The Story of CivilizationBoard

Masram
Fort Post

Sea Lord Nouri, after his sudden recall from the islands around Masram, had finally been permitted to return to the western seas. His great ships once again took sail, charging straight westward. The story spun for the High Council and the Emir’s office was one of setting new routes and laying the groundwork for a new thriving mercantile hub. The western coast of the Azure Sea should hold great potential as new trade partners for the burgeoning Narqali fleets. It seemed about time to expand Narqaliu’s influences beyond merely the Azure Coast.

Or so the story seemed.

It was at the quiet request of High Councilor Haiqa al-Nazar that he also voyaged with a secondary mission: slaving. The Nazarids had always held strong ties to the Zhari Kingdoms to the north, who were in constant demand for new slaves to toil in the fields of the great spice plantations. In the midst of the growing crisis around Qadibh and the Kingdom of Bayan, it was likely best to keep further slave raids under wraps, lest they flame tensions even further.

The current scrutiny on Sea Lord Kadir al-Nazar meant that the Northern Sea Lord couldn’t continue his private slave raiding expeditions for the time being. So the Nazarids sought other sources of fresh labor, and the western islands seemed to be the perfect new source.

The Sea Lord breathed in the salty air of the great sea. It was a scent he greatly missed during his temporary station back in Narqaliu. While the Northern and Southern Sea Lords were continually venturing outward, gaining titles and wealth, Nouri had forever been relegated to ‘home fleet’ duties. Even the slightest possibility of taking new lands for the now-Emirate brought him great joy.

However, there were duties that came first. After all, what would a Sea Lord be without a proper naval fortress? The isle of Masram was the largest of the twin islands under the Emirate’s thumb, and it was the prime location for a new fortress. Sea Lord Sarun may have Najaris and Sea Lord Kadir may have Zarqan, but Sea Lord Nouri would have the greatest fortress of all.

His men spent days hauling stone and carving wood from all across the island. Nouri envisioned it all: a massive fortress sat upon the island’s center hill and a great path leading to a naval harbor rivaled by none. In the end, the fortress upon Masram was far more modest, and was more of a humble pier, but in the Sea Lord’s eyes, it was an excellent start.

And so, with their new naval fortress, the Narqali western fleet ventured forth. The villages of the islands were burned and the soldiers seized great quantities of the locals. They hopped across the isles, seeking every able body and every minute resource they could scavenge. Sea Lord Nouri was a simple man and only thought in simple terms, but he was overwhelmingly effective at simple tasks. By the time the Zhari slaving vessels finally arrived in the islands, they were shocked to witness the great quantity of people that the Sea Lord had already managed to wrangle — nearly double that of Sea Lord Kadir’s typical deliveries.

It seemed that the arrangement in Masram would be held up for the foreseeable future.

Ain Zubiyat
City Post

Ain Zubiyat was a city where men went mad, or so the stories went. There was some truth to this, as the Envoy Rahe al-Karim could attest, for the city seemed to actively turn itself upside down. Vile currents swept away ships and hurled them into the harbor, making it all too easy to enter Ain Zubiyat but extraordinarily difficult to leave. Businesses were propped up by strange concoctions the city’s residents had cultivated since its founding.

Food wilted backwards, for it was said that the strange herbs of Ain Zubiyat made a food rancid immediately after cooking, only for the cuisine to thrive in flavor once cooled. The people wore bizarre clothes, striving away from luxury in their patterning yet fully embracing jewelry and gilding their own skin.

The city knew itself as a colony of Narqaliu and took great pride in that fact. Yet it remained mostly independent beyond the minor visits of the Sea Lord Sarun al-Majid, who primarily stopped at the city for its hallucinogenic teas and psychedelic women. In return, his cannonades hurled blanks into the harbor, simulating the thunderous storms of the sea for the city’s strange tradition of daylight operas.

A story once spoke of a wandering merchant ship which had been swept into the city by the currents. The great bellowing and screeching song of the daylight operas were mistaken by the traders for the attractive sounds of some hostile siren, and they fled with great haste. Like all stories of Ain Zubiyat, the reality of this tale is doubtful.

Unlike the cities of the Azure Coast, Ain Zubiyat rules itself under a Prince, who swears to abide by the rules of the Narqali merchant fleets and swears his devotion to the High Council (the city remains one of the few vestiges of Narqaliu’s tributaries that still fails to acknowledge the Emir). There is a friendliness to the Prince, for he throws lavish parties filled with the peculiar floras and psychedelic teas that the island was famed for.

In the low regions of Ain Zubiyat, the tea grinders work tirelessly, drying and preparing the hallucinogenic tea plants for export. Akin to the salt lung or the sand sickness encountered by longtime voyagers of the Maliha-Dhari, the tea grinders find themselves with a unique sickness from inhaling the dust and scents of the teas day after day. It is a peculiar form of madness, characterized by an extreme euphoria and endless hallucination. Those afflicted with it are endlessly joyous, though incapable of proper living. Many instances have seen the afflicted consume dirt with rigorous passion, believing it to be the finest of feasts.

Nonetheless, the tea continues, and madness continues to thrive in the city of Ain Zubiyat. The city stands strong against the thrashing strait, remaining a bastion of the southern trade and a friendly ally to the Southern Fleet. Yet its reputation as an outpost is far overshadowed by the varied tall tales and bizarre accounts brought back by merchants, but it remains steady against the tide despite that.

Ampendiluian Gargesiite (amperslandia)
But to try to figure-out our unique-situation... IX: Astenniahsmusings
(7015 FP) - devpost

"I feel like, I've done everything I could already. But I still feel like I cannot lay-down the title of 'Marshal,' yet. I don't know how the Debatehall is doing; it's been in a queer state ever since the moment of Raghnallssword. Which, thinking of all this and the shootingwar, it makes me feel like I cannot stop Marshal Law yet.

The country has entered a state of Silent Consensus, that we no longer need to be in Marshal Law; that the Unitedstates and that general time-period, is a relic of the past.

I feel like, though, 'Marshal of the Unitedstates of Ampendilu,' is just a watchers' position - and we are Watchmen. I have to watch over my country and continue to protect her from the Blot."

Astenniah sighed, feeling like crying.

"Yes, Astie - the Holding has grown considerably since that time, and since you'd needed to step into the position of Marshal - but what will you do next? Will you exercise your powers in the Old Law, in Marshal Law to appoint new debatehallers? What then, next? Or is it that you're still waiting for the other politicians to return to their duties?"

Elias asked her, carefully pondering.

"Something doesn't even feel right about that. And I hate that we didn't even get to fully celebrate Newyears' because of the blot declaring the shootingwar-part of the Sisterwar. The Sisterwar has been an odd thing, herself. But, I've been talking so much about it that it'd tire me to continue. The dervs et al have betrayed me yet again. I'd not only TOLD Queen Roisynne that we'd fulfill the promise in 'waiting,' but also shown her - but yet the dervs stabbed the Combine in the back just like the other time. The dervs need to be punished somehow, for their crimes against Liberty - it's the same thing people before me have sworn about Asperatu, and look where the Asperati are now. Look at the many ghosts in the room!"

