The sky over Flamewind Empire was dyed with crimson clouds, and beneath that ominous hue, the world moved like nothing was wrong. Markets buzzed. Courtiers whispered gossip. Sect elders meditated in silence. But above all, something else moved—a shadow without a face, a storm with no sound.
And at the center of it stood Priyanshu Yadav, the puppet master.
He wasn't in his usual black robes today.
Instead, he wore the dignified white-and-gold scholar attire of a royal guest. Hair tied in a loose jade clasp, his sword sealed inside a spiritual pendant, he looked every bit like a rising genius from the Eastern Academies. Calm. Refined. Unthreatening.
But the truth?
He was attending the King's Feast—an elite banquet thrown only once every three years, reserved for royals, sect leaders, and top cultivators. A political battlefield hidden behind smiles and wine.
For Priyanshu, it was the perfect hunting ground.
He stepped through the enormous golden gates of the Imperial Palace with quiet grace. The marble floors reflected the stars. Guards bowed as he passed. But no one really noticed him.
Just as planned.
He was introduced formally.
"From the Eastern Highlands," the announcer called out, "a rising scholar and young formation master—Priyanshu Yadav."
A few heads turned, mostly out of courtesy. But one pair of eyes narrowed slightly.
Seated beneath a crimson veil on the upper dais was Princess Ruolan, known as the Moonlight Jewel of Flamewind. Her eyes sparkled with recognition, though she kept her expression composed.
She remembered him.
The boy with the calm smile. The words that had unsettled her soul.
He shouldn't be here.
And yet, here he was—sipping wine like a noble, sitting among the sons of generals, the disciples of sect leaders, the heirs of clans.
He didn't belong.
And yet, he fit in better than any of them.
From his seat, Priyanshu watched them all.
The drunken prince bragging about his duel victories.
The sect master's daughter faking laughter for approval.
The grand elder subtly pressuring the king with every word he chose.
Fools, all of them.
Because none of them noticed what was really happening.
While they drank and boasted, Priyanshu was already laying down silent traps.
He sent a servant to deliver a sealed note to the First Prince.
Inside the note was a single sentence: "Your younger brother plans to poison your wine. Tonight."
It was a lie, of course.
But the prince's hands trembled as he read it.
Moments later, his younger brother's wine was knocked over 'accidentally', a loud scene unfolding, and a heated argument began.
The seed was planted.
The suspicion would fester.
And the royal court would fracture just a little more.
Priyanshu watched the entire chaos unfold with a soft chuckle.
He didn't need to assassinate anyone.
He just needed them to destroy each other.
And they always did.
"Enjoying the party?" came a voice.
He turned.
Princess Ruolan had approached him, her silver robes flowing like moonlight over a river.
She was beautiful—undeniably so. Eyes too sharp to be naive, lips always slightly pressed as though hiding something unspeakable.
"I always enjoy watching people lie with elegance," Priyanshu replied with a smile.
She tilted her head. "You're a strange one."
"Strange is just another word for honest."
Ruolan's eyes searched his face.
"You're dangerous," she said softly.
"And yet," he replied, "you still walked over to talk to me."
She didn't deny it.
Instead, she said, "You're not a formation master. Or a scholar. Who are you really?"
He smiled, that same unreadable smile that made her heart both race and hesitate.
"Let's not ruin the party with truths."
And with that, he stepped away, leaving her staring at his back, more confused than before.
Elsewhere in the banquet, a member of the Silver Jade Pavilion excused himself to the restroom. As he turned a corner, he was grabbed from behind.
A cold blade pressed against his throat.
Priyanshu whispered in his ear.
"You sold information about the Flamewind Vault to the Southern Rebels."
"I—I don't know what you're—"
"You have three options. Die now. Get exposed publicly. Or serve me from the shadows."
The man trembled.
"I'll serve."
A mark appeared on his wrist—black, winding, subtle.
The Shadow Mark.
Invisible to everyone except Priyanshu.
Another dog added to the leash.
He let the man go, and seconds later, the poor soul returned to the banquet, pale and shaky, drawing no attention.
Just how Priyanshu wanted it.
Back inside, more games unfolded.
He leaked subtle information to a city governor about a supposed 'uprising' by the merchant guild.
He planted a flirtatious letter inside the robe of the Grand Alchemist's wife.
He whispered a coded phrase to a servant girl, triggering her latent spy programming, awakening her as a Sleeper Agent trained by the Dark Heaven Society.
One banquet.
And the entire empire would be walking into his hands by dawn.
This was his war.
No swords. No explosions.
Only whispers. Only seduction. Only control.
Later, as the night deepened, and music flowed through the garden, Priyanshu stood near the edge of a koi pond, watching the water ripple beneath falling petals.
Beside him appeared a girl.
Not Ruolan.
This time, it was Anaya—his new recruit. The girl who had tried to investigate him and ended up kneeling at his side willingly.
She handed him a sealed envelope.
"From the Azure Kingdom. The queen herself wants to meet. Alone."
Priyanshu raised a brow.
"Curious. Has she heard of me?"
"She's heard… rumors. About a man who controls kingdoms without lifting a blade."
He turned to Anaya.
"And you? How do you feel now, Anaya? Regret joining the villain's side?"
She stepped closer, her lips inches from his ear.
"I don't regret anything. Especially not being this close to the man who's making history."
He smiled again.
The seduction wasn't one-sided anymore.
And then came the final act of the evening.
As the king raised a toast to prosperity, a sudden gust of wind blew through the banquet.
Torches flickered.
And in the next moment, dozens of guards collapsed, their minds clouded with illusion.
No one else noticed.
But Priyanshu did.
He turned slowly—and locked eyes with a masked woman seated across the garden.
A challenge.
A message.
An assassin?
Or something more?
He didn't know yet.
But he welcomed the distraction.
Because the deeper he played this game, the more exciting it became.
And he was far from done.
The strongest villain didn't always strike first.
He let the world try… and fail.
And when it broke into pieces?
He picked them up, smiled, and asked gently—
"Now… shall we begin?"