The Takeda estate lay silent under a shroud of night. The moon, veiled by drifting clouds, cast long shadows across the wooden halls and stone courtyards. Crickets chirped, and the faint sound of a night watchman's sandals echoed against gravel.
But silence in the warring states was never safety.
Eugene sat alone in his chamber, a single lantern flickering beside him. His katana rested on the tatami mat within arm's reach, his armor folded neatly nearby. He closed his eyes, appearing at rest—but in truth, his mind never slept.
[Alert: abnormal movement detected. Five hostile signatures approaching. Pattern indicates infiltration. Probability of assassination attempt: 92%.]
Eugene's eyes snapped open, calm but sharp. So it begins.
The first assassin slipped across the roof tiles, clad in black garb. A faint glint betrayed his short blade as he crept toward Eugene's window. Two more slithered along the shadows of the corridor, while another pair scaled the wall from the garden.
Their movements were precise, disciplined. Not mere bandits—these were killers hired by men of means.
Eugene rose silently, extinguishing his lantern. Darkness swallowed the chamber. He gripped his blade and crouched low, heartbeat steady.
[Recommended engagement: remain concealed, eliminate infiltrators in sequence before alert spreads. Ensure survivability of nearby retainers to maintain loyalty perception.]
Eugene's lips curled faintly. Time to show them what happens when they test me.
The first assassin slid open the shoji door with painstaking care. His eyes adjusted to the gloom—only to find emptiness.
A whisper of movement behind him.
Steel flashed. Eugene's katana slid cleanly across the man's throat. The assassin collapsed without a sound, body crumpling to the mat.
Before his blood cooled, Eugene was already moving.
The two assassins creeping down the corridor froze as a dark silhouette surged toward them. They slashed out, blades whistling.
But Eugene was faster. He parried one strike, twisting his wrist to drive his blade into the man's chest, then pivoted sharply, smashing his elbow into the second's jaw. Bones cracked. The man staggered, only to meet the katana's edge across his ribs.
Three down.
Outside, the last two assassins reached the garden, slipping through the shadows toward the chamber doors. But the moment they touched the frame, Hiroshi appeared.
"Bastards," he snarled, spear gleaming in the moonlight. "You'll not touch my lord!"
The assassins lunged, their short blades darting like snakes. Hiroshi spun his spear, deflecting one strike, then slammed the butt into the other's chest, knocking him to the ground. His thrust pierced through the man's stomach, pinning him to the dirt.
The last assassin hissed, retreating, only to stumble into Eugene himself emerging from the doorway, katana dripping red.
The killer froze. His eyes darted between the spear and the sword, calculating escape. But Eugene's gaze pinned him like a hawk's talons.
"Who sent you?" Eugene asked, voice calm but cold.
The assassin's lips curled in a bitter smile. "Those who fear the boy who climbs too high."
He bit down on something in his mouth. A faint crunch. His body convulsed, foam spilling from his lips. Within seconds, he was still.
Eugene sheathed his blade. "Poisoned teeth. Professional."
Hiroshi spat. "Cowards. But my lord, this means…"
Eugene's eyes narrowed, scanning the lifeless bodies sprawled around them. "It means my enemies have shown their hand. They fear me enough to kill me in the dark, rather than face me in the open."
[Analysis: Assassins demonstrated skill level consistent with professional shinobi retainers. Probability of backing by internal Takeda faction—high. Evidence insufficient to prove sponsor. Recommendation: increase personal guard loyalty, monitor suspicious generals, retaliate only when sufficient leverage acquired.]
Eugene's grip tightened on his hilt. So, it is you, generals. Whispers were not enough—you dared send blades into my chamber.
By morning, the estate buzzed with commotion. Word of the midnight attack spread quickly, though Eugene ensured only fragments of the truth were known. The official report stated: Unknown assassins breached the estate, slain by Eugene and his men. The young master survived without harm.
To the common soldiers, it only heightened his legend.
"Did you hear? Lord Eugene cut down assassins in the night with his own blade!"
"They say five entered, but none left. Not even shadows can kill him."
Hiroshi, standing at Eugene's side, grinned broadly at the retellings. "Your name grows sharper every day, my lord."
But Eugene's expression remained composed, eyes cool. Let them spread the tale. Let the people believe I cannot be touched. The more untouchable I seem, the less my enemies can move against me openly.
Yet deep inside, he knew this was but the first strike. Envy had turned into blood, and blood would turn into war.
That evening, Lord Takeda summoned him privately. The daimyo sat cross-legged in his chamber, candlelight dancing across his stern features.
"You survived," the lord said simply.
"I did," Eugene replied evenly.
Takeda studied him, eyes sharp as knives. "Assassins in my house. My own son targeted. Do you know what this means?"
Eugene's tone was calm. "It means my victories have stirred more than pride. They have stirred fear."
The daimyo's gaze lingered, then softened faintly. "You are young, yet already men whisper of you as if you were a rival lord. Such attention is dangerous, Eugene. Even within your own clan."
"I know."
Takeda exhaled slowly, as though testing his son's resolve. "Then be wary. The path of greatness is paved not only with battles, but with daggers in the dark. Remember this."
Eugene bowed. "I will, Father."
As he left the chamber, the AI whispered quietly in his mind.
[Update: Internal clan threat escalation confirmed. Current survival probability: high. Recommended strategy: expand influence by securing personal territory or command. Opportunity: leverage reputation from assassination survival to gain direct military authority.]
Eugene's lips curved faintly as he stepped into the night air.
"So they send daggers," he murmured to himself. "Let them. Each blade they send only proves how much they fear me. And fear…" His hand tightened around his sword hilt. "…fear is the seed of power."
The moon shone down upon him, pale and cold, as Eugene walked into the shadows—no longer the hunted, but the hunter.