Astenniah remarked, tiredly.

"So what will you do about the betrayals? What more is to be done, when we've already did so much against the Blot and the evils in the Outside World?"

Elias questioned her friend Astenniah.

"I am going to do what my people have; Fight. And already, take back what's ours. Take our Revenge against all who've wronged the Sisterland. This isn't over, Elias - it's only merely starting. Our time of Revanchism is one that, like Allison, will singe the entire Outside World. Selexica cannot be Silenced!"

Astenniah howled, raising her arms up and showing that she'd clenched her fingers into fists.

Two fists pounding the sky, in a show-of-motion that Ampendilu wouldn't go down easily. Two fists demonstrating the will of the Combine against the Outsiders who'd tried to stab her in the bosom many a time.

"The People are with me. And I've clung to my hat, the thing on my hair denoting my position as Marshal - even if I'd questioned my current place as 'Marshal...' I had clung, because I do not see the Blot destroying me. I do not see anyones' mongering, especially over the Rekindling. I do not see my f*cking self dead and killed by nonsensemen!"

Astenniah painfully let out, feeling her chest ache as she'd cried s'more. Letting out her emotions, even after all this time, seemed to scar her even more.

Obviously this all, was no good for her health - but Astenniah had already went to healers. She didn't want to spend even longer a time in the building, and not doing what she'd had to do as Marshal - even if she'd questioned why Ampendilu'd still needed a "Marshal."

"My friend, Elias, I've spent too much time in my head thinking about all this. I already know my Path. I know my decision. And that's all. If I know myself and my journey, then I will undertake it - I won't let any stone unturned. Just like the ones before me had practiced their overperfectionism, I will, aswell."

Astenniah's tone had quieted, as she was being careful to not wound herself anymore by talking loudly and creating more pains in her chest.

"I was supposed to meet the Mokrani, but they hadn't gotten back to me on that. I was supposed to do things with Umitoji, but they also hadn't gotten back to me on it. The Combine tasks herself to meet with other countries and discuss things - but the feeling is still there, that Talking is weak and dishonorable. And Talking is the thing that is f*cking killing my flammendamned people in the firstplace. See, I've already done Talking to calm tensions down with the nonsensemen - but..."

Astenniah stopped talking then Elias finished her sentence.

"But they didn't f*cking listen. But they've declared the shootingwar-part of the Sisterwar unto me and my people. And I had to marshal my people. So my work isn't over. And it's not over, because the Matrix will not allow it to be."

Astenniah turned to her friend, staring into her bright blue eyes in solidarity since they were at a point where they were finishing eachothers' sentences - it'd shown a good bond, and one she couldn't get with Iyo sadly.

A bond that she had with Queen Roisynne, that said Queen seemed to have thrown away by further betraying the Combine.

Astenniah still wanted to sob - but she'd exercised constraint again and didn't. She had to control herself.

And yes, emotion was a good thing - it was the underline of the holding of Ampendilu - but Astenniah had spent so much time crying and anguishing. And she'd tired of that fallen state. She'd meditated and done everything else to make sure she wouldn't be at that low a level ever again.

"These all have been attempted-attacks and scars at killing my Joy. And already I'd been here in Sorelia, watching people be joyful and celebrative. So why should that alisandrism end? Why should the Gargesiite linger in sadness? My people cannot - absolutely - be sad. This is a path I've taken already."

Astenniah wanted to clear up to Elias, even though she was sure her friend had already known this as they'd talked often.

"Astie, I'm s-"

"-Sorry? Elias, you've no need to apologize to me. I already understand you."

Astenniah had walked closer to her slowly, now placing a hand on Elias' shoulder in practicing Sisterhood.

"If you die, Astie, it will-"

"-'It will kill me,' yes, I know, Elias. I am trying not to."

They still stuck to finishing eachothers' sentences in goodwill and friendliness.

New World Meets Old World - II (w/Cuncorinacara)
Trade

Isla Francisco, Voltanese Gaen

It'd been a week or so now that the group had been on Nōdmothi, the islanders that inhabited welcomed the construction of these outpost, of course they thought it was just for trade but this was of course simply a means at holding the island and having a place to anchor at. This island was now under the Māiacumuve, to what he'd heard from a few of the other traders is after some time it would perhaps be given to one of the many landless lords of the Māiacumuve, perhaps two as the island was relatively large.

Tonight was strange however, Velan said a missive arrived specifically for him from the Ezhuvaan Rishi;

To Karun, bearer of this decree,

By the authority vested in the Ezhuvaan Rishi, you are hereby appointed to a position of esteemed significance within the Mūnār Kanapū Sheyka, tasked with safeguarding the interests of our imperial court.

Henceforth, you are to embark upon clandestine missions of paramount importance, engaging in raids upon neighboring territories deemed hostile to our sovereign dominion. It is imperative that you execute these operations with utmost precision and efficiency, ensuring the swift and decisive attainment of our objectives.

Furthermore, you are instructed to remove all markings from your vessels, obscuring any trace of affiliation with our esteemed courts. Blank sails shall be hoisted in place of banners, veiling your movements in secrecy and confounding those you relive of goods.

Your loyalty to the Ezhuvaan Rishi is paramount, and as such, you are afforded no option to deny this appointment. Your compliance with these directives is not merely requested, but mandated by the will of our imperial court.

May you discharge your duties with diligence and valor, upholding the honor and integrity of our noble cause.

Issued under the seal of the Ezhuvaan Rishi.

Karun still did not know many things but what he did understand was this was something that could not, not be done.

Amidst the inky depths of the night, Karun and his comrades embarked, their vessel cutting through the waters with silent purpose. Clad in garments that obscured their identities and lightly armored for stealth, they sailed forth. Karun, a novice to the ways of raiding, steeled his resolve as they approached the target island, his mind awash with thoughts of the perils that awaited them. But as they drew closer, a strange sight greeted their eyes - two massive figures shrouded in darkness, their imposing silhouettes towering over the shoreline like sentinels of the abyss.

As the vessel neared the island, the true nature of these enigmatic figures became apparent - two colossal Goliaths, their forms obscured by the cloak of night, standing guard over the realm they called home. Karun could scarcely believe his eyes, for he had never beheld vessels of such immense stature and… power, though it looked strange he could see what appeared to be cannons.

With a sense of foreboding hanging heavy in the air, Karun raised his hand in a silent gesture, signaling to his comrades to refrain from sounding the warhorns that would alert the island's inhabitants to their presence. For a moment, all was still as the vessel drifted closer to the shore, the towering figures looming ever larger in the dim light of the moon.

As they drew alongside the island, Karun could not help but marvel at the sight before him - massive sea vessels, unlike anything he had ever seen, anchored in the harbor with an air of imposing grandeur. How could something so vast and unwieldy even float upon the surface of the sea, he wondered.

***

Ramiro tugged at his shirt, enjoying the light breeze he generated under his shirt as it washed across his sweat-beaded skin. As always, it was hot here; how the veteran Gaenite’s had become so acclimated he hoped he would figure out. He’d already been in the region several months, and it never got better.

