The valley's lifeblood ran through a narrow gorge that the locals called Ironheart Pass. Jagged cliffs pressed in so tightly that two men could not ride side by side. A single cart, laden with rice or fish, could block the trail for hours. Whoever controlled this pass held the throat of the Crescent Lord's territory.
General Ishida knew it. And so did Eugene.
The morning the Takeda banners appeared at the mouth of the gorge, Eugene stood upon the inner ridge, peering down with calm eyes. His captains gathered behind him—Hiroshi brimming with eagerness, Captain Inoue grim and measured, Lady Aiko serene with her fan half-open.
Below, the wolf had bared its fangs. Thousands of Takeda men swarmed, their banners snapping, their ladders and siege carts creaking as they pushed toward the gorge.
"They mean to force the pass," Inoue muttered. "Once they seize it, our supply runs from the south are severed."
"Not just severed," Lady Aiko said softly. "We would be choked. The valley would wither."
Hiroshi spat into the dirt. "Then we'll hold the gorge with spears and arrows until hell itself freezes."
Eugene's gaze did not waver. "No. We will not merely hold." He turned, the wind lifting his hair, his voice carrying. "We will turn this pass into their grave."
The AI flickered in his mind:
[Enemy strength at Ironheart: ~6,000. Your immediate garrison: ~2,500. Reinforcements available within 3 days. Direct hold probability: 32%. Ambush and entrapment probability: 61%. Suggested tactic: delay, bleed, counter-surround.]
Eugene's lips curved faintly. Then we delay. We bleed. And when the time is right—we surround.
The first day was thunder.
Takeda infantry surged into the pass, shields lifted, ladders thrust forward. Arrows blackened the sky. Eugene's men answered in kind—archers firing from hidden ridges, stones hurled down with shattering force. Logs, rolled from high platforms, smashed into siege carts and sent them splintering.
Every step forward for Takeda cost them men, but they pressed on, driven by Ishida's iron discipline. The gorge echoed with the clang of steel and the screams of men.
At the third hour, Hiroshi fought shoulder-to-shoulder with ashigaru, his spear darting like lightning. "Push them back! Ironheart does not break!"
And for that day, it did not.
By nightfall, the pass was a charnel ground of bodies and broken ladders. Takeda withdrew only when the moon rose. Fires glimmered in their camp like hungry eyes.
Eugene stood at the wall of the inner gorge, staring down at the flickering host. His men were exhausted, bloodied, but their spirits burned.
"Tomorrow they will return in greater force," Inoue warned.
"They expect us to falter," Eugene replied. His mind ticked with calculation. "We will give them the illusion of faltering. And then, we close the jaws."
Lady Aiko tilted her head, her fan hiding a smile. "The wolf thinks it chases prey. Instead, it runs into the hunter's net."
The second day dawned with horns. Takeda banners surged once more into Ironheart, drums booming against the cliffs. This time, heavier siege towers rolled forward, groaning under their weight.
Eugene gave ground deliberately. His men fought, then retreated deeper, step by step. To Takeda eyes, it looked like weakness, fatigue, surrender.
General Ishida, watching from his pavilion, laughed. "The boy tires. Press harder. Grind him to dust."
The wolves pressed on.
But in the shadows of the gorge, ropes had been laid. Pits had been dug. Fire barrels waited behind stone outcrops.
At Eugene's signal—a flutter of the crescent banner—flames roared to life. Barrels rolled, smashing against siege towers, bursting into infernos. Smoke filled the gorge, choking men and horses alike.
Then came the avalanche. Hidden teams hacked loose supports that had held back rocks for days. With a thunder like the heavens breaking, boulders tumbled down, crushing men, scattering formations, and blocking the gorge itself.
Panic surged through the Takeda ranks as the gorge became chaos.
And then Eugene struck.
He had hidden 800 men on the ridges above, waiting for the signal. Now they descended like hawks, blades flashing, arrows hissing. The Takeda vanguard, trapped between fire and falling stone, broke into disorder.
"Forward!" Eugene's voice rang, clear and unyielding. "Show them Ironheart's true name!"
His men surged from their feigned retreat, crashing into the enemy from within the gorge. It was not a battle now—it was slaughter.
By nightfall, the gorge stank of smoke and blood. Thousands of Takeda men lay dead or crushed. Eugene's forces had lost many, but far fewer.
Hiroshi, his armor blood-slick, laughed raggedly as he leaned on his spear. "Ha! Did you see them scatter, my lord? Like rats in a flooding pit!"
Inoue's eyes gleamed with grim satisfaction. "It was well-played. They will not seize Ironheart so easily again."
Eugene stood silent, watching the smoke rise into the night sky. His expression was calm, but his heart burned with both triumph and warning.
"They will return," he murmured. "And stronger. Ishida will not suffer humiliation without vengeance."
The AI pulsed:
[Outcome: Decisive tactical victory. Enemy losses: ~3,200. Allied losses: ~700. Strategic morale impact: significant. Enemy retaliation probability: high. Prepare for escalation.]
Eugene's hand tightened on the hilt of his blade. Then let them escalate. With each move, they come closer to the trap I weave.
He looked back at his men—exhausted, bloodied, but alive. Farmers who had become soldiers. Peasants who now shouted his name. Samurai who once doubted him now bowed their heads.
The Crescent Lord was no longer a whisper. He was a force.
And as the fires of Ironheart burned, all who saw them knew: the boy who defied the Takeda was not fading. He was rising.