𝘗𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘥𝘢𝘺 - 𝘛𝘩𝘳𝘦𝘦 𝘮𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘩𝘴 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘔𝘰𝘯𝘨𝘰𝘭 𝘰𝘤𝘤𝘶𝘱𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯
The Mongol scout died with Katsuo's blade between his ribs, blood frothing on his lips as he tried to speak. Too late. The papers in his satchel had already told their story.
Three years of exile had taught Katsuo to kill without hesitation. The idealistic young retainer who'd tried to save those families was long dead—replaced by something harder, more practical. More necessary.
Katsuo wiped his tantō clean, studying the documents by firelight. Supply routes marked in careful brushstrokes. Defensive positions sketched with intimate detail. Guard rotations timed to the hour. The handwriting flowed like water—educated, precise. Japanese.
"Impossible," he breathed.
But the evidence spread before him like an accusation. Maps of Shimura lands showing hidden paths only locals would know. Tactical assessments written in perfect court Japanese. Supply schedules that matched information available only to high-ranking samurai.
Someone with access to the war councils was feeding intelligence to Targutai. Someone who understood bushido well enough to predict exactly how honorable men would respond to Mongol provocations.
Katsuo's hands trembled as he rolled the papers tight. Three years of exile had taught him to expect betrayal from other samurai. But this went deeper than personal ambition or political maneuvering. This was collaboration with foreign invaders. Treason that would see Tsushima burn.
The scar tissue across his chest pulled tight as rage built in his throat. He'd been cast out as a traitor for trying to save innocent lives. Now a real traitor sold Japanese blood for Mongol coin.
---
Twenty miles north, Jin crouched in tall grass watching the Mongol command tent. He'd tracked the messenger for hours through mountain passes, following instincts honed by weeks of guerrilla warfare. The rider's route made no sense—too direct, too confident. Moving like someone who knew the terrain intimately.
The tent flap opened. Jin's breath caught in his throat.
A figure in Japanese clothing emerged from the command structure. Not a prisoner or forced advisor—someone moving with the easy confidence of welcome. The man carried himself like nobility, silk kimono pristine despite the military camp's harsh conditions.
Jin pressed closer, using shadow and sound discipline his uncle would have called dishonorable. The conversation carried on night wind, words mixing Japanese and Mongol in fluid exchange.
"...mountain passes will be blocked by early snow. Better to move now while the paths remain clear."
The Mongol officer nodded, pointing at maps spread between them. "Your intelligence has proven accurate. Shimura's forces moved exactly as you predicted."
Jin's blood turned to ice. Someone was providing tactical assessments to the enemy. Someone who understood Japanese military doctrine well enough to anticipate Lord Shimura's strategies.
The Japanese advisor turned slightly, profile visible in torchlight. Something familiar in those refined features, but the distance and shadows made identification impossible.
Jin's world tilted sideways regardless. Someone from the noble class was actively collaborating with the enemy.
---
The sake tasted like ash in Katsuo's mouth. He sat in the abandoned shrine, documents spread around him like evidence of damnation. Each paper drove the truth deeper into his chest—the invasion had inside help from the beginning.
Troop movements betrayed before they began. Supply lines exposed to raiding parties. Defensive preparations countered with surgical precision. The Mongols weren't just superior fighters—they were fighting with perfect intelligence.
The handwriting looked familiar, but he couldn't place it. Educated brushstrokes from someone trained in court calligraphy. Not a common soldier or hired spy—this traitor moved in noble circles.
Katsuo's sword sang from its scabbard, steel catching firelight like liquid silver. The papers caught flame one by one, evidence burning while rage consumed whatever remained of his honor.
Someone had betrayed everyone. Students, lords, the entire island. Someone with access to the highest war councils was feeding Mongol commanders everything they needed to crush Japanese resistance.
Including detailed intelligence that could have orchestrated the trap in that hidden valley where sixteen innocents had died for Katsuo's conscience.
The shrine filled with smoke and bitter laughter. All of it—the scarring, the exile, the lessons in necessity—had been preparation for this moment. Training to become the kind of man who could kill a traitor without hesitation.
---
Jin's hands shook as he retreated from the command camp. Each step away felt like fleeing the scene of his own murder. The Japanese advisor's profile burned in his memory—refined features, expensive silk, the bearing of cultivated nobility.
Someone from the highest ranks of society. Someone his uncle would trust implicitly.
The man who'd argued for conventional tactics while Mongol forces carved through traditional defenses. Who'd insisted on maintaining honor while enemies gained every advantage. Who'd had access to every plan Jin's network developed.
Jin found shelter in a grove of pine trees, legs suddenly unable to support his weight. The betrayal cut deeper than any blade. Not just collaboration—orchestration. The Japanese advisor's hadn't simply provided intelligence. He'd shaped the entire resistance strategy to benefit Mongol objectives.
Every plan discussed in war councils. Every defensive position established. Every supply cache hidden. All of it reported to Targutai within hours.
Jin pressed his face into pine needles, breathing in resin and earth while nausea churned his stomach. How many samurai had died charging into perfectly prepared ambushes? How many civilians had been slaughtered in villages Japanese advisor's had marked for elimination?
The Ghost had been hunting shadows while the real enemy sat at his uncle's right hand.
---
The messenger arrived at dawn, exhausted from hard riding. Katsuo read the hastily brushed characters with growing certainty. Jin's intelligence network had identified the same threat.
𝘑𝘢𝘱𝘢𝘯𝘦𝘴𝘦 𝘢𝘥𝘷𝘪𝘴𝘰𝘳 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘧𝘪𝘳𝘮𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘵 𝘛𝘢𝘳𝘨𝘶𝘵𝘢𝘪'𝘴 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘮𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘵. 𝘏𝘪𝘨𝘩-𝘳𝘢𝘯𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘯𝘰𝘣𝘭𝘦. 𝘐𝘯𝘷𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘨𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘶𝘪𝘯𝘨.
Of course Jin had reached the same conclusion. Different methods, same revelation. The scarred traitor and the honorable Ghost, united by necessity and shared purpose.
Katsuo burned the message, watching smoke rise toward grey clouds. The irony tasted bitter as old blood. He'd been exiled for mercy while someone in the noble class planned genocide. Marked as untrustworthy while a real traitor sold Tsushima to foreign devils.
But exile had taught him lessons no pampered lord could imagine. Three years of rejection and hardship had burned away everything soft in his character. The idealistic young retainer was long dead. What remained had no patience for honor or procedure.
The traitor—whoever he was—would soon learn what exile had created.
The hunt was about to begin.
---
In his own camp, Jin stared at intercepted Mongol dispatches with hollow eyes. The intelligence pattern was undeniable—someone with perfect knowledge of Japanese defensive doctrine had been advising Targutai from the invasion's first day.
Every tactical decision his uncle had made. Every stronghold established. Every civilian evacuation route planned. All of it anticipated and countered with brutal efficiency.
Someone had played them all like pieces on a go board. Counseled honor while enabling massacre. Preached tradition while practicing treason. Used their position to orchestrate the perfect betrayal.
Jin's ancestral blade whispered from its scabbard. Steel that had served the Sakai family for generations. Steel that would taste traitor's blood once the enemy was identified.
But first, he needed to find the man who'd been exiled for having a conscience. The rōnin whose scarring marked him as untrustworthy. The only other person who might understand the kind of betrayal they were facing.
Jin and Katsuo would hunt together one more time. Not as Ghost and Demon, but as betrayed patriots seeking justice.
The convergent intelligence had revealed there was a true enemy among them. Now the real investigation could begin.