"The Amamiya Clan is still new… even after everything," Raizen muttered, staring into the dying firelight. "No matter how hard we grind, we can't grow fast enough on our own."
He sighed, the kind that came from somewhere deeper than lungs. Maybe this was what being the "Young Patriarch" really meant—watching everything burn and pretending it was part of the plan.
Over the years, the clan had been careful—too careful. Strict standards, cautious recruiting. It took seven long years to grow the Amamiya into a force of two thousand. And in one bloody campaign, they'd lost nearly a third.
The numbers made Raizen's stomach twist. Two thousand souls. Seven years. One war.
Progress, huh?
"If we can't produce strength fast enough," he thought, "then we borrow it. Recruit outsiders. Merge with other families. Whatever it takes."
He tilted his head toward the dark hills. "Songzan Mine and Yiseong," he called. "Any word from them?"
Amamiya Seiji stepped forward, scroll in hand. "Nothing yet, Raizen-sama. But both regions are secure. Our presence there is strong enough to repel any Kaguya attempts."
Raizen nodded. Those mines were lifelines—the gold veins that kept the clan breathing. Losing them wasn't an option.
"What about the Hanabira Clan and the Daitō Clan?"
Seiji glanced down at another report. "Intel from Tannin says the Kaguya haven't focused their forces between them. The pressure on those two fronts remains light."
Raizen crossed his arms, thinking. "Then the Kaguya only have two moves left."
He spoke more to himself now, voice low and tired. "Either they pull back—lick their wounds, rebuild their strength… or they strike weaker neighbors to recover what they lost."
Everyone around him fell silent. The air was heavy with the scent of blood and burned grass.
"The Kaguya won't come here again," Raizen continued. "They've learned that lesson. Lost nearly a thousand in the last battle. That's enough to make even their elders choke."
It was true. The defeat at Hefū Gorge had gutted the Kaguya. For a clan as proud as theirs, the blow was more than physical—it cracked their pride.
"They'll turn on the weaker clans next," Raizen murmured. "Hanabira, Daitō… if those fall, the Kaguya can recover. But if we intervene…"
He trailed off. The idea glittered in his mind like a kunai catching firelight.
"…we could profit from their desperation."
Still, there was a problem—control. He looked out across the camp, at his shinobi kneeling by fires, patching wounds, eating in silence. They followed him, yes. But to reshape the clan, to move it toward something greater—he'd need to own it completely.
"All shinobi, quiet!" Raizen's voice rang out. The murmurs died instantly. Every face turned toward him.
"Many of you already know," he began, "our patriarch—Amamiya Gen—has not returned from the front."
Whispers rippled through the crowd. Raizen didn't wait for them to settle. His tone hardened.
"The truth is… he didn't go missing." He straightened. "He fell in battle against the Kaguya."
For a heartbeat, no one breathed. Then the noise came—a low roar of disbelief, grief, anger.
A Jōnin stepped forward, voice shaking. "Raizen-sama… is that true?"
"Come with me," Raizen said quietly.
He led the senior shinobi to the rear of the camp. Three guards waited beside a sealed tent, their faces pale. When they saw Raizen, they hesitated only a moment before nodding grimly.
"Bring him out," Raizen said. "The clan deserves to see their patriarch one last time."
The guards lifted the body with care. When the tent flaps opened, silence consumed the camp.
Even in death, Amamiya Gen's face was peaceful. Too peaceful for a man who'd spent decades fighting to keep his clan alive.
One by one, the veterans dropped to their knees. The word tore from their throats like thunder.
"Patriarch!"
Some wept openly. Others simply stood, unmoving, their eyes hollow.
Raizen bowed his head. "He died for us," he said softly. "He deserves to rest among his people, not hidden like a shameful secret."
Amamiya Ten stepped beside him, voice low. "We kept the truth quiet to prevent panic during the war. But now… it's time."
Raizen nodded. The fire crackled behind them. The smell of death and incense hung thick in the air.
Amamiya Gen had ruled for decades—not as a conqueror, but as a man who refused to let his clan fade into dust. His death didn't feel like an ending. It felt like an inheritance Raizen had never wanted but could no longer refuse.
He clenched his fists. The others mourned. But Raizen was already thinking ahead—of mines, alliances, and enemies still breathing.
Because grief was a luxury the living couldn't afford.