Dawn broke over the northern fortress, painting the walls in muted gold. The wind carried the crisp scent of snow from the distant ridges, but inside, the air was heavy with tension. Jeng Minh stood over the war map, tracing his finger along the western frontier.
"The Silver Divide believes we are fractured," he murmured. "They think Heiman's experience weakened our command structure."
Bai Ye shifted uneasily. "Commander… after last night, even the men in the barracks are uneasy. Fear spreads faster than swords."
Jeng Minh's gaze hardened. "Good. Let it spread. We will use it."
Orders went out immediately. Scouts and spies were dispatched, each carrying subtle misinformation. Rumors of troop movements, weaknesses, and supply vulnerabilities were whispered into taverns, along roads, and through traveling merchants.
Yet all information was carefully curated: half truth, half illusion, entirely a trap.
"They will move," Jeng Minh said to Heiman, who had returned to duty, his expression tense but resolute. "They cannot resist a battlefield they think they control. Shadows act only when they perceive opportunity."
Heiman nodded, understanding the stakes. "And if they see through it?"
"Then they die in the trap anyway," Jeng Minh replied. Calm. Deadly. Certain.
Bai Ye oversaw the deployment of the Elite Guard. Jeng Minh's handpicked unit, trained not only in combat but in reconnaissance, infiltration, and deception, would shadow every false clue.
"They move like shadows themselves," Bai Ye noted. "Silent, invisible… deadly."
Jeng Minh allowed a rare smile. "Then let them meet shadows with shadows."
Every hilltop, forest pass, and river crossing along the western frontier became a chessboard. Each troop placement was a calculated illusion, designed to suggest vulnerability while concealing devastating strength.
Within days, the Silver Divide responded. Messengers intercepted false intelligence, observing troop rotations and supposed weak points.
Jeng Minh watched, unblinking, as the enemy's pawns advanced—right into the zones he had prepared.
"They believe they are unseen," he said. "They believe the battlefield is theirs. But they walk into my mind as well as my land."
Heiman clenched his fists. "Commander, their scouts are masters of stealth. Even a single misstep…"
"Even a single misstep," Jeng Minh interrupted, "will be theirs, not ours."
By the third day, the Silver Divide made contact. Shadows flitted along forest paths and ridges, attempting to probe the fortress's defenses. But every movement was anticipated.
Elite Guard units, invisible to the enemy, struck silently. False camps were revealed, only to collapse into traps. Ambushes erupted from hidden positions, leaving the invaders disoriented, their confidence shaken.
From the fortress walls, Jeng Minh observed with a cold, calculating gaze. Every move was part of the plan. Every strike was measured. Every shadow manipulated.
"They believe they are testing us," he said. "But in truth, they are being tested."
That night, reports came in from scouts who had observed distant figures moving with unnatural coordination—tall, hooded, silent, impossible to track.
Heiman's voice was tight. "Commander… I've never seen their kind. They move like one mind."
Jeng Minh nodded, eyes narrowing. "The Silver Divide sends their vanguard. They probe for weakness—but all they will find is illusion. And when they strike, we will know exactly where."
Bai Ye leaned close. "Do we wait for them to act?"
"No," Jeng Minh replied. "We shape their actions. A shadow cannot strike when it is already trapped by another shadow."
The wind howled through the western ridges as darkness fell. Somewhere beyond, the Silver Divide moved—unseen, calculating, confident.
Yet within the fortress, a single mind—calm, relentless, and unbroken—had already begun weaving the threads of a trap that would bend not just the battlefield, but the very minds that dared challenge him.
And in the silence of the night, the first whispers of the coming war in the West began to stir.