The snow began to melt. Streams of ice water trickled down the mountainsides, feeding the valley with the promise of spring. Farmers stepped cautiously into thawing fields, testing the soil for planting. Soldiers shed their winter cloaks, blades flashing once more in the pale sunlight.
And with the thaw came whispers carried by merchants and wandering monks. Whispers of a boy-lord who had slain a bear, outwitted wolves, and turned even shadows to his cause.
They called him the Crescent Lord.
In Kai Fortress, General Ishida heard the whispers with fury tightening his jaw.
"Crescent Lord," he spat, slamming his fan against the table. "A boy no older than my youngest son, and already the fools call him by titles reserved for daimyo!"
One retainer bowed low. "My lord, the rumors spread beyond the valley. Peasants flock to him. Even merchants whisper that his lands are safe for trade."
Another muttered, "And the Imagawa watch him closely. Some even say they will send envoys to see this Crescent Lord with their own eyes."
The chamber fell silent at that, for even Ishida could not ignore the weight of such rumors.
His eyes narrowed to slits. If left unchecked, this child becomes not merely a nuisance, but a symbol. And symbols are harder to kill than men.
Back in the valley fortress, Eugene stood before a gathering of villagers and soldiers. The winter had tested them all, but they had endured. Now, under the clear sky, he raised his voice.
"This land is no longer Satomi's. It is no longer Takeda's. It is ours. You have fought, bled, and tilled this soil. You are its roots, and I am its shield."
The crowd roared in answer, voices rising like thunder. Farmers raised their hoes, soldiers their spears, even children their fists.
"Crescent Lord!" they cried. "Crescent Lord!"
For a moment, Eugene let their cries wash over him. He had never sought titles, but he understood their power. A name could bind hearts more tightly than iron chains.
The AI pulsed softly in his mind:
[Title Recognition Event: "Crescent Lord." Public identity formed. Loyalty increase detected: 27%. Influence expansion probability: 63%.]
Eugene's eyes sharpened. So be it. If they name me thus, then I will wield it as a blade.
In the council chamber, Hiroshi grinned ear to ear. "Do you hear them, my lord? They cheer as if you are already their king!"
Captain Inoue frowned, though not without a hint of respect. "Titles can inspire, but they also paint a target. Ishida will not ignore this any longer."
Lady Aiko leaned forward, her voice like silk. "Which is exactly what we want. A man who strikes in anger is easier to wound."
Eugene studied the map, his fingers brushing the ridges and valleys like a weaver feeling the threads of his tapestry.
"When Ishida marches, he will expect a fortress still weary from winter. Instead, he will find an army renewed, fields sown, and villages united. He will come as the wolf once more…" His lips curved into a faint smile. "And once more, he will bleed."
Over the next weeks, Eugene's legend grew. He rode among the villages, speaking with farmers, eating from their bowls, listening to their grievances. Where Satomi had taken, Eugene gave. Where Takeda had demanded, Eugene promised protection.
A farmer, weeping with gratitude, pressed a basket of rice into his hands. "You are not like the lords before. You are ours."
Merchants, sensing safety, began to trickle into the valley. With them came salt, cloth, and rumor. Rumors that reached even Kyoto, where wandering priests spoke of a young lord rising like the moon against the warlords of the age.
Eugene's name spread further than his banners.
Yet the wolves circled still. Scouts reported Takeda patrols massing in greater numbers. The mountain passes grew thick with banners. Ishida was gathering.
One night, Hiroshi burst into the chamber, his face flushed with excitement. "My lord! Spies report Ishida himself will lead the spring offensive. Tens of thousands may march!"
Captain Inoue's expression darkened. "We cannot withstand such numbers in the open. Even with the defectors, we are but half their strength."
Lady Aiko's lips curved faintly. "Which means we do not fight in the open."
All eyes turned to Eugene. He stood in silence, the candlelight flickering across his face.
Finally, he spoke. "We will not meet Ishida on the plains. We will make the valley itself our sword. Every pass, every ridge, every river will bleed them. They will find no battle—only a thousand cuts."
Hiroshi grinned savagely. "Another war of shadows!"
The AI pulsed coldly:
[Enemy army estimate: 18,000. Current allied strength: 8,200. Probability of direct victory: <12%. Probability of attrition victory with terrain advantage: 48–61%. Success requires extended supply disruption.]
Eugene's eyes hardened. Then we will cut their supply lines until the wolves starve.
Preparations began at once. Villagers stockpiled food in hidden caches. Hunters mapped secret trails through the forests. Blacksmiths forged traps as readily as swords. Even children carried messages between camps.
The valley became not merely a fortress, but a living weapon.
And still, whispers grew louder. Monks passing through villages told of the Crescent Lord who defied Takeda's might. Some even dared compare him to Oda Nobunaga in his youth—a dangerous legend for a boy not yet a daimyo.
Far away, Ishida received the reports with cold fury.
"Crescent Lord," he muttered again, as if tasting poison. His fan snapped shut with a thunderous crack. "If the people call him lord, then let us see if they still call him so when his fortress burns."
He turned to his commanders. "Summon every banner. When spring comes, we march—not to weaken him, not to bleed him. We march to end him."
And so, the wolf prepared its fangs.
Back on the valley walls, Eugene stood beneath the crescent moon. Lady Aiko joined him, her gaze fixed on the same horizon.
"They will come soon," she whispered. "And they will not stop until you are broken."
Eugene's hand rested lightly on his sword. His voice was calm, but edged like steel.
"Then let them come. I am no longer a child playing at war. I am the Crescent Lord. And when the wolves strike, they will learn that the moon does not bow to the night."
The wind carried his words into the darkness, a vow to the world itself.