In a bid to bring a little more sanity to himself - perhaps by finding a light breeze he could see flapping in the ensigns above - he mounted the spiderweb-like shrouds that gave access to the many spars that made up the mast. With well-practiced ease he was quickly ten meters above the the deck, and there was indeed the slightest of breezes up here, perhaps thirty-meters above the waterline.

It was then his eyes settled on a dark mass in the harbor entrance; one that hadn’t been there just a few minutes before. As he focused on it he could just begin to make out a shape…a curious shape to say the least.

“Ahoy down there, I think I see…something. Due north, at the harbor entrance.”

This little potential of excitement aroused the dog watch, long afflicted with boredom in their time here, and observing it further Ramiro could just deduce that it was moving - and moving closer. “Aye, whatever it is it’s moving.”

The Lieutenant of the watch - the most junior lieutanant on the ship, was himself now gazing off the portside of the quarterdeck, peering into the harsh darkness in search of Ramiro’s spotting.

“I see it, I see it.” Another man said, “It appears to have a mast.”

In a hushed tone, Ramiro could just make out the junior Lieutenant asking the bosun if Captain Mondragon had mentioned a vessel which was expected anytime in the next few days. He didn’t know the result of the conversation, but he presumed it was a negative response for a moment later the bell was being run and the ship was being launched into a frenzy of activity. The sound of feet clumping about on deck boards echoed throughout the ship as a hundred-men were woken immediately from their hammocks. The Captain had not specifically been summoned, but he was a good officer and would notice the commotion - it would rouse him enough to come to deck at his own pace.

In just a minute the ship was suddenly a lively being, and as its bell had echoed throughout the harbor its sister ship was only just behind it, though undoubtedly remained uncertain as to the cause.

The Captain appeared, still dressed in his nightclothes, and quickly took charge of the situation. It was but a few moments before the junior lieutenant had a speaking horn, and was leaning over the edge of the ship - pointinng it towards their mysterious visitor a few hundred meters away.

“Ahoy there! You Approach the CIG Pionera under the command of Captain Ruy Mondragon. Identify yourselves!”

Karun could see activity and faintly hear a yell, “blow the warhorn and lift the sails,” untying the leather belt that kept his side arms fastened his weapons, “everyone besides a few throw your weapons down, we shall say we are a lost ship that were tasked with trailing a merchant ship.”

Though Karun was recently placed in charge of these men they followed his word without argument which allowed Karun to let out a sigh of relief. Grabbing the warhorn from the chest he stood at the front most part of the ship.

This was no ordinary instrument; the war horn was a masterpiece of artisanship, its body a confluence of vibrant hues and elaborate engravings. Crafted from the spiraled horn of a great beast, its surface was painted showing of the Māiacumuve conquests and glory, adorned with inlaid gold and precious gems that caught the morning light and fractured it into a myriad of colors.

The mouthpiece, wrought from gold and encircled with hymns, promised the blower the courage of the spirits of war. Karun raised the horn to his lips, his breath a gale gathered from the depths of his chest. As he blew into the horn, a deep, resonant sound erupted, cascading over the waves and resounding through the air. It was a sound that spoke of thunderous skies and roaring winds, a clarion call that shook one's body.

In the dark of the night, there was only one interpretation for such a noise - one of hostility.

Najaris
Fort Post

A formless shape had finally emerged from the fog. Sea Lord Sarun al-Majid and his southern fleet had finally arrived back to their home port. The excursion to Narusula had taken up a great deal of their time, and Najaris was somewhat neglected in the meantime.

The Acrab plowed a stern path through the waters. Sarun’s flagship was a beast of Narqali naval engineering, having been the first in the new set of experimental flagships commissioned by the High Council and the Sea Lords. Sarun, filled with pride, had personally elbowed his way to the front of the queue. In his view, the great expeditionary fleet of the south deserved the fine flagship before both the Western Fleet, which had been relegated to a humble defensive home fleet for many years, and the Northern Fleet, which put its primary efforts on acquiring slaves for their Zhari allies. The council was inclined to agree, lest Sarun and the Majinids threw a fit for the remainder of the political year.

Also aboard the Acrab was Thaliyyah’s former prisoner: Nassar al-Naderi. After the fleet’s arrival in Najaris, the envoy planned to return to Narqaliu for an early retirement. Several months spent in a Thaliyyan jail cell truly did have the ability to change men.

He stood beside the Sea Lord, staring through the dense fog that had descended upon them this morning.

“If I may confess, I have heard very few good things about Najaris.”

The Sea Lord momentarily paused from barking orders to his men, turning his head to Nassar. “Over exaggerated, I’m sure. Najaris was a pirate’s den only a few years ago, but with the intervention of the Southern Fleet, we’ve turned it into a lovely locale.”

To Nasser, the approaching silhouette on the horizon seemed more like a specter straight from a horror story.

“I’d still rather take my retirement in Funa.”

Sarun chuckled, “Najaris still isn’t for the weak. To a naval man like myself, a land with solid ground, acceptable food, and good women is heaven in the mortal plane. For you? It may be another hell.”

“I’ve seen enough in my life, I have no need for more travels.” Nasser retorted, “I’ll personally kill Azeem if he tries to drag me out of retirement again. The diplomatic office can survive perfectly fine without me.”

The fog was beginning to wane, with the gentle warmth of the sun beginning to stretch across the deck of the Acrab. The form of Najaris became more apparent as the fleet grew closer. The familiar traces of seawalls could be seen sticking out of the ocean, creating white crests in the waves.

Najaris had clearly risen from its prior period as a pirate harbor, with rickety docks replaced with sturdy stone construction. The fortress itself was clearly the pride of the Southern Fleet, as it stood sternly above the coast. When squinting, Nasser could make out the slight forms of naval guns perched atop the fortifications.

The Acrab finally drifted into the harbor, its size overshadowing the other naval and trade vessels in Najaris. The Southern Fleet had returned home.

20240219 Crisis Post
echoes of a shattered legacy - I

In a nondescript small town nestled beneath the shadow of giants of the Shogai mountain range, life was serene. Far enough from the politics of the shogunate and the money hungry ministers from the nearby cities, the quiet was all but the norm for them. Rarely disturbed as it is, most do not dare wander too far from their small haven lest they encounter a much more menacing world. Contented, they would rather seclude themselves into the lush forests of the mountains.

That was until the air darkened, black snow falling onto the village’s sacred soil. It brought disease and sickness to the children and elderly, with adults finding it harder to breath under the unrelenting rain.

Mori, a tapestry weaver and part-time teacher at the local child community, was quick to recognize what it was. Making the others believe what it was, however, would prove to be quite the arduous task. Others were begging for the Sun to come back to good graces, while others locked themselves in their homes to repent. Most, still, came back to work, determined not to let the worrying atmosphere get to their livelihood.

The young woman took to teaching the children her knowledge, and of what this mysterious phenomena actually is. An eruption from a faraway volcano. Children had a hard time grasping the concept entirely, imagination filling in the gaps. Besides, they wouldn’t really think that she was lying, as they were her teacher.

But that wouldn’t be the only thing that would plague their humble lands.

