The morning sun rose over the Voss Kingdom, bathing the estate in pale gold. From here, in the eastern reaches of the continent, one could see distant mountain ridges where rival warlords carved their territories and villages burned from past raids.
Lucien Voss, fourth son of the Voss Family, walked quietly along the edge of the training hall. Around him, soldiers practiced sword forms, internal arts, and battlefield maneuvers. Their movements were precise, confident, and loud. Yet none of them noticed him. None paid attention. And that was exactly how he liked it.
At thirteen, Lucien had already learned the truth of the Murim world: strength draws attention, intelligence remains unseen.
His brothers had inherited power naturally—their bodies were weapons, their qi flowed like rivers—but Lucien… Lucien had something sharper. Something invisible. Something that could shape armies without lifting a blade.
He stopped beside a group of soldiers sparring with wooden swords. Their attacks were sloppy, predictable, and arrogant. Lucien studied each misstep, every hesitation, every flicker of doubt.
A soldier overextended and left his side open. Another hesitated to block, caught between fear and pride. Lucien's mind ran through every possibility—if a real enemy struck like this, who would survive? Who would falter? Who could be manipulated for a single advantage?
"Stop!" Lucien's voice was soft, almost apologetic. The soldiers turned, sneering.
"The fourth son? Here to lecture us?" one spat.
Lucien smiled faintly. "Not to lecture… just to show you a better way."
He stepped forward and corrected their form—not by force, but with reasoning. Why one swing left them vulnerable. How a slight shift of stance could turn defense into control. How hesitation could be exploited in real combat.
The soldiers laughed at first, amused by a boy weaker than any of them. But as they followed his guidance, subtle changes appeared. Movements sharpened. Defense tightened. Attacks flowed more naturally.
No one realized the lesson was more than sword technique. Lucien was teaching strategy, observation, and subtle manipulation. And in the process, he was testing them—learning who was clever, who was bold, and who could be swayed to his future plans.
Later that day, in the council hall of the Voss estate, generals argued over troop deployment along the northern border. Rival warlords in the Eastern Continent had grown bold, raiding villages and claiming tribute from smaller clans. Generals shouted, demanded reinforcements, and blamed one another for mistakes.
Lucien's mind worked quietly, recording every word, every hesitation, every bruised ego. When one general finally asked, "Fourth son… do you have an opinion?" the hall fell silent.
Lucien bowed politely, hiding the storm of calculation in his eyes. "Perhaps… we should consider the enemy's psychology. He strikes where pride blinds the commander. He assumes we will respond with force where we feign weakness. If we set a calculated retreat… the trap could be ours."
Whispers erupted. Some generals scoffed. Others glanced at his brothers, confused. The strategy was audacious, risky, almost absurd—but unsettling.
His words planted both doubt and possibility. For the first time, the soldiers and generals questioned more than brute strength. They began questioning the shape of victory itself.
That night, Lucien stood atop the training hall balcony, gazing eastward. The wind tugged at his hair, and fires from distant villages painted the horizon red.
He smiled faintly.
They believed him weak.
They believed he could not cultivate qi, could not wield sword or spear with mastery, could not lead men in battle.
And yet, invisibly, he was already doing all of those things.
He was not the sword. He was the hand that guided it. Not the army. But the mind that controlled it.
The first move had been made.
And in the Eastern Continent, as in all of Murim, the one who controlled the game from the shadows always wins.
Lucien Voss, fourth son of the Voss Family, would see to that.