Twelve people?
There were ten squad members, plus Kallen, their captain, making eleven in total. Everyone knew that.
So when everyone heard Alfred report "twelve people," they all froze.
Kallen would not assume Alfred had counted wrong, but regardless, he had to count them himself.
"Alfred."
"Here." One.
"Bart."
"Here." Two.
"Aisili."
"Here." Three.
"Ventura."
"Here." Four.
"Muli."
"Here." Five.
"Memphis."
"Here." Six.
"Richard."
"Here." Seven.
"Mars."
"Here." Eight.
"Blanche."
"Here." Nine.
"..."
"Here." Ten.
"Philomina."
"Here." Eleven.
Kallen pointed at himself. Including himself, twelve!
How could he still miscount when calling their names one by one? Besides, Kallen had looked at each person, called his name, and heard his response before adding him to the count.
"Only then did I realize, huh, that's not right. I came in alone, didn't I? Heh..."
The letter ended there. Piston had written nothing more, but there was only a puppet here, no remains.
Even if someone had died here over a hundred years ago, their bones could still have survived.
Even if he had been killed after writing this, then... what about the clay seal on the envelope?
So Piston had discovered an extra person beside him, casually written down that sentence, then sealed the envelope, applied the clay seal, put it into the puppet's mouth, and wedged it behind the stone.
He probably had not died here. At least, not in this spot.
But now was not the time to think about Piston. They had to deal with the situation before them first.
"Twelve people? I counted twelve too."
"How can there be twelve?"
"Who's the extra one?"
Everyone began counting heads. Without exception, they all got twelve.
Kallen clapped his hands and told everyone, "Hold hands and form a circle."
Everyone obeyed Kallen's order, joining hands to form a circle.