Travellers soon trickled in slowly, one or two a week to around a dozen a day. And then, travellers became refugees, seeking the peacefulness of the countryside rather than face the tumultuous and unsure moments of the cities. While manpower may be a good thing for the ageing population, it would not be a good thing if these people were to stay for a long time without a permanent solution. They had to find housing, food, and jobs for these people for the long term, which is a hard ask for the village who doesn’t dabble in the politics of the higher classes.

Eventually though, they soon managed to fit in most of the people. Asking some of these refugees who had prior knowledge or positions in their towns or cities for ideas and opinions, soon everyone had something to be busy with. The kids were the most who benefited, having more teachers who can teach them those that other old teachers within the village cannot—Mori included. Their slow and steady life was disrupted, chaos and uncertainty became the norm. The true prismean personality shines through even in the darkest times. It was always a question of why some are so willing to shed blood for the taste of power. People follow them for guidance, but where will that lead the commoners when all they want is power and glory?

The big question for the future of peace remains: what is the problem within Umitoji now? And when will it end?

20240219 Crisis Post
echoes of a shattered legacy - II

In the heart of the ancient city of Tenshukaku, chaos reigned. The streets, once bustling with life , now lay in ruins as the sounds of violence echoed through the air. Jiro, the young heir to the Tenshukaku clan, ran through the labyrinth-like alleyways, his heart pounding with fear and desperation.

Beside him, his loyal bodyguard, Kento, kept pace, his steely gaze scanning their surroundings for any sign of danger. They had managed to escape the massacre that had claimed the lives of Jiro's family, but now they were hunted men, fugitives in their own city.

"We need to keep moving," Kento said, his voice grim as he glanced over his shoulder. "They'll be searching for us."

Jiro nodded, his mind a whirlwind of emotions as he tried to make sense of the nightmare unfolding around him. Just hours ago, he had been a prince, the heir to one of the most powerful clans in the city. Now, he was nothing more than a fugitive, his family lying still and his future uncertain.

As they navigated the maze of streets, Jiro's thoughts turned to his family. His father, a wise and just leader, had always instilled in him the importance of duty and honor. His brother, Hiro, a gentle soul with a fierce spirit, had taught him the value of compassion and kindness. And his younger sister, Mari, had been his closest confidante, her laughter a beacon of light in the darkest of times.

But now they were gone, their lives taken by traitors who sought to seize power for themselves. Jiro clenched his fists, his jaw set with determination. He would not let their deaths be in vain. He would honor their memory by fighting for justice and reclaiming his rightful place as heir to the Tenshukaku clan.

But first, they needed to escape the city, to find refuge beyond the reach of their enemies. With Kento by his side, Jiro knew they stood a chance. Kento had served his family faithfully for years, his loyalty unwavering even in the face of death.

As they reached the outskirts of the city, Jiro and Kento ducked into the cover of the surrounding forest, their breaths coming in ragged gasps as they sought to put as much distance between themselves and their pursuers as possible.

"We need to find somewhere safe to hide," Kento said, his voice tense with urgency.

Jiro nodded, his eyes scanning their surroundings for any sign of shelter. And then he saw it: a small cave nestled amidst the rocks, hidden from view by the dense foliage. It was not much, but it would have to do.

They slipped inside, the darkness enveloping them like a cloak as they huddled together, their hearts pounding with fear and exhaustion. Outside, the sounds of pursuit grew fainter, but Jiro knew they could not afford to let their guard down.

"We'll rest here for now," Kento said, his voice low and reassuring. It was tinged with tiredness that doesn’t suit him. "But we must remain vigilant. Our enemies will not rest until they find us."

Jiro nodded, his eyes closing as exhaustion washed over him.

20240219 Crisis Post
echoes of a shattered legacy - III

At the edge of the city limits of Tenshukaku, Jiro Naganohara, the rightful heir to the throne usurped by many others, stood behind his loyal bodyguard, Kento warily. The air crackled with tension as shadowy figures emerged from the darkness, their intent obvious.

“Looks like the young heir is too clumsy of a fool.”

But Jiro would not go down without a fight. With Kento by his side, he drew his sword in tandem with his guard, his hands steady despite the adrenaline coursing through his veins. Pretend this was a simple practice fight. The assassins closed in, their blades glinting in the scarce moonlight peeking through the forest canopy as they moved with deadly precision.

Kento sprang into action, his movements fluid and precise as he met the attackers head-on, his sword flashing in the darkness as he parried blow after blow. Jiro followed suit, his own blade swinging as he fought with a ferocity born of desperation and determination. He will not go down tonight.

The first assassin lunged forward, his dagger aimed straight for Jiro's heart (a rookie move), but Kento was faster, his sword intercepting the blow with a resounding clash. With a swift counterattack, he dispatched the first assailant with ease, cleaving a big gash through his chest.

But there was no time to celebrate their victory as more assassins closed in, their numbers seemingly endless in the bleakness of the night as they pressed forward with relentless determination. Jiro and Kento fought, their swords a blur of motion as they held their ground against the tide of enemies. Jiro refused to give up, his spirit burning bright with defiance as he faced his enemies head-on.

As the battle raged on, Jiro and Kento found themselves pushed to their limits, their bodies weary and their minds weary from the constant onslaught. Days of hiding in alleyways and caves took a heavy toll on them. Even their food supply was hard and Jiro could feel the ache in his stomach with each swing of his sword. But still they fought on, drawing strength from each other's presence as they carved a path through their enemies to try and live another day.

Eventually, the fighting subsided. Others fled while some were still groaning in the ground through various degrees of wounds inflicted by either Kento or Jiro. He lets them be, letting nature decide its course if they are going to survive or not. What matters is survival, and these men aren’t going to be doing anything to them at their state.

And then they ran away from the fight and the people. As they made their way towards safety, Jiro knew that the journey to redemption would be hard. These nobles would stop at nothing to kill any legitimate claim to the throne. And right now, he was the only living relative of the shogun alive. The moment he regains his power, he would strip these people of their gains and leave them defenseless. With this silent promise, he carries onwards.

20240219 Crisis Post
echoes of a shattered legacy - IV

Jiro Naganohara sat in his makeshift study, surrounded by the dim glow of candlelight and the bare papers he managed to bring with him. The atmosphere was somber, the weight of responsibility heavy on his shoulders as he poured over news about other clans and their territories. He needed to know what had happened with the others.

As the heir to the Naganohara clan, one of the oldest and most influential families in Tenshukaku and the entirety of Umitoji, Jiro had always been acutely aware of the delicate balance of power that existed between the various factions vying for control. Even as a young child, there are always clues to know if someone was angry or jealous with you. He knew that the situation had grown more dire than ever before. Everything was at its tipping point.

Just then, the sound of the knocks echoed through the small empty home, jolting Jiro from his thoughts. With a heavy sigh, he rose from his desk and made his way to the front door, his heart pounding with a sense of foreboding. He hopes Kento is bringing good news.

Standing on the doorstep was Kento still, handing Jiro Naganahora a newspaper dated today. By the looks of his bodyguard’s face, it wasn’t good. With trembling hands, Jiro tore open the envelope and quickly scanned the contents, his blood running cold as he read the words that spelled out the fate of his family's closest allies.

