The smoke of Ironheart lingered for weeks. Carrion crows circled the cliffs, their cries echoing like funeral bells. Farmers who passed the gorge whispered prayers, saying the ground had swallowed the Takeda as an offering to the Crescent Lord.
But in the Takeda camp, there was no prayer—only fury.
General Ishida sat in his command pavilion, the silk walls drawn tight against the night wind. Before him, a table sprawled with maps lay overturned, ink pooling across the wood. His fan lay broken at his feet.
Three of his generals knelt, their heads pressed to the ground. None dared speak first.
Finally, Ishida's voice cut through the silence. "Three thousand men. Burned, crushed, scattered like children. By a boy." His hand clenched until his knuckles turned white. "A boy they call Crescent Lord."
One general, voice trembling, said: "The gorge was treacherous, my lord. Traps, fire, avalanches—"
"Silence!" Ishida's roar shook the pavilion. "Excuses are the language of cowards." He rose, his shadow looming over them, eyes blazing. "That boy has made a mockery of the Takeda name. Do you understand what this means?"
None dared answer. Ishida continued, his voice low but venomous.
"If peasants believe he can stand against me, then peasants everywhere will question us. If samurai see him rise from nothing, then loyalty frays. This is not a battle lost—it is a wound to my honor. And honor demands blood."
He turned to the map, stabbing his finger at the valley. "I will not rest until his banner is ash and his body is nailed to the fortress gates. Even if it takes ten thousand more men, even if it costs me my last drop of blood, I swear by my ancestors—the Crescent Lord will die."
The generals bowed low, shaken by the vow. Ishida's fury was not mere anger; it was a vow carved into the marrow of his being.
News of the vow reached the valley within days. A captured scout, before dying under questioning, gasped: "Ishida swore it… your head… on his gates…"
In the war council, Hiroshi slammed his fist onto the table. "Let him try! We've bloodied him once—we'll do it again!"
Captain Inoue was more somber. "Do not dismiss this vow lightly. Ishida is not a man of empty boasts. If he commits his full strength, we may face a storm unlike anything yet."
Lady Aiko's fan fluttered open, her eyes gleaming. "Storms can uproot trees. But they also water the fields."
Eugene listened in silence, then finally spoke. "This vow is not Ishida's strength—it is his weakness. A man who swears vengeance cannot think with clarity. His pride will drive him to overreach. And overreach… is when we break him."
The AI pulsed softly in his mind:
[Psychological profile: Ishida. Trait: Pride-driven. Current risk factor: extreme escalation. Predicted tactics: overwhelming force, punitive destruction of villages, direct assaults. Strategic countermeasure: misdirection, baiting, selective retreats.]
Eugene's eyes hardened. Then we bait the wolf until it gnaws off its own paw.
The weeks that followed saw Takeda's fury unleashed. Villages near the outer ridges burned. Ishida's cavalry scoured valleys, cutting down farmers, leaving charred ruins in their wake. Survivors fled to Eugene's fortress, swelling his numbers but straining his supplies.
One night, Eugene walked among the refugees. A boy no older than ten clung to a rice bowl, his face hollow from hunger. A mother bowed so low her forehead touched the dirt, whispering, "Lord Crescent… protect us."
Their faith was a heavier weight than any blade. Eugene's jaw tightened.
Hiroshi, watching, muttered, "Ishida means to break us by terror. Burn the land so none can live."
Eugene replied quietly, "Then we must give the people not terror, but hope. Hope is harder to starve."
And so, he ordered hidden storehouses opened. Salted fish, rice, and barley were distributed carefully. It was not enough for plenty, but enough to live. Enough to show that the Crescent Lord had not abandoned them.
Meanwhile, Eugene moved his soldiers like shadows. Where Ishida's men burned, Eugene struck their foragers. Where Ishida's cavalry raided, Eugene's archers ambushed them from ridges. Takeda's vengeance grew wilder with each frustration, like a wolf thrashing against snares.
One Takeda captain cursed after losing a convoy: "Does the boy know every tree in this cursed valley?"
In truth, Eugene did not. But he had something greater—strategy, foresight, and an AI whispering probabilities in his mind.
[Enemy morale analysis: decreasing among rank-and-file. Desertion probability rising. Command cohesion strained by Ishida's uncompromising demands.]
Bit by bit, Ishida's vow was consuming his army from within.
Yet Eugene knew vows could also forge steel. Ishida's men, though battered, still believed in their general's ferocity. And Ishida himself—unyielding, relentless—was a storm that could not be ignored.
In the war council, Eugene traced his finger along the map. "He will not stop until he believes he has crushed me. So we will give him what he seeks—an illusion of my defeat."
Lady Aiko tilted her head. "A trap of pride."
Eugene nodded. "We will draw him deeper, into the valley's heart. Let him believe he has cornered me. And when he commits his full strength, when every banner flies into my net…" His voice sharpened like steel. "Then the wolf will bleed out under the moon."
That night, Eugene stood upon the fortress walls, gazing at the crescent moon above. The valley lay quiet, but in the distance, fires of Ishida's army painted the horizon red.
Hiroshi approached, his armor creaking. "Do you ever tire, my lord? Carrying the hopes of so many?"
Eugene's hand rested lightly on the hilt of his sword. "I tire, yes. But the weight of hope is lighter than the weight of despair. And if I must carry it until this land is free, then so be it."
He looked toward the horizon, where Ishida's banners burned in the night.
"Let the wolf vow my death. I vow this: before this war ends, Ishida will kneel."
The crescent moon gleamed, bright and unbroken, as if sealing his words.