The camp had stopped breathing.
Since Kana fell—
everything had slowed to a crawl.
But now, Renji stood at the center.
A map spread before him.
Twelve warriors stood around him.
His eyes—exhausted, yet sharper than ever.
He wasn't grieving anymore.
He was planning.
"We will hit Lord Minato."
Renji's voice tore through the camp.
"No more waiting.
No more guessing.
We move east.
We take his town."
Everyone looked up.
Then voices rose—
"Our plan is working. Why risk it?"
"This isn't war. This is vengeance."
Takumi stepped forward.
"You're insane."
No venom.
No drama.
Just fact.
"That's Lord Minato.
Strongest Lord in the North.
He is harboring strong warriors.
Twenty Level Twos.
Five Level Threes.
Three Level Fours."
Rei nodded.
Kai crossed his arms.
"We're not an army.
We're barely a team."
Renji didn't blink.
"He's the strongest in the North.
If we take him down, the Empire will finally see us."
Takumi's tone darkened.
"You don't know that.
Daisuke still sits untouched in the drylands,
guarded by bloodlines older than our camp's oldest tree."
Renji's reply was quiet—but cold:
"I'd rather strike too early…
than bury more of us too late."
Takumi's voice broke.
"You're not doing this for Kana.
You're doing this for yourself.
Because you couldn't protect her either."
Silence.
Renji looked down. Then back at the map.
"I won't force anyone to come with me."
A pause. Then:
"Naoki took his team out this morning.
Watari went with them."
------------------------------------------------------
Meanwhile…
The woods were quiet.
But not peaceful.
Watari moved like a shadow.
Not silent—just… hollow.
Naoki walked ahead.
Steady.
Calm.
A man of few movements and fewer doubts.
Behind them:
—Misaki, arguing with Naoki like always.
—Aiko, calm, fingers brushing her arrows like old habits.
—Hajime, quick-eyed, weird but focused.
Watari whispered to himself:
"Scout the road.
Clear the path.
Make it safe for Renji's charge."
That's what he told himself.
But it wasn't why he came.
He left because Kana wouldn't wake.
Because Sensei wouldn't speak.
Because Sensei… had become very quiet.
Suddenly, Naoki raised a fist.
Everyone stopped.
Watari saw it—
A scout rider.
Lone.
Searching.
Watari drew his bow.
But his hands…
His hands shook.
"Just shoot," he muttered.
But he didn't.
The rider turned.
Too late.
Misaki fired.
One clean shot to the heart.
The body fell.
Misaki stepped past him.
"Did you see that, Naoki?"
He shrugged.
"Your ridiculously long hair blocked my view."
She scoffed.
"You're the tallest one in camp.
How could anyone block that big head of yours?"
They started bickering again.
Watari didn't hear them.
He was still holding the arrow he never used.
That night…
They camped by a still stream.
Naoki kept watch.
Aiko sharpened her blades.
Hajime murmured something about beautiful trees.
Misaki leaned on a log, chewing dried meat,
eyes still stealing glances at Naoki like he owed her.
Watari sat by the water.
The reflection looked back.
Tired eyes.
Clenched jaw.
And something else—
A man halfway to becoming a ghost.
He closed his hand over the arrow.
"You used to be the clean one.
Clean.
Composed.
Predictable.
Now you're just another ghost in the camp."
He swallowed.
"Next time, I won't hesitate."
He looked up at the stars.
Quiet.
Distant.
"Kana…
When I come back…
please still be here."