His breath caught in his throat as he read the news: Lord Arisu Fujiwara, longtime allies of the Naganohara clan, had been brutally murdered in a coup orchestrated by their own trusted advisors. The paper also told of the brutal demise of yet another close ally, one that is named Yuichi AIkawa. The shock of the revelation hit Jiro like a physical blow, his mind reeling with disbelief.

As the weight of the news sank in, Jiro felt a surge of anger and determination wash over him. He knew that he could not stand idly by while those responsible for such heinous acts went unpunished. With a steely resolve, he vowed to return back this heinous crime tenfold. These people couldn’t even be considered prismeans even.

But first, he needed to gather his allies and devise a plan of action. But that begs the question: where are his allies? What happened to them now? Every news feels like a stab to his heart. All those allies made by his family are now gone. And it wasn’t as if they were betrayed. All of them were betrayed. It was surprising how well organized all of this is. Can he even come back from this?

“Stop overthinking. We will come back from this. Do not worry. The sun favors us.” At Kento’s words, Jiro shakes himself out of his daydreams. He was right. He should focus. Not everything is pointless and bleak. If his father were able to unify Umitoji, then he can as well.

He can only hope that there are still those willing to fight against greed.

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echoes of a shattered legacy - V

In the heart of the lands of the enshrined Kamimoto clan, whispers of discontent swirled like dark clouds signalling a storm. Vulture-like cawing from the people, quiet yet deadly. All to topple the high of the highest. Wonyu Kamimoto, a wise and just ruler, had long been revered by his people for his compassion and vision. Yet, within the halls of the clan estate, a group of ambitious nobles plotted to seize power, their thirst for control overshadowing any loyalty to their sovereign. All the while, the commoners were afraid for their beloved lord’s life. Would the whispers of the ongoing coup succeed or fail?

The coup began quietly, with clandestine meetings held under the cover of night. Led by a noble called Takeshi who was the second cousin of the previous lord, cunning and manipulative, the conspirators gathered support from disgruntled generals and influential advisors, weaving a web of deceit and betrayal around the unsuspecting lord. Soon, it could be counted on his hand the people that Wonyu Kamimoto could trust.

But Wonyu Kamimoto was no fool. As rumors of the coup reached his ears, he remained steadfast in his resolve to protect his power and his followers. With the help of his most trusted allies, including his loyal bodyguard, Akari, and the wise court advisor, Hiroshi, the young man began to devise a plan to thwart the traitors and restore order to Hananomiya.

As tensions reached a boiling point, Takeshi and his band of traitors made their move, storming the Kamimoto clan’s estate gates with a sizable army at their command. But they were met with fierce resistance from Wonyu Kamimoto’s scarce but highly skilled guards, who fought valiantly to defend their sovereign and their home. Most saw their demise, but even then, they stood their ground. Only some would be left, severely wounded and out of commission.

Inside the courtyard, Wonyu Kamimoto stood steady, his eyes ablaze with determination as he faced down his would-be usurpers. With Akari at his side, he led his personal entourage of guards into battle with the remaining attackers weary from an earlier battle. Despite the odds, Wonyu Kamimoto and his followers refused to yield, their unwavering resolve serving as a beacon of hope amidst the chaos spurred on by Takeshi and his men.

In the end, it was Wonyu Kamimoto who stood victorious. Even though Akari was left with a serious limp and Hiroshi is on a raised platform bleeding from a head wound, they emerged from the vicious battle with their lives intact. The heinous Takeshi and his men were no more, only as blood marring the blades of the reigning sovereign.

And though the Kamimoto clan and Hananomiya had been shaken by the turmoil of the coup, it emerged more united than ever before. Recovery would be made as soon as possible, to his men and to the people, especially the commoners, affected by all of this ordeal. But then the lord would eventually wonder, what has happened in the other lands of Prismea?

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echoes of a shattered legacy - VI

In the Kamimoto lands of Hananomiya, Wonyu Kamimoto, the esteemed ruler who has recently fought off a coup against him, sat in the study of his estate, a sense of foreboding hanging heavy in the air. The news of successful coups across the nation had reached his ears, casting a shadow of uncertainty over the tranquil city he had sworn to protect. The fragile peace that he has established with his people seems to be at a breaking point and yet never spilling past the edge. The people of Hananomiya still trust in him but without a doubt, it was obvious that everyone is scared.

But as an ally of the shogunate, Wonyu felt that he still needed to try and reach out to those that are still alive and fighting for their lives. He needs to know who is still left, and fast.

With a heavy heart, Wonyu summoned his most trusted advisors to discuss the grave situation at hand. The flickering candle lights casting long shadows on the walls as they deliberated their course of action in the middle of the night.

"My lord, we cannot ignore the chaos that grips the nation," Hiroshi spoke, his voice tinged with concern. A bandage was wrapped around his head. It would have been comical if it weren't for the gravity of the situation. "We must take action to ensure the safety of our people and uphold our allegiance to the shogunate."

Wonyu nodded solemnly, his mind already racing with thoughts of how best to protect his city and its inhabitants as well as trying to signal that the coup in Hananomiya was a bust. It was a gamble, truly. Would the other usurpers risk it? Do they have the manpower to defend their cities?

Turning to his advisors, Wonyu made a decision. "We must reach out to the shogun's son, Jiro," he declared. "According to the reports in the newspapers by the usurpers, it seems as if the young heir is still running away and alive."

With unanimous agreement from his council, Wonyu set about drafting a letter to Jiro, detailing the dire situation and the recent occurrences that Jiro might not be privy to. He also lends an invitation to seek refuge in Kamimoto lands, where it would be a long time for enemies to try and fight them knowing everyone has been weakened by the nationwide coup attempts.

Once the letter was complete, Wonyu summoned his most trusted messenger, a seasoned traveler only tasked with delivering to important figures. He handed him the letter with solemn instructions to deliver it to Jiro with all haste. The traveller left not even a minute later.

As the messenger set out on his journey, Wonyu could only pray that his plea would reach Jiro in time. Better yet, he hopes that it could even reach Jiro knowing the young heir is in the dark and in hiding. He has hope in his men though. He should only patiently wait for his messenger to reach the son of the shogun.

Oh may the sun bless them all.

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echoes of a shattered legacy - VII

Jiro and Kento leaned against the railing of the ship, their shoulders slumped with the weight of unspoken sorrow. The vast expanse of the ocean stretched out before them, a mirror to the emptiness they felt inside as they journeyed towards Hananomiya. Even then, both of them weren't even sure if it was a safe place or not. Perhaps someone was imitating his friend, Wonyu Kamimoto, to come to his lands and that the coup wasn’t successful.

"I don’t know what to do anymore," Jiro murmured, his voice barely audible over the sound of the waves crashing against the hull. It barely reaches Kento’s ears, even if they were side by side. A whisper, a murmur, these wouldn’t go unnoticed by his personal guard.

Kento nodded, his eyes fixed on the horizon where the sun was slowly sinking beneath the waves. He still kept an eye around. Perhaps those who arranged the coup managed to guess which ship Jiro will be escaping himself in. "It’s okay to be lost sometimes. We can stumble, but we always have to pick ourselves up. Didn’t your father tell you that?"

