Outside, the sounds of insects and night birds echoed, but the atmosphere inside the house was far noisier than on ordinary nights: hushed whispers, cautious footsteps, and the sound of doors being opened and closed with forced care.

  Nobuzan awoke from her restless sleep. Beside her, the bed felt empty and cold. She groped the mattress, realizing Fitran was not in the room. Her heart raced—not from fear of enemies outside, but from anxiety over the shadows lurking within her own home.

  She rose, wrapping a blanket around her shoulders. From the gap in the door, she heard Fitran’s heavy yet steady footsteps descending the stairs toward the back room.

  Fitran walked slowly, wearing a thin black cloak without any insignia. In his hands, he carried two scrolls of paper. He waited in the storage room below, where the light from the oil lamp barely reached the corners of the room.

  “You're late, Riki,” Fitran said, his voice low but firm. “Do you know what that means?”

  Riki lowered his gaze, his face pale. “I’m sorry, sir. I... was held up.”

  “We don’t have time for that. This is more important,” Fitran handed him one of the scrolls. “Take this.”

  Riki hesitated, “But, are they ready?”

  Fitran fixed him with a sharp gaze. “Readiness is not for you to judge. Just deliver my orders.”

  “And if something goes wrong?” Riki dared to ask, his curiosity battling his fear.

  “Mistakes cannot be undone. And their price... could be more than you imagine,” Fitran replied, his voice calm, yet an underlying threat lingered.

  “Do you know what will happen if they don’t receive this message?” Riki began to grasp the weight of his task, but his fear was held back by loyalty.

  Fitran frowned. “Deliver this message, and never get caught up in anxiety. Your loyalty will be tested—more than just a task.”

  “Take this to the small riverbank, under the old bridge. Someone from Qihuang Shin will be waiting before dawn. Tell them: the troops will move from the southern gate, and all spiral weapons are stored in the eastern warehouse.”

  Riki bowed his head, his lips trembling. “Fate-dono… are you sure? What if—”

  “Don’t hesitate, Riki. If anyone finds you before you arrive, what will you say?” Fitran’s gaze was piercing, his voice trembling with authority. “You know what happens to those who fail.”

  “Don’t talk. Just do it. If you return before dawn, I will ensure you and your family are safe from this chaos.”

  Riki nodded uncertainly, his face a mask of confusion. “But I feel like we… are being played.”

  “There is no game between us,” Fitran replied, his tone suddenly hardening. “There is only the mission. And in this world, Riki, every decision has a price.”

  Riki nodded again, trying to shake off the chilling feeling in his chest. “But are you sure this isn’t a trap? It feels… dangerous.”

  Fitran stepped closer, gripping Riki’s shoulder. “Your courage is your strength. You must be brave enough to face the consequences. Now, don’t waste time.”

  Resolutely, Riki pushed aside his doubts, “Alright. I will do it. But if something goes wrong—”

  “If something goes wrong, we won’t have time to discuss it,” Fitran said with a thin smile, one that didn’t reach his eyes. “Go, Riki. Time is ticking.”

  Riki nodded one last time and quickly vanished into the darkness, unaware that the message he carried was a verse from a destructive plan devised by Fitran to disrupt Qihuang Shin’s strategy.

  From the staircase, Nobuzan peeked in. She couldn’t hear the entire conversation, but she recognized Fitran’s body language—tense shoulders, overly steady hand movements, and a sharp gaze ready to cut down anyone who hesitated.

  After Riki left, Nobuzan slipped into the back room. She confronted Fitran, standing tall between the door and the shadows.

  The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

  “You know this conversation shouldn’t be happening here, right?” Nobuzan asked, her tone tense.

  Fitran smiled faintly, “You’ve been clever enough to keep your distance, Nobuzan. Why do you want to get closer now?”

  Fitran was not surprised. He slowly closed the door, looking at Nobuzan with dark yet calculating eyes.

  “I’ve heard more than you think, Fitran. And your silence speaks more than words,” Nobuzan added in a low voice, her choice of words always sharp.

  “You’re thinking too much about things that aren’t your concern, Nobuzan. I’m doing what I must to keep this house safe,” Fitran replied, his voice steady despite the tension in his tone.

  Nobuzan held back the anger boiling in her chest.

  “So that’s your excuse for lying to everyone? Perhaps the ‘defense’ you’re building will crumble faster than you expect,” she said, emphasizing each word precisely.

  Nobuzan stared at Fitran, a silent challenge lurking between them as silence hung in the air.

  “You’re thinking too much about things that aren’t your concern, Nobuzan. I’m doing what I must to keep this house safe.”

