Arthur emerged from the drainage tunnel into a storage room. He scanned his surroundings quickly with normal human senses. His supernatural awareness stayed locked away.
Every shadow could hide danger now. Every sound mattered.
Barrels of ale filled the space. Sacks of grain lined the walls. In one corner sat stained servant clothing.
Perfect.
Through his suppressed bond with Beatrice, tactical guidance flowed across the miles. Her research on orc social hierarchy was clear: servants were invisible to warriors and shamans.
Five minutes later, Arthur shuffled through the kitchen. Empty slop bucket in hand, shoulders hunched, eyes downcast. Enhanced reflexes guided each movement, but he relied purely on human perception.
The kitchen staff ignored him. Just another worthless drudge.
Arthur's analytical mind catalogued everything. Guard rotations. Food preparation timing. Conversations revealing the stronghold's state.