When they returned to the military camp, the air was thick with the kind of joy that felt almost too loud—too sharp. Torches blazed, drums echoed from the cliff walls, and soldiers clapped one another on the back, singing songs about the great victory they'd won. Men danced, boots kicking dust into the firelight, and voices bellowed Ryusoke's name like a chant of deliverance.
"Ryusoke the Demon Blade!"
"Ryusoke the Prince-Slayer!"
"Our General who never kneels!"
But beneath the joy, there was a heaviness.
Some soldiers smiled with their eyes lowered, some laughed a little too hard, and some clutched mugs of rice wine like it could drown their sorrow. Because for every cheer that rose, there was the absence of someone who had marched beside them just days ago—men who had joked around the fire, sung off-key, shared dried fish and secrets. And now? Their armor sat folded, untouched. Their bowls never to be filled again.
Nori noticed it, of course.
