Assaulting the camp was flat out of the question. He didn’t doubt that with his moment of surprise removing one or two of the threats to his family might be possible.

Those thoughts led down a darker road he didn’t want to take. He was angry about Lon’s dad, but he didn’t know if he could stomach murdering a person with his own hands. Fighting and stabbing monsters was uncomfortable already and even when you ignored the feeling of a knife slowly gliding through flesh, there were still their eyes.

Setting fire to the tents was an option that depending on how they had been constructed might work or result in a fruitless endeavor.

And with the sun soon to rise again he couldn’t sit around all day thinking of plans. So, he decided that poisoning was the best option available to him, an unclassed unleveled person.

He planned a bit more and considered his options, he would have to take care of the two guards before looking for a food supply.

He scouted out the place where the two guards were sitting now, playing a card game with the wineskin standing in a holder off on a smaller table to the side.

I could just wait until they are sufficiently intoxicated.

No, I don’t know their stats, they might be immune to alcohol. Another worry crept up, what if the turrl’s saliva just straight out refused to work on them. He would have to hope that the night shift was subpar when it came to levels.

Kent put his knapsack down and unscrewed the canteen, followed by filling up the cap about halfway. He wasn’t entirely sure how the active ability of the cloak worked, he wanted to lose as little saliva as possible should the experiment fail.

Done with all possible preparations he searched his mind for the connection of the cloak, just like how he used firestones. It took a while, the connection was a lot more nebulous than what he was used to from the firestone, but once he had found the mana acceptance pattern at the neck region the connection grew stronger changing from a thin flimsy filigree to a thick rope.

Sadly he couldn’t form an interface, to tell him what the actual abilities were.

There was a lurch once he let go of his mana. It almost felt like the cloak was dragging him under as if it tried to completely swallow him. Then his mana began to plummet. Having picked up how the ability worked from his uncle’s stories he dashed towards the wineskin. Stopped just long enough to drip the liquid into the skin, which proved difficult because he couldn’t touch the skin to adjust its positioning.

With just seconds to spare he dashed behind the closest tent and witnessed how his mana dropped from one to zero.

Kent hadn’t made a sound, nor had he been visible for the previous eight seconds, he was sure of it. Once the cloaks’ ability had turned on he understood it, even without the common identification skills.

Complete incorporeality for everything besides the ground and whatever he was holding at the activation of the ability, was just one facet. Once invoked, you couldn’t turn off the ability again.

He also thought he understood why his uncle couldn’t use the ability any longer. If the mana drain stayed constantly at one mana per second, the abilities would never stop after reaching a certain mana regeneration rate.

Maybe, he wasn’t quite sure. One mana per second was an insane regeneration, so he had some doubts.

Having to wait for the two guards to refill their drinks, he further considered the implications of his newfound possibilities.

Maybe, just maybe he had a chance of training his stats. At least Magic should be engaged more heavily by a strong item like the cloak, over the firestone's slow mana consumption.

Rapid draining was what trained magic the most.

Only rarely did people experience stat growth after reaching adolescence. It was known that stats couldn’t grow anymore after having invested in them, and most people tried to spend at least a few free stats in each stat before reaching level ten.

He laid down at one point after listening to the two guards talk. The crouching position put too much strain on his already tired body. It would help him make less sound through shuffling and reduce the size of his frame which could be illuminated by the fire.

Over time his eyes began to drupe more and more often and staying awake became more and more difficult.

With a flinch, he woke up again. He heard liquid flow into a container.

This was going to be his only chance.

He checked his mana. Surprisingly it had gone up to one again. Not enough to accomplish anything grand, but enough to serve as a crutch should his situation become desperate.

Kent strained his eyes and pushed himself up carefully. While potentially intoxicated, they could still notice him should they be interested. Hands-on the floor he slowly pushed his head past the edge of the tent. Just far enough to see the two men playing a card game.

With a light thunk, the man who had refilled his drink leaned back and took a few large gulps.

“We are almost out, you better finish yours as well,” said one guard, the cheek apparent in his voice.

The only response he got a harrumph.

They exchanged cards a few times each time drinking a bit of their respective drinks.

The potentially poisoned man, put his cards down and yawned, leaned back, and started a light snore.

Kent couldn’t move a muscle, just gaped at what he saw. There was no way in his mind that it could have been that easy.

