The room was dark, made of ancient stone, with the cracked crest of the Jaegal Clan adorning the wall like a reminder of glories and downfalls. The air was damp and heavy, smelling of mold and iron. Maps lay open on the central table, pinned down by black stones so they wouldn't be carried away by the wind whistling through the cracks.
I traced a line with an ink-stained finger.
— This is the route we'll take, I announced, slowly dragging a red line through the winding valley drawn on the map.
The vice-commander leaned in, eyes narrowed.
— This exposes us too much. The Ryong will predict this path in seconds. — He hesitated. — With all due respect, commander, this seems like the kind of plan a fool would make.
I smiled, calm.
— Exactly.
He frowned, confused.
— They'll think we're naïve. That we're desperate or blinded by revenge. When they see the troops marching down this obvious trail, they'll pounce like hungry predators.
— But... you'd be at the front, he said, more quietly now. They would come after you first.
I shook my head.
— That's what they'll think. But it won't be me.
— What do you mean?
I crossed my arms and looked directly at him.
— It will be a double. Someone with similar appearance and build. Identical clothing. Trained movements. He'll lead the false troop and die... convincingly.
The vice-commander paled slightly.
— And where will you be?
— Where they least expect, I replied. In silence, in the shadows. Leading the Ócultos through a gorge that appears on no map. When they believe I'm dead... I'll be behind them.
He hesitated again. The plan was bold, cold.
— And if the double runs away?
I was silent for a moment. Then stepped closer to the table, lowering my voice.
— I told him: if he runs, his family dies. One by one. Slowly.
His eyes widened.
— And when he dies?
— His family will receive more gold than they could spend in three generations. A life of honor for a useful death.
Silence. He swallowed hard.
— Commander... you're more dangerous than you seem.
My smile didn't reach my eyes.
— Good.
The plan was set.
On paper, a predictable defeat.
In reality... the perfect trap.
And as the vice-commander sealed the orders and messengers ran through the corridors, only one certainty grew within me:
That even defeat can be the beginning of victory — when the enemy believes in it too much.
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Marginal note, preserved in the records of the Low Mist:
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Structure of the Ócultos
Full name: The Ócultos
Function: Secret elite unit specialized in infiltration, assassination, and psychological warfare.
Loyalty: Not to the clan, but to the one who saw the Path That Does Not Exist.
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Internal hierarchy:
1. The Shadow
The first step. The lowest among the Ócultos.
The Shadow does not speak, is not noticed, is not allowed to act independently.
Lives to observe, follow orders, erase itself.
It is the stage in which the initiate ceases to be someone.
2. Commander's Apprentice
One who has shown enough intelligence and loyalty to be prepared for leadership.
Begins to recover speech, judgment. Learns to see through the mist.
Serves directly under the Hidden Commander.
3. Hidden Commander
The direct leader of the unit. Conducts the rituals, determines targets and strategies.
The only one authorized to maintain continuous communication with the one who saw the Path That Does Not Exist.
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Initiation Ritual — The Rite of Loss
To become a Shadow — the first stage among the Ócultos — the initiate must:
Cut off the left pinky finger, as a sign of renouncing identity.
Remain in complete silence for thirty days, during which they will be observed.
Receive a new name, whispered only once by the Hidden Commander.
Seal the oath:
"I will not see. I will not be seen. I exist only where eyes do not reach."
After this, the initiate is considered dead to the outside world.
They have no face, no past, no name.
Only the mission.