"They say Hayama's men were killed in their sleep," they whispered.
"Bandits," they said.
But I know better.
Bandits don't erase the dead.
There were no corpses. No burned camp.
No blood. No armor.
Not even the scent of smoke.
Only—emptiness.
Perfect silence.
And I know that silence all too well.
I stood in the valley.
The wind was thin, soft.
Even between the stones, silence had settled like mist.
I moved slowly, scanning the ground with sharp eyes.
No footprints.
No drag marks.
Nothing.
This… shouldn't be possible.
Bandits thrive on fear.
They leave carnage.
They want to be seen.
Remembered.
But here—
Here, it was as if the land itself wanted to forget.
As if someone had deliberately erased the story.
When I returned, night had already fallen.
I drank sake alone, in the dark.
I never liked Hayama.
Arrogant. His hands uncalloused.
A noble who inherited a ring he never earned.
But he wasn't cruel.
He didn't know how to fight—he didn't even try.
Now he has no name.
No land.
No legacy.
Twelve lords remain in the North.
Hayama's death was a signal—
And already the dogs are tearing his lands apart.
They used to say:
"The lords who destroyed the Empire gave us freedom."
But truth is never that simple.
They speak of order.
All I see is noise.
North. South. Center.
Endless fragments.
Endless demands.
Endless silence.
Once, I walked away from Kazuma and the Fifth Rebellion.
Not out of fear.
Just exhaustion.
At least… at first.
Then that silence became something else.
A shield.
A scar.
A choice.
I come from imperial blood.
From the frozen lineages of the far North.
Our villages were silent.
Our hearts, colder still.
We were the "loyal bloodlines."
Descendants of the Emperor's ten elite guards.
We married only among ourselves—
To keep the blood strong.
The strongest Flame Eyes were born from us.
Level 5, Tier 5—a living myth.
In my time, only one man ever reached that height:
Renji.
The Laughing Flame.
I still see him in my sleep.
Not the grin—
The grief beneath it.
Many hid their strength behind false ranks.
Renji never did.
He burned openly.
With his flame.
With his fury.
With his darkness.
The rebellion ended.
The ruins remained.
The tyrants didn't vanish.
They multiplied.
Petty kings. Hungry mouths.
But even now—
A few are still worthy.
Like my lord.
He is old.
But sharp.
Humble.
Clear.
He rules not for himself,
But for those he protects.
When I stood before him, his voice was calm. Measured.
"Uzumi, what did your investigation reveal?"
"It doesn't look like a bandit ambush. All traces were carefully removed."
"A shame Lord Hayama left no heir.
The others are already circling his lands like crows.
They can't see the danger right in front of them.
Do you think the emperor is moving again?"
"I don't know. But I'll find out."
"Very well. But Uzumi—don't push yourself too hard.
You've already done more than enough.
Take care of your health. That matters too."
He says it simply.
But it stays with me.
This man treats me like a son.
Not a scout.
Not a tool.
Family.
How could I ever betray someone like that?
The new order is cracked—
But within it,
There are still stones worth standing on.
------------------------------------------------------------
Thanks for reading. If you'd like to see more, your support means the world to me.