The world outside was louder than I remembered.
The trees didn't whisper like those of Low Mist. The wind didn't meditate—it howled. And the voices of men… they shouted.
In the villages and cities I passed through, a rumor was growing like weeds:
The Jaegal family was at war.
Against the Ryong clan—former allies who now raised their swords in the name of vengeance.
They said the feud began with Jaegal Sun, the eldest son.
Arrogant and reckless, he had revealed the Ryong clan's attack plan to the Gwan clan, hoping to force them into submission.
But the effect was the opposite: the Gwan counterattacked with ferocity.
The Ryong clan, exposed and weakened, had no choice but to retreat.
I smiled when I heard this.
Not out of hatred.
But out of opportunity.
They thought they had discarded me.
But this was only the beginning.
If the Jaegal Clan falls… let it fall.
But if I'm the only one who can save it… then they will no longer see me as the exiled failure.
They will see the next leader.
I traveled for three days and nights until I reached the ancient Jaegal fortress.
When I saw the gates, the guards hesitated upon seeing me.
Some didn't recognize me.
Others did… and wished they hadn't.
— What do you want here? — one asked, hand on his sword's hilt.
— To enter.
— Why?
— Because I have a plan. One that could save this clan from ruin.
Silence.
— And who are you to say that?
I stepped forward.
My eyes met his. Not with arrogance—just certainty.
— I'm the son you buried alive. And I've returned to save you from destruction.
There was discomfort. Murmurs.
But word spread faster than any sword.
Soon after, I was brought to the main hall.
The Council looked at me as if they were seeing a ghost.
Jaegal Sun was there. The same blind gleam of pride in his eyes.
My father, seated on the stone throne, looked older. Emptier.
— Why did you return? — he asked, as if the question bothered him more than the answer.
— I came with a plan — I replied. — One that could turn the tide of this war.
— How? — Sun spat. — With words? Books? Library rats don't win wars.
— No — I said, firmly. — But they do beat the fools who think war is won by strength alone.
They all stared at me.
Most with skepticism.
Some… with curiosity.
— The Ryong clan expects a direct battle. They want us to fight like cornered dogs.
But what if it looks like we're running?
Sun laughed. But the elders leaned in slightly.
— We use an illusion formation. One that projects the image of our armies retreating through the mountains.
They'll see what they want to see. They'll believe they've won.
And when they come down from the hills, confident…
— …we ambush them — an elder finished.
I nodded.
— We'll have three groups.
The first, small and real, will be visible. It'll march disorderly, leaving behind tracks, weapons, even a wounded man—someone willing to act as bait.
The second and third will be pure illusion, created through formations. One will seem to carry supplies, the other to protect civilians.
All to make it look like a desperate and authentic retreat.
— And when they follow the trail...
— …they'll be led straight to the gorge — I concluded.
Narrow. No room to reorganize troops.
When surrounded, they'll have no way out.
The hall remained silent.
Tense.
Reflective.
— A trick — someone muttered.
— A trick that can win a war — I replied.
— Or would you rather lose with honor… again?
My father remained silent.
And then, for the first time, his eyes met mine with something that wasn't contempt.
It was pride.
— Prepare the formations — he said, at last. — Let's see if the mist really taught you how to win without swords.
And in that moment, for the first time… I was heard.