"He did." Jiro said, his voice tinged with regret. "But no matter what I, or my brother, or my father would do, everyone still has something bad to say. And what’s worse is that people go to such great lengths to get what they want! Oh Sun’s above. It would be a miracle for everyone to be at peace, no?"

Kento reached out, placing a comforting hand on his friend's shoulder. There was no barrier or propriety that is between them right now. Jiro is still the heir, but he is also his friend. "We may not be able to change the past or anyone for that matter, but we can choose how we move forward from here. Either you can come back and take back what is yours, or cower and hide somewhere where you can live the rest of your days unburdened. Whatever you chose to follow, I will follow you."

“I suppose you’re right. I still don’t get why you’re still following me around though.”

While the ship sailed on towards uncertainty, the two friends found solace in each other's company. They weren’t a lord and his heir but rather, two friends consoling each other. They were in their own bubble, talking about what ifs and the cherished pasts. Jiro would never admit that there was a small smile ghosting his face.

As they finally approached the shores of Hananomiya, Jiro and Kento stood side by side, their eyes fixed on an unfamiliar coastline that stretched out before them. Wordlessly, Kento pats Jiro in the back in an effort to say a “job well done” and also an “i’m here for you, always”. And if Jiro were able to read the gesture, then perhaps he will keep it to himself

With a newfound sense of determination, Jiro stepped off the ship and onto the solid ground, wary but ready to take on anyone. The only way to go, when you’re down, is up.

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echoes of a shattered legacy - VIII

In the bamboo forests of Miyasunai, hushed whispers of discontent echoed through its populace. The lands of Miyasunai, once ruled by the honorable Sakamoto clan, now burdened under the oppressive rule of usurpers who had seized power through deceit and treachery. Among those who dared to defy the tyrants were two allies of the previous shogunate: Jiro Naganohara, the son of the late shogun himself, and Wonyu Kamimoto, the current ruler of the lands of Hananomiya.

United by a common cause and a shared alliance, Jiro and Wonyu plotted to overthrow the usurpers and restore power to the previous rulers of Miyasunai, the Sakamoto clan. With careful planning, they gathered a small army from the people of Hananomiya, and crafted a plan so meticulous that even the late shogun would be aghast.WIth a short training day of a week, they marched onwards to the neighboring lands, ready to take on anything. With the groundbreaking help from Kento, Jiro Naganohara’s instructor and a former teacher of his, they were able to impart basic knowledge of fighting to the willing peasants of Hananomiya.

Under the cover of night, Jiro and Wonyu led their ragtag army through the dense forest, their hearts pounding with anticipation as they neared their target. The stronghold of the usurpers, the previous Sakamoto clan’s estates, loomed before them, a dark structure shrouded in secrecy and blood.

As they approached the gates to the courtyard of the Sakamoto estate, Jiro and Wonyu exchanged a silent nod, their resolve strengthening as they prepared to launch their coup. With a fierce battle cry, their army charged forward, their swords flying through the wind as it struck iron in a cacophony of clangs. But the usurpers were wholly unprepared and now the fight was in their favor.

With each enemy that fell meant one less person to deal with. The usurpers, caught off guard by the ferocity of their attackers, faltered, their ranks thinning with each passing moment, morale dropping to an all time low. Their small army was ferocious, each one trained in the art of combat compared to the usurper's random peasants militia.

The battle immediately stilled when the usurper’s leader fell in battle. Wonyu and Jiro’s small army roared in their victory and Jiro couldn’t help but smile at the victory he had achieved, however small it may be.

With their leader defeated and morale shattered, most surrendered or fled into the night. Some chose to still fight, skewed ideals leading to their eventual demise. As the dust settled and the sounds of battle faded into the night sky, the shogunate was one step closer to piecing together its hope of a whole nation. The lands of Miyasunai would eventually follow, for the people wouldn’t follow the usurpers simply because their former leaders were gone.

With their mission and battle accomplished, Jiro and Wonyu looked to the future with hope. Especially for the shogun’s son, perhaps everything can be done. His guard was correct, he can slowly piece together the country if he gives his all.

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echoes of a shattered legacy - IX

In the city of Nazaka, within the picturesque lands of Nagano, dissent is felt all throughout. For weeks, rumors had swirled of a coup brewing within the halls of power, orchestrated by those hungry for control and willing to trample on the rights of the people to achieve their ambitions. And a week before, it seems as if the rumors have come to life. Their leader, Shiori, was killed.

But the citizens of Nagano were not ones to be silenced. United by a shared sense of outrage and a deep love for their city, they banded together to form a rising insurrection mob, determined to stand up against the forces of tyranny and oppression. Shiori Hiiragi was steadfast and loyal lord. Not once has she faced the ire of so many of her citizens. She was well loved. Well, not as loved by the nobles of her station it seems.

Leading the charge of the insurrection was Ayumi, a fiery young woman whose family had long been respected members of the community. With her impassioned speeches and unwavering determination, she rallied the people of Nagano to rise up against the coup and fight for their freedom.

"My fellow prismeans," she began, her words floating on the evening breeze. It was solidly projected, hints of anger stemming above. "We shall not let these nobles take away our lives, our livelihoods, for their power! We will not let them control us!"

A roar erupted from the crowd, spirits lifted by Ayumi's choice words. With newfound resolve, they marched through the streets of Nagano, their voices raised in protest as they demanded an end to the coup. As they pass through the street on the way to the city center, other citizens also began to join, spurred on by the power of the majority.

But their path was not easy. Along the way, they encountered barricades erected by the coup's forces, their ranks bolstered by mercenaries and hired militia. Undeterred, the insurrection mob pressed forward, their determination unwavering as they faced off against their oppressors. They shook those hastily erected barricades. They held arms against the push of the militia. They will be undeterred.

In the heart of the city, the final showdown took place, as the insurrection mob clashed with the forces of the coup in a fierce battle for control of New Nazaka’s future. Swords clashed, shouts filled the air, and the streets ran red with the blood of those who fought. At the forefront of the battle was Ayumi, her courage shining like a beacon amidst the chaos. Every swing was engorged with the fury of a peasant against the crushing maws of harsh laws. Even if it was obvious she was never trained, she makes up for it twofold with her passion and determination

But victory did not come easily. The forces of the coup and usurpers fought back. They weren’t willing to let go of the power they worked hard to steal. But the mob was large, and their numbers were limited.

And then, finally, after what felt like hours to everyone involved, victory was theirs.

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echoes of a shattered legacy - X

Kento, the loyal bodyguard of Jiro Naganohara, son of the shogun of Tenshukaku, stood in the shadows of the Sakamoto estate, his heart heavy with the weight of his mission. For years, he had served Jiro with unwavering loyalty, protecting him from harm and standing by his side through every trial and tribulation. But now, he has been tasked with a task that seems daunting and very impossible. To assassinate the usurpers of the Ishida clan.

The Ishida clan had long been allies of the Naganohara family, their bond forged through years of shared history and mutual respect. The previous shogun was the one who made an alliance with the predecessors of the Ishida clan and it would still, theoretically, continue on to this day. But when a band of treacherous usurpers seized control of the Ishida clan through deceit and betrayal, the delicate balance of power in the region of Takahana was thrown into jeopardy.

