They say Hayama's men were killed in their sleep.
Rumors whispered through the villages.
"Bandits," they said.
But I know better.
Bandits don't erase the dead. Not like this.
There were no corpses. No burned camp. No blood. No armor. Not even the scent of smoke.
Just emptiness.
Perfect quiet.
And I know that kind of silence all too well.
I stood in the valley. The wind was thin, soft. Even between the stones, stillness clung like mist.
I moved slowly, scanning the ground with sharp eyes.
No footprints. No drag marks. Nothing.
This wasn't possible.
Bandits thrive on fear. They leave carnage because they want to be seen. Remembered.
But here—here, the land itself seemed desperate to forget.
As if someone had erased the story on purpose.
When I returned, night had already fallen.
I drank sake alone, in the dark.
I never liked Hayama. Arrogant. Hands uncalloused. A noble who wore a ring he never earned.
But he wasn't cruel.
He didn't know how to fight. He never even learned how to try.
Now he leaves 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 isn't that clean.
They speak of order.
All I see is noise.
North. South. Center. Endless fragments.
Endless demands tightening the borders.
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.
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 were born from us.
Fifth Flame – Stage Five
In my time, only few man ever reached that height:
Renji.
The Smiling Flame.
I still see him in my sleep.
Not the grin— the grief beneath.
Many hid their strength behind false stages. 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 you find?"
"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 said it simply.
But it stayed with me.
He treats me like a son.
Not a warrior.
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.