I returned to the Jaegal Clan as if nothing had changed. On the surface, I was the same studious young man who had left in search of teachings at the Low Mist Sect. But inside, I was something else — a hidden blade, waiting for the right moment to strike.
At night, I left the clan grounds under the pretense of meditating in the mountains. There, I met Gwan Taejin, the patriarch who would lead the attack. We had arranged everything, but he wanted to look into my eyes one last time before the war began.
"Are you sure about this?" he asked.
"There's no other path," I replied, handing him a small bottle. "For courage." He accepted it and drank.
"There's an opening in the formation on the western side," I said. "I'll disable it for a few minutes. You'll have to be fast. Strike with strength, but not with fury. Just enough to make it look real."
Gwan Taejin nodded.
"When?"
"Tomorrow night."
And we parted.
The moon was hidden behind thick clouds, and the silence felt heavier than usual. The clan slept under a false sense of security, lulled by the protective formations so many feared.
I walked along the walls like any other guard on patrol. No one suspected a thing. My absence had been justified with wisdom and forged scrolls from the Low Mist Sect.
Upon reaching the western section, I paused before the central pillar of the barrier. An ancient seal was affixed there — complex, ancestral, but vulnerable to someone who had studied four years under Li Yoon.
I whispered the correct words. The seal glowed, resisted… then gave way.
The blue flames of the formations vanished across twenty meters. The blind spot was created.
I stepped back, vanishing into the shadows. From the top of a nearby tree, I watched the horizon.
And then I saw the torches. Like hungry eyes, they emerged from the forest. The Gwan Clan advanced in silence, a wave of warriors cloaked by night.
In seconds, chaos erupted.
"Intruders!" someone shouted — too late.
The sound of steel against steel echoed. Smaller gates were broken down. Sentinels fell before they even understood what was happening.
The warriors of the Gwan Clan invaded with precision. They knew where to strike, who to bring down, and which areas to ignore. I had instructed them well.
The central courtyard was overtaken. The medical wing burned. The lesser library collapsed. But it wasn't total destruction — it was theater, and the audience was the clan's council.
My targets were clear: Jaegal Seong and Elder Ma Yung.
From above, I saw the second son being awakened in a rush. He ran to the wall with a short sword in hand, still in his sleeping clothes.
Ma Yung appeared soon after, shouting disorganized orders to defend.
I smiled.
The stage was set.
And in that theater of blood and fire, I was the director.