Jiro, the rightful heir to the Naganohara family and the shogunate, knew that he could not allow the usurpers to go unscathed. He needs to take action, revenge if you may.

And so, he turned to Kento, his most trusted confidant, with an order: assassinate the usurpers of the Ishida clan and restore honor to their name, even if their bloodline has ceased to exist. It is the best thing they can offer right now. With the future leader’s orders, he is granted the power to spill the blood of a noble, however daring it may be. At first, he was hesitant. He couldn’t possibly leave his charge alone at all times. But eventually, he was persuaded.

He moved like a shadow through the night, his senses sharp and his movements precise as he navigated the streets of the city where the Sakamoto clan's estate lay. It was in the dead of the night, in one of the weakest points of Umitoji’s history. There will be less guards posted around the streets besides his target.

As he approached the building, Kento's heart raced with anticipation. He knew that the task ahead would not be easy, but he was prepared to face whatever challenges lay in his path in order to fulfill his duty.

With silent determination, Kento scaled the walls of the estate, his movements fluid and graceful as he slipped past the guards and made his way towards his target. He was careful to slip past any guards that were avoidable. Leaving bodies would be a hazard he was not prepared to deal with.

Finally, he reached the inner chamber where the usurpers lay in wait. With a steady hand and a heart filled with determination, Kento drew his sword and prepared to confront them. There lay a fat, middle aged man in his sleep. This man, the centerpiece of the Ishida clan’s wipeout. In a clean swipe, red blooms on his neck. The man startles awake only to find himself unable to speak. His mouth was tinted blood red. And Kento watches as life drains away from him and his duty is finished. He prays that this may be the last of the work that he tried so hard running away from.

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echoes of a shattered legacy - XI

In the fragile tranquillity of Hananomiya, Wonyu Kamimoto, the lord of the Hananomiya, sat in his ornate tea room, surrounded by the gentle melodies of a flowing stream and the sweet fragrance of blooming cherry blossoms. Too bad it was unbefitting of him to fully relax. As he prepared a pot of fragrant green tea, his thoughts drifted to the events unfolding in the nation and the weight of his responsibilities as a leader of one of the last remains of a previous order.

Just then, there was a soft knock at the door, and Wonyu looked up to see Jiro Naganohara, the son of the shogun, standing in the doorway, a hesitant smile playing on his lips.

"Jiro," Wonyu greeted warmly, gesturing for him to enter. The shogun’s son hesitantly enters, "What brings you here on this wonderful day?"

Jiro stepped into the tea room, his eyes taking in the surroundings with a sense of awe. "I came to seek refuge from the chaos of the capital," he started to explained, his voice tinged with heaviness that Wonyu couldn’t fathom. "The events unfolding in Umitoji weigh heavily on my mind, and I find solace in peace. May I come in?"

Wonyu nodded understandingly, pouring two cups of steaming tea and offering one to Jiro. "Please, join me," he invited, gesturing to the cushions arranged around a low table. "Let us share a moment of respite from the troubles of the world."

Gratefully, Jiro accepted the cup of tea, settling onto a cushion opposite Wonyu. As they sipped their tea in companionable silence, a sense of peace settled over the room, the worries of the outside world fading into the background. Jiro thinks he could sit still like this, uncaring of the outside world and immersing himself in peace. But he can’t. Not with everything that has been happening and plaguing his beloved home country.

For a time, they sat in quiet contemplation, the only sound the gentle rustle of the wind through the cherry blossoms trees blooming outside. Songbirds have started their tirades once more, perfectly content to sing their hearts out when there is no commotion of fighting. But eventually, Wonyu broke the silence, voice soft.

"I have heard stories of the challenges you faced in the capital," he said, his gaze meeting Jiro's with understanding. His eyes fell. "And though I may not fully comprehend the horrors you have went through just to arrive here, I am sincerely offering you my deepest condolences. To your family."

Jiro looked up, his eyes shining with gratitude and tears. "Thank you, Wonyu," he said, his voice sincere. He hoped he could convey the gratefulness in his voice. "Your kindness means more to me than you know. In these uncertain times, it is comforting to know that there are those who stand by my side. Even though we are still uncertain of the future, it gives me hope that we can answer it all, these problems, together."

Wonyu Kamimoto returned the smile of his friend.

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echoes of a shattered legacy - XII

For weeks, rumors were abound about a plot to assassinate Jiro Naganohara, the runaway son of the late shogun and Wonyu Kamimoto, the current lord of Hananomoya. No one was sure if it was credible or not, for it maybe just hearsay stemming from the uneasy atmosphere all around, but then after a silent time of contemplation, they attacked.

But Wonyu and Jiro were not ones to be taken down so easily. They remained vigilant even when they were peacefully drinking tea. Jiro and Wonyu were quick to rise to their feet once assassins crashed through the door towards the courtyard. Two men, clad in an all black attire, set their weapons of choice, swords, towards them.

Without hesitation, Wonyu and Jiro sprang into action, their training as warriors and leaders kicking in as they prepared to defend themselves against the assassins who sought their lives. With a wordless nod of understanding, they moved as one, their movements fluid and precise as they fought off their attackers with deadly skill. Each one took on an assassin for themselves, believing the other could take on their choice.

The two assassins were skilled, talented and ruthless, their blows coming fast and hard as they sought to overwhelm Wonyu and Jiro with sheer talent and strength. But the two men fought with a ferocity born of desperation, their resolve unyielding as they pushed back against pure skill and talent. In his battle, Wonyu could feel the weight of the assassin's hatred and malice bearing down on him, but he refused to give in to fear. His life was on the line. Scratch that, his life and Jiro’s life were on a line.

With a burst of strength and determination, Wonyu pressed forward, his sword finding its mark as he struck down his opponent with a decisive blow. But even as the assassin fell, Wonyu knew that their struggle was far from over. He helped Jiro who was at a stalemate. Once he dived into the fight over broken glassware and hot tea, it didn’t take long until the other assassin has died.

Outside the tea room, it was as if nothing happened. It was a pure assassination attempt, one meant to use as few resources as possible. As it stands, it failed miserably. Jiro and Wonyu were still standing and the assassins were all but dead.

"We cannot allow this attempt on our lives to go unanswered," Wonyu said, his voice firm. Jiro nods, grim. Perhaps that might be other coming. Soon, or maybe later. Either way, Jiro was sure this was not the last time he’s gonna be seeing these assassination attempts. "We must uncover the identity of those behind this plot and put an end to their schemes once and for all."

Jiro nodded in agreement, his eyes shining with resolve. "Together, we will hunt down those responsible and bring them to justice," he declared, his voice tinged with steely determination. An attempt on his life… He should take revenge. He will not stop until justice and revenge is served and he is once again at the top.

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echoes of a shattered legacy - XIV

The city of Prismea stands as a shining beacon of prosperity and power. But beneath the glittering facade lay a dark underbelly of corruption and tyranny, ruled with an iron fist by a new clan of usurpers. Decades of unchecked powers have led to a festering problem, one that was hard to solve. But everything is ever-changing, and even the most vile people in this world do not have the capacity to change this.