“Your acting sucks. Come one, sit back up, and lose with dignity. I’ll drink your wine if you don’t,” the man chuckled grabbed the other mug lighting quick, and downed it.

As though trying to provoke the other he began drinking out of the skin all the while chuckling.

“Your loss! We can start a new… round… … if you really…” his eyes dropped, and he too sacked into his chair. Precariously close to making the chair toppled.

Kent just kind of stared.

This must be the most stupid plan to have ever worked.

He had two options now. He could either try to take out the threat to all he held close to his heart immediately or poison the remaining food supply. With the entire camp asleep during the day, he might actually be able to take them out.

But he could even do so without stabbing them. Maybe the poison would work better and even if it didn’t there were other options.

With a light slap to his face, he forced his breathing to slow down again and got a grip on the stress he was experiencing.

He crouched into the camp as quietly as possible, navigating the potentially deadly sticks. The tent one of the two soldiers had gotten the wineskin from was still open, so he slipped inside. There was an assortment of various barrels, shoddy shelf constructions, and chests.

The question was now, what would be best served with turrls saliva. The various wineskins across the tent’s interior were designated to be mixed with the berry juice. It would most likely go unnoticed from the color alone. Though that would only work should the people here have low physical stats. Tollkirsch was only really poisonous to unclassed people.

Two of the barrels contained water, it would most likely be the best medium to carry the turrls’ saliva. He was just lacking enough liquid to prepare the entirety of two barrels. Shrugging he snatched a few leaves and dirt off the floor and placed them in the barrel further from the entrance, creating the illusion of it being tainted.

With the water from the other barrel, he filled his tainted canteen and after a bit of mixing filled the mix back into the barrel. Hopefully, it would be enough.

As he turned, he considered whether he should help himself to some of the equipment that was stored in the various unlocked chests within the camp.

He picked out an ax, a sword, and a lance, as well as the lightest looking leather garment that he could find, begging that it would fit.

Taking another quick look around the tent he struggled with himself. He had already stolen quite a bit, which could potentially influence class choices in the future.

Ha, what class choices. Leveling up isn’t available to me anyways. Stealing from them lifted his mood oddly enough, opposed to the guilt he felt over stealing his uncle's cloak or his parents’ health potion and knife.

He was just about to leave when his thoughts swerved to his current situation. He would need food in the next coming days. As fast and quiet as humanly possible he searched for travel rations and packed as much as he could, enough for maybe three or four days.

The real epic loot though had been a few pallets of health potions. He would have to restrain himself and not take all of them, it cost most of his willpower but he prevailed, escaping with only a single pallet of 16 potions, a fourth of what he had found.

Unsure whether his preparations would prove sufficient he left the camp behind, hoping that he had made the right decision and not just doomed the entire village.

He hid the potions and accessories rather close to where Lon’s father had been put to his final slumber and tried to think. Nothing helped, he couldn’t get rid of the itchy feeling in the back of his mind to leave him alone. He had forgotten something. Just what, it couldn’t be that he had left the stove on, or the door unlocked.

But it would probably not be too bad to head back to make sure his plan would go off with as much success as possible.

He located the two closest tollkirsch shrubs and bagged as much as he could. In haste, he went back to the camp as the world was slowly starting to get brighter again.

On as much food stuffs as he could get away with, he smeared with the berries’ juices. Maybe it was overkill, maybe it would ruin the chance of ambushing someone, but at least it could kill someone who hadn’t invested too much into toughness or vitality.

Torn between taking even more and just leaving he left – leaving his canteen behind, exchanging it for another he found in the tent. Maybe that would be enough to take someone else out, he for sure wouldn’t take another sip out of that canteen.

When he arrived at his storage spot he decided that it was too close to the enemy's soldiers' camp, especially as day was encroaching. Carrying everything now possessed by him in his folded-up cloak he skirted further along the forest's edge towards the road until he deemed the distance safe enough.

With the patients of a farmer waiting for harvest seasons, Kent sat down and waited for any indication that his plan had succeeded or failed thoroughly.

It didn’t take too long.

“BY GASSO’S THIRD TOE, DID YOU FALL ASLEEP!” a voice yelled through the forest. “For Dakar’s sake. Someone wake them up. Tenis, you’re on breakfast duty.”