  Nobuzan held back the anger boiling in her chest. “Safe? Or betraying every promise we made?” Her voice hissed, challenging.

  “Does that mean you have to lie to everyone? Even your own family?”

  Fitran stepped closer, his voice remaining calm yet clearly laced with a gentle threat. “My family? Who is truly enjoying this game?”

  “Do you want Yamato to win or survive? This world is unfair, and sometimes the truth must be sacrificed for a great victory. I won’t let our child grow up without a father—and you, without a home you can call ‘safe.’”

  Nobuzan sighed, “Not all sacrifices can be justified, Fitran. What is a home if we can’t inhabit it in peace?”

  Nobuzan took a step back, looking at her husband as if she were seeing two different people—Fitran whom she loved, and Fitran who was ready to consume anyone for victory. “Is all of this worth what you’re risking?”

  “I don’t need a house full of secrets, Fitran. I just want a family that can trust each other.”

  Fitran lowered his gaze, his voice softening, almost pleading. “Trust can be deceptive, Nobuzan. And I won’t let myself be trapped in an illusion.” He stepped back, looking deep into his wife’s eyes.

  “Trust won’t protect us from the enemy’s sword, Nobuzan. Only cunning, only a little lie, can save you tonight.”

  Nobuzan resisted that gaze. “You call this salvation? Indeed, you always have a way to justify yourself…”

  Nobuzan’s tears broke free, but she held them back with a bite of her lip. “There are things more important than all of this,” she said in a low tone, her eyes glistening in the dim night. “We’ve come this far, Fitran.” She realized there was no point in arguing longer in the midst of a night full of shadows.

  “I hope all your schemes don’t make you forget one thing: our child is not a weapon. I will protect them in my own way—even if it means going against you.”

  “Against? We need strategy, not battle,” Fitran replied, his voice firm yet trembling. He held Nobuzan’s hand, embracing her from behind. “Trust me, there’s a way out of this darkness.”

  “I know, and that’s why I love you. Because you’ve always been the light, even when I have to walk in the dark.”

  For a moment, they stood in silence. Not just a husband and wife left, but two warriors on a bloody battlefield. Yet between that embrace, there was a wide chasm—a chasm created by war, lies, and fears that never truly vanished. “You don’t think they’ll just give up, do you?” she said, her voice low, but filled with questions.

  Meanwhile, outside the walls of Yamato, an officer from Qihuang Shin received the scroll from Riki. He read the false map and immediately ordered a small squad to infiltrate the southern gate and search for the spiral warehouse in the east. “We can’t let this information fall into their hands,” he insisted to his subordinates.

  However, as the squad moved, they entered a corridor already filled with traps: tripwires on the ground, false doors that locked them in, and sleeping gas hidden in the corners of the warehouse. Three were caught, two others fainted among the ruins. “Stop! Don’t move!” shouted the squad leader, but no one heard him as they were trapped.

  At the main post of Qihuang Shin, news of the failure spread quickly. “What really happened?” asked an officer suspiciously, glaring at his colleagues. Some officers pointed fingers at each other, suspecting betrayal among themselves. “We’re always faced with different faces, even among ourselves,” one officer sneered. The situation grew tense as uncertainty clouded the atmosphere.

  The next morning, as news of the infiltrators’ capture spread, the elders of Oda gathered in the main hall. Senzaburo and Hisayuki argued about who leaked the information, while Ryumaru tried to mediate. “These accusations could destroy us more than we think,” he said with a worried tone.

  “Enough! We can’t trust anyone if we keep accusing each other!” Ryumaru shouted. “Who dares to sacrifice others for themselves?”

  Meanwhile, Nobuzan sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the promise letter for their child still hanging above the crib. “Why does it have to be like this?” she whispered, tears falling—she felt defeated, both as a wife, a leader, and a soon-to-be mother. “I don’t want our child to be born into this darkness,” she said, her voice barely audible.

  Fitran entered the room, sitting beside Nobuzan. “Are we really going to be like this?” he asked, his voice low. He took her hand, this time without words. “I heard a sound outside earlier, did you too?” Nobuzan looked at him, not answering. Just a tight grip, and a gaze pleading for forgiveness.

  That night ended without embraces, without words of “sorry” or “thank you.” “I just want to know where we will be tonight,” Fitran whispered, breaking the silence. Nobuzan turned her back to him on the bed, while Fitran stared at the ceiling, counting the seconds until dawn felt increasingly distant.

  Yet outside the walls, the world continued to move—and the secret war, strategies, and love filled with wounds continued to dance in the silent corridors of Yamato.