With a fierce determination burning in his heart, Jiro rallied his forces and launched a two-pronged assault against the city of Prismea, determined to bring an end to Haruki, the noble who instigated the first coups, and his reign of terror and to restore hope to the people who had long suffered under his tyranny.

On one front, Jiro led a daring infiltration mission into the heart of the city, his small band of loyal followers moving like shadows through the labyrinthine streets, their movements swift and silent as they evaded the watchful eyes of the usurper’s guards. With each step, the tension in the air grew thicker, the sense of anticipation palpable as Jiro and his allies drew closer to their target. They moved with purpose, focused as they pressed forward, their sights set on the heart of Prismea’s ministers.

Meanwhile, on the outskirts of the city, a second force led by Jiro's trusted lieutenant, Kento, launched a full-scale assault on the enemy forces, their numbers bolstered by allies from neighboring clans who had long rebelled under the usurper’s in Prismea. Its lines were also supplied by the neighboring city of Hanamiya. And for now, things were looking brighter for the hopeful.

~

With a deafening roar, Kento's forces clashed with the enemy army, the sound of steel on steel echoing through the air as the two sides clashed in a fierce battle for control of Prismea. Despite being outnumbered, Kento's forces fought with a ferocity, their determination so obvious as they pushed forward against their adversaries.

Back in the heart of the city, Jiro and his band of infiltrators reached their target: The grand hall for the old seat of the Naganohara, currently used as a war room for the usurpers.

Eventually, Jiro and his small group has reached a lavish room, closed. Witha well aimed kick, the room slams open to reveal a bald man with no upper garment wear. It was Haruki himself, left unaware. His first reaction was to scream in anger, then in terror.

With a fierce battle cry, Jiro and his allies launched themselves at the person, one of the main nobles responsible for the coup. The man had no chance to be alive. He still fought valiantly but to no one’s surprise, no one was killed or injured in the quick ordeal. The noble didn’t seem to even know how to wield a sword.

As the dust settled and the sounds of battle faded into the distance, Jiro stood triumphant amidst the ruins of the palace, his heart filled with a sense of pride and relief. The city of Prismea was free once more, its people liberated from the tyranny.

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echoes of a shattered legacy - XV

“Retreat.”

“Sire?”

Jiro glares at the blood coating his right arm, wishing all of his woes to be felt by his oppressors. As adrenaline course through his body, the stab wound he received from a very lucky man felt dull. The red fluid felt warm to his skin and Jiro felt like there was a lecture in there somewhere by his father, but he paid the nagging voice no mind.

He leveled a cool stare, just barely contained rage within, and spoke once more, “Order the retreat. We cannot win this fight anymore. We need to fall back.”

The random grunt visibly gulped, obviously shocked at the order. The indomitable Jiro Naganohara was issuing a defeat? For those uninitiated, this was very unexpected and unbecoming. But for those in the know, it was a calculated retreat. But it was also a gamble. A very risky gamble. Jiro could only hope those old geezers have their brain cells so deteriorated that they would fall into his palms and dance. But anyway, that is a problem for the future. For now, he needs to take care of his festering wound and fast.

A horn sounded, and it appears that most were left in shock. The signal didn’t come from the defender’s side. Instead it was from the attackers who was being led by Jiro Naganohara himself. Those men began to cheer and hurl insults. Some chose to run at those who were retreating. Most chose to stay and be grateful though. Another day that they would get to live.

Jiro watched it all, from the faces of his army, to the boosted morale of his enemies. Soon, they wouldn’t be laughing. With one last look, he hoisted himself up and left. IF only these were trained soldiers, then they wouldn’t be making the fatal mistake of letting your opponents run away peacefully. But no matter, that will be dealt with once he regains his power.

All around him, the men were in various moods of alarmed and discouraged. Such is the concept of a retreat. Ideas began to formulate once more, thinking of possible ways to energize his battle-worn and defeated army. A vacation? Well, if it were not in a civil war, it would be possible. More drill exercises would be unsuccessful, or even downright horrible. There was nothing he could think of in the moment that could seem plausible. It truly seemed bleak.

The next news, however, proved to be quite a challenge in making those ideas come true. Wonyu Kamimoto’s siege against the Fujiwara lands was also unsuccessful. A disastrous combination, one that would surely be a devastating blow to their own armies’ morale. And a disheartened army is not something to be taken lightly.

“This is bad.”

Wonyu, who could only be seen in a pensive mood after their defeat, sighed once more, “Perhaps we need a bigger push. After all, we are already near the finish line.”

“I suppose…” Jiro pauses, a wild thought forming in his head. Risky. Bold. But one that if successful, would bring them back into the fray. “I have an idea.”

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echoes of a shattered legacy - XVI

In the dimly lit corridors of the gilded palace, shadows danced as the wind howled. Lanterns were being blown up by the ferocious wind in this thunderstorm. The wood creaked and groaned as the rain poured incessantly upon tiled rooftops. Few guards patrolled at this hour and weather and so this was the one chance that, Kento, Jiro’s own bodyguard, would take.

After the decisive battle that left with the Naganohara clan reeling in from the damages wrought on by their defeat, the Aikawa clan was left feeling invincible, at least, for the time being. Their defenses were loosened, exacerbated by the worsening weather by the second.

Kento was not driven by malice or greed; his allegiance lay with justice, albeit a justice of his master’s making. Today, he was but a blade. A sword meant to cut down whoever opposes his master. And tonight, his purpose was to end the reign of a tyrant whose iron fist had brought suffering to the realm. At long last, the people should be free come sunrise.

With meticulous planning and unwavering determination, Kento had infiltrated the palace's inner walls, evading guards and traps alike. His previous time in the high mountains of the Shogai was also helpful, for their fundamental teachers were invaluable in his work as of the moment. Utilizing blind spots and the blanket of the night, he sneaked closer to the room of his target, located at the center of the palace compound, at the largest building. He was like a spectre in the night, a ghost flitting in through the walls and scurrying around undetected.

As he reached the king's chambers, Kento paused, his hand hovering over the hilt of his dagger. He knew that once he crossed this threshold, there would be no turning back. But doubt was a luxury he could not afford, not when the fate of the world hung on a tightrope. He was here because of orders, and as much as he was an assassin turned bodyguard, the teachings imparted to him did not dissipate once he chose his career.

The sliding doors made no sound as he opened it, much to his relief. It would make his job much easier. There was no telling if his target was a light sleeper or not, but if all things go smoothly, the body would be found in the morning by an unlucky housekeeper.

In one swift motion, Kento unsheathed his dagger and plunges it to the sleeping man’s throat. The old man, registering the pain, could only gargle in the pain as blood bubbled up to his lips. He struggled for a few seconds, grasping at his neck that was increasingly becoming red. A few seconds longer, the man’s movement stilled. He was gone.

He took a step back, letting loose a sigh of relief that he was holding back. It was his first sound in a while but still, he was cautious peering around the corners as he left the room with a dead body inside.

The next morning, the world woke up with a scream.