactly." Dikun's gaze hardened. "We'll question them. Carefully. I won't have this camp turned into a pit of paranoia."

---

The Investigation Begins

The quartermaster's tent was a chaotic mess of crates, sacks of grain, and barrels of salted meat. The smell of dried herbs mingled with the musk of damp wood. At the center of the organized chaos stood Osric, a burly man with arms as thick as tree trunks. His weathered face was set in a permanent scowl, though Dikun knew the quartermaster's dedication to his duties was unmatched.

"Sergeant Silver," Osric grunted as Dikun entered. "I hear you've been chasing ghosts."

"We caught a thief," Dikun replied, his tone measured. "But I'm not convinced he's our traitor. I need to know if anything else has gone missing — anything that suggests sabotage."

Osric grumbled, wiping his hands on a stained rag. "I keep track of every barrel and ration that passes through this tent. If something's been stolen, I'd know it."

"Then check your logs," Dikun said. "We'll wait."

The quartermaster snorted but complied. He rifled through a stack of worn parchments, his thick fingers tracing along the columns of numbers. Minutes passed in tense silence.

"There," Osric growled, slamming a parchment onto the table. "Two crates of dried meat. Gone. But that's not the worst of it."

Dikun frowned. "What else?"

"Medicinal herbs. A whole sack of them. Vanished without a trace. Those don't just go missing."

Joran's expression darkened. "The rebels could use those to treat their wounded. It's not just food they're stealing — it's supplies for their war."

Dikun's eyes narrowed. "And someone in this camp is helping them."

---

Questioning the Men

The sun reached its peak as Dikun and his Corporals made their way through the rows of tents. Soldiers stood at attention, their armor gleaming beneath the harsh light. The air was thick with tension as the men awaited their turn to be questioned.

"State your name and post," Dikun commanded as he stood before the first soldier, a lanky man with dirt-streaked hands.

"Private Lorn, sir. Stable duty."

"Did you see anything unusual last night? Any movement near the supply tents?"

Lorn shifted nervously. "No, Sergeant. I—I swear, I was tending to the horses all night."

Dikun studied him carefully, searching for any sign of deceit. But the man's fear seemed genuine.

"Very well. Return to your post."

One by one, the soldiers were questioned. Some spoke confidently, others stammered under the weight of Dikun's gaze. Yet no words of confession came.

Hours passed, frustration gnawing at Dikun. He needed something — anything — to break the stalemate.

It wasn't until the last man stepped forward that a flicker of suspicion ignited.

"State your name and post," Dikun repeated.

"Private Sullen, sir. Night perimeter watch."

"And did you see anything unusual?"

Sullen hesitated, his jaw tightening. "Nothing out of the ordinary."

"Is that so?" Dikun stepped closer, his voice lowering. "Yet your post was near the eastern fence. The very spot where the thief slipped through. And you saw nothing?"

The tension was palpable. Beads of sweat formed on Sullen's brow.

"I-I was patrolling, Sergeant. The shadows... it's easy to miss things in the dark."

Dikun held his gaze, unrelenting. "Or perhaps you chose to miss it."

Sullen's hands twitched. Joran and Eron exchanged knowing glances.

"You'll remain under watch until further notice," Dikun said coldly. "Dismissed."

As Sullen slunk away, Joran leaned in. "He's hiding something."

"Perhaps," Dikun replied, his eyes never leaving the retreating soldier. "But we're not done yet. The true enemy is still among us."

To be continued in Chapter 18: Shadows in the Camp