Chapter 146: Chapter Hundred And Forty Five

Finally, she saw a wooden sign hanging above a small door. It read: Master Wigs and Hairpieces.

Camilla walked inside. The shop smelled like scented oils and old dust. Sitting on wooden stands all around the room were beautiful, long, curled wigs made for wealthy noblewomen.

The shop owner, a short, nervous-looking man, hurried forward.

"Welcome, miss!" the merchant said, rubbing his hands together. "Are you looking for something elegant? I have beautiful blonde curls that will make you look like a princess."

Camilla shook her head. "No," she replied softly. She looked around the shop.

She did not want a beautiful wig. She wanted something ugly. She walked toward the back of the shop. She saw a small woven basket sitting on the floor. It was filled with rejected, ruined hairpieces that the merchant was planning to throw away.

Camilla knelt down. She dug through the basket.

Her fingers touched a piece of rough, messy hair. She pulled it out and held it up to the light.

It was a dark brown wig. But it was completely ruined.

The merchant saw what she was holding. He laughed nervously and hurried over.

"Oh, please don’t look at that, miss," the merchant apologized quickly, reaching out to take it from her. "The maker made a terrible mistake when trimming the hair. He used the sharp scissors incorrectly and completely overcut it. It is too short and choppy."

The merchant shook his head in shame. "No lady in the capital would ever want to buy it because it looks exactly like a messy man’s hair. It is garbage."

Camilla smiled under her grey shawl. She looked at the short, choppy, messy brown hair. It was absolutely perfect. It looked exactly like the hair of a common teenage boy who cut his own hair with a dull knife.

"I will take it," Camilla said smoothly. She reached into her pocket and pulled out two small copper coins. She pressed them into the merchant’s surprised hand.

Without waiting for him to object, she tucked the messy wig into her pocket and walked quickly out of the shop.

Her disguise materials were fully gathered.

Camilla walked out of the city and headed toward the dusty plains where the Benson army was stationed.

Outside the military camp, Camilla stopped walking. She did not approach the main gates. She stayed completely hidden in the thick line of trees surrounding the plain.

She stood far away, quietly spying at the busy entrance of the camp.

She could not just walk blindly into the camp. She had to carefully calculate how she would enter inside the strict military base without being caught by the guards.

She watched the heavily armored guards standing at the wooden gates. She timed how long they looked to the left, and how long they looked to the right. She watched the large wagons carrying food and weapons rolling slowly into the camp.

She noticed a specific pattern. When a wagon carrying tall, dry bales of hay for the horses entered the gate, the guards stepped back slightly to avoid the dust. The tall hay completely blocked their line of sight for exactly four seconds.

"That is my window," Camilla thought to herself calmly.

She waited patiently in the trees. Ten minutes later, another large wagon carrying tall bales of yellow hay slowly approached the gates.

Camilla moved. She ran quickly and silently from the trees. She slipped perfectly behind the moving wagon. She kept her body bent low, walking exactly in the large blind spot created by the tall hay.

The guards coughed as the dusty wagon rolled past them. They did not see the small figure in the brown dress slipping quietly behind the wheels.

After successfully executing her plans, she entered the busy camp without being caught.

As soon as she was inside the walls, she quickly broke away from the wagon. She ducked smoothly behind a row of large, empty water barrels.

"So smooth and clean," Camilla thought proudly, smiling to herself. It felt incredibly good to use her stealth skills again.

Now, she needed to change her clothes.

She walked quickly through the narrow spaces between the white canvas tents, avoiding the main roads where the soldiers marched. She looked for the specific tent that held the extra training gear.

She found a long, rectangular tent with a wooden sign that read Quartermaster. She peeked inside. The tent was completely empty at the moment.

Camilla slipped inside quickly. The tent was filled with neat stacks of rough grey uniforms, wooden practice swords, and leather boots.

She went to the very back corner, hiding behind a tall stack of wooden crates.

She worked fast. She took off her plain brown dress. She took out the long, thick strips of linen cloth she had bought at the market. She wrapped the cloth tightly and firmly around her chest, pulling the fabric hard to bind her chest completely flat. It was slightly uncomfortable, but it hid her feminine shape perfectly.

Next, she grabbed a set of the standard, rough grey training uniforms. She put on the loose grey trousers and tied the rope belt tightly around her waist. She pulled the long-sleeved grey tunic over her bound chest. She found a pair of standard leather training boots that fit her small feet well enough.

Finally, she took off her grey shawl. She took her long, beautiful red curly hair and twisted it tightly against her scalp. She pulled a thin cloth cap firmly over her head to hold her natural hair flat.

Then, she took the ruined, choppy brown wig she had bought from the merchant. She pulled it securely over her head, adjusting the edges.

Camilla found a polished metal shield leaning against a crate. She looked at her reflection.

The transformation was absolute. She looked exactly like a new recruit.

"Perfect," Camilla whispered to herself, adjusting her collar.

Fully disguised as a common recruit, she walked confidently out of the quartermaster’s tent.

She blended in perfectly with the other soldiers walking around the camp. No one looked at her twice. To them, she was just another young boy preparing to train.

Camilla followed the loud sounds of shouting and clashing wood. She walked toward the large training arena in the center of the camp.

She reached the arena. It was a massive, circular pit of dry dirt, surrounded by a heavy wooden fence. Dozens of soldiers dressed in grey training uniforms were standing around the edges, stretching their arms and waiting for instructions.

Camilla walked into the group and stood quietly near the back.

In the very center of the dirt arena stood a large, strict military instructor. He held a wooden sword and looked very angry.

The instructor raised his hand high into the air. The murmuring soldiers immediately went completely silent.

The instructor spoke loudly, his rough voice echoing across the dusty arena.

"Listen up, you lazy dogs!" the instructor shouted. "After yesterday’s fight, the general insisted we will not practice forms today. Today we begin a one on one battle."

The soldiers shifted nervously. One on one battles were notoriously difficult.

The instructor pointed his wooden sword toward a long wooden rack filled with blunt training weapons. There were wooden swords, blunted spears, and wooden daggers.

"Pick your weapons from the rack," the instructor commanded clearly. "Each of you will be paired against yourselves. You will fight until one man bleeds."

The instructor glared at the recruits, making sure they understood the strict rule of the sparring match.

"Whoever draws blood from his opponent first, wins," the instructor declared loudly. "The loser runs fifty laps around the camp. Now move!"

The soldiers immediately rushed toward the weapon rack, eager to grab the best wooden swords.

Camilla stood near the wooden fence. She did not rush. She calmly looked at the large group of strong, muscular men she was about to fight. She felt the dull ache in her sore legs, but the adrenaline of the upcoming battle washed it completely away.

Camilla smiled. It was a wide excited smile.

She cracked her knuckles slowly.

Pop. Pop. Pop.

"This," Camilla thought to herself, her eyes shining with joy beneath her messy brown wig, "is going to be fun."