The eastern winds howled across the Voss estate, carrying the scent of pine, distant fires, and blood. The northern border had been secured, yet the true war was now inside the walls.
Kaelric moved through the training hall, his sword slicing through the air, qi glowing faintly around his hands. He was stronger than ever, faster than before—but subtly, dangerously, he had begun relying on Lucien's guidance. Every decision he made, every strategy he planned, carried traces of the fourth son's influence. And he did not notice it.
Lucien observed quietly from the shadows, his hands folded behind his back, lips curved in a faint, almost imperceptible smile. The threads were holding. Every word, every suggestion, every seed of doubt he had planted had grown into action. Kaelric's arrogance—once a shield—was now a leash.
"Brother," Lucien said softly, stepping into the hall. "I sense your qi is uneven. The eastern ridge maneuvers will be difficult. If you push too hard… you may overextend."
Kaelric paused, thinking. "You are right," he said finally. "Perhaps I should… act preemptively. Strike first, before Ragnar notices the weakness."
Lucien's lips curved slightly. Exactly as I planned.
Over the next days, Lucien's influence deepened. He whispered doubts about Ragnar's decisions, highlighting imagined mistakes, and praising Kaelric's "independent insight." Kaelric grew confident that every move he made was his own genius—but in truth, Lucien had already predicted each step.
One evening, as the full moon rose over the Eastern Continent, the brothers gathered to inspect a series of tactical simulations for future raids. Lucien allowed Kaelric to lead the demonstration, guiding his sword and qi flows. Slowly, carefully, Kaelric pushed too far, overstretching his internal energy.
Lucien remained calm, observing as Kaelric's pride and trust in himself drew him into a dangerous position. A misstep in cultivation, a slip in strategy—and the trap would be set.
Ragnar, standing nearby, noticed the imbalance but hesitated. The fourth son—always quiet, always weak—was still present, still seemingly harmless. Ragnar's mind raced: could Lucien have orchestrated this? No… he is just a boy. Weak. But… the feeling lingered, gnawing at him.
That night, Kaelric's ambition led him further. Acting on the suggestions Lucien had planted, he led a small group of soldiers to "secure" a supposedly unstable pass along the northern border. The trap Lucien had predicted awaited: terrain, enemy scouts, and miscalculated qi flows.
It happened quickly. Kaelric's forces were ambushed—not fully destroyed, but enough that he himself would bear the blame for reckless action. Soldiers whispered about errors, bad judgment, and overconfidence. Kaelric returned to the estate humiliated, shaken, yet unable to realize the fourth son's subtle orchestration.
Lucien watched from the shadows as Kaelric stumbled into the hall, face pale, qi faltering.
"You were brave," Lucien said softly, bowing slightly. "But the mind is as important as strength, brother. Let us study these mistakes together, so they do not happen again."
Kaelric nodded, relief and pride mingling in his eyes. He believed Lucien had saved him, guided him, and corrected his errors. He did not know he had walked directly into the spider's web.
And Lucien, fourth son of the Voss Family, smiled faintly.
The first true thread of control was complete. Kaelric would continue to trust him, act under his influence, and ultimately move exactly as Lucien needed him to.
Yet Ragnar's unease grew. The eldest son still did not understand fully, but the instincts of a warrior and strategist were awake. Lucien had shown his fangs. Ragnar was beginning to watch him with suspicion, the first spark of danger in the family's quiet war.
Lucien's gaze lifted to the distant Eastern mountains, lit by moonlight. The map of the Eastern Continent—political, martial, and familial—lay before him like a game board.
And now, every piece would fall exactly where he willed it.