The night wind carried the smell of pine, wet earth, and blood.
Arjun—no, Long Wei—moved silently through the forest, each step measured, each breath controlled.
The northern lights of the campfires flickered faintly in the distance, barely visible between the dark trunks of ancient trees. Every few moments, he paused, listening.
Leaves.
Wind.
A distant horse is snorting.
And once—
The faint metallic clink of armour.
He lowered himself behind a fallen log, eyes narrowing.
Soldiers.
Not one.
Four.
Moving in a line through the trees.
Their torches cut yellow arcs through the darkness.
Long Wei's fingers instinctively brushed the bark beside him as his mind began working.
Spacing.
Formation.
Speed.
Weapons.
Three spearmen.
One swordsman.
Poor discipline.
Not trained assassins.
Escort troops.
From the host memories, recognition surfaced.
Royal guards from the exile convoy.
He exhaled softly.
Good.
That meant the memories were stable.
But trust?
That was another matter.
After what Meiyue had done—
Trust had become a luxury.
The lead soldier called out.
"Your Highness!"
Long Wei's eyes sharpened.
Still using the old title.
Interesting.
Another voice followed, more nervous.
"We searched the ravine road. We thought the assassins had…"
He let them stew for a few more seconds before stepping out of the shadows.
The four men visibly flinched.
The youngest nearly dropped his spear.
"Bhoot!" he blurted.
Ghost.
For a moment, Long Wei almost smiled.
"Relax," he said dryly. "Zinda hoon abhi."
I'm still alive.
The soldiers hurried forward and dropped to one knee.
Captain Zhao Ren
The lead guard, a broad-shouldered man with a scar along his jaw, lowered his head.
"Forgive us, Your—"
He stopped himself.
A flicker of pain crossed his face.
"Forgive us, Young Master Long."
That correction told Long Wei everything.
Five years of exile.
The humiliation had already seeped into the ranks.
He studied the man.
Steady posture.
Clear eyes.
No visible deceit.
Still, he remained cautious.
"What happened after the attack?" Long Wei asked.
Captain Zhao Ren looked grim.
"The convoy was ambushed near the eastern pass. Most of the attendants were killed. We fought off the attackers, but when we returned…"
He glanced at Long Wei's bloodstained robe.
"We found only blood."
Long Wei nodded slowly.
The memory of the sword through the prince's chest flashed again.
That body should have died.
Yet here he was.
The pendant pulsed faintly beneath his robes.
No one else seemed to notice.
Good.
"Any idea who sent them?" he asked.
The soldiers exchanged uneasy glances.
Captain Zhao hesitated.
Then spoke carefully.
"The attackers wore no crest. But their sword style…"
His voice lowered.
"It resembled the palace shadow unit."
Long Wei's eyes darkened.
The palace shadow unit.
The secret force that answered only to the royal family.
Or more specifically—
to those close enough to manipulate it.
Prince Long Jun.
Consort Mei.
The names burned in his mind.
A bitter laugh escaped him.
"Bhai ne kaafi jaldi move kar diya."
My brother moved quickly.
Captain Zhao looked confused but wisely said nothing.
Long Wei straightened.
"Report."
The captain nodded.
"The royal decree still stands. You are to report to the Northern Border Fortress and serve five years as a common soldier."
The words settled heavily in the cold night.
Five years.
The host's memories stirred.
The humiliation of kneeling in court.
The emperor's cold gaze.
The younger prince's hidden smile.
The whispering ministers.
A public fall from grace.
Long Wei clenched his fist.
Five years.
For the old prince, it had been punishment.
For Arjun—
It was an opportunity.
His military mind immediately began restructuring the problem.
Exile meant distance from the capital.
Distance meant safety.
Safety meant time.
And time meant power.
A slow smile touched his lips.
Captain Zhao frowned.
"Is something funny, Young Master?"
Long Wei shook his head.
"Bas soch raha hoon."
Just thinking.
He looked north.
The border fortress.
A military zone.
Troops.
Supplies.
Terrain.
Perfect.
A soldier's paradise.
If the palace thought exile would weaken him...
They had sent a special forces officer to a battlefield.
"Kitni badi galti."
What a huge mistake.
By dawn, the group had reached the main road leading north.
The forest gave way to rugged hills and open stretches of frozen land. The wind grew sharper with every mile.
Long Wei rode at the front on a black horse, silent as he processed both sets of memories.
Arjun Rathore.
Captain.
Special Forces.
Modern tactics.
Survival expertise.
And now—
Long Wei.
Former crown prince.
Sword-trained.
Politically betrayed.
The two identities were no longer separate.
They were merging.
Becoming one.
The soldiers behind him spoke in hushed tones.
Some looked at him with pity.
Others with unease.
A fallen prince was still dangerous.
Especially one who had survived an assassination.
At midday, they stopped near a frozen stream.
Captain Zhao handed him a waterskin.
Long Wei accepted it.
"Tell me about the border."
The captain sat beside him.
"The Northern Border Fortress guards the frontier against the Wolf Cavalry tribes."
Wolf Cavalry Tribes
He continued.
"Raids have increased in recent months. Supplies from the capital have been reduced."
Long Wei's eyes narrowed.
"Reduced?"
Captain Zhao nodded.
"Yes."
A pause.
"Some believe it is deliberate."
Of course it was.
Starve the border.
Weaken the exiled prince.
Increase the chance of death.
Prince Long Jun's methods were efficient.
Cowardly.
But efficient.
Long Wei drank from the waterskin and let out a slow breath.
The pieces were aligning.
This wasn't just exile.
It was a slow execution.
But instead of fear, a cold excitement stirred within him.
This was familiar territory.
Limited resources.
Hostile zone.
Enemy pressure.
He had survived worse.
A memory surfaced.
An operation in Kashmir.
Snow.
Reduced ammunition.
Outnumbered six to one.
He had still brought his team back alive.
The northern fortress would be easier.
He stood.
Captain Zhao looked up.
"We move."
The captain hesitated.
"Without rest?"
Long Wei mounted his horse.
"In my world, soldiers don't survive by resting."
The words slipped out before he realised it.
Captain Zhao blinked.
"Your world?"
Long Wei smirked.
"Figure of speech."
The captain nodded uncertainly.
By evening, the fortress finally appeared.
Massive stone walls rose against the crimson sky, their watchtowers lined with archers and banners snapping in the icy wind.
Long Wei stared.
Impressive.
Functional.
Militarily sound.
The gate guards opened the doors as the convoy approached.
A horn sounded.
Inside, soldiers moved across training grounds, supply waggons rolled through muddy paths, and smoke rose from barracks chimneys.
The fortress was alive.
And vulnerable.
His eyes immediately noted weak points.
Poor tower rotation.
Slow patrol routes.
Supply bottleneck at the eastern gate.
His lips curved slightly.
"Kaam bahut hai."
A lot of work ahead.
Captain Zhao rode beside him.
"This will be your home for five years."
Long Wei looked at the towering walls.
Then at the darkening northern horizon beyond.
Five years.
Enough time to become stronger.
Enough time to uncover the truth.
Enough time to return.
His eyes turned cold.
"Five years is enough to build an army."
Captain Zhao frowned.
"What?"
Long Wei smiled faintly.
"Nothing."
But inside, the vow was already carved into stone.
He would survive this exile.
He would grow stronger.
And one day—
He would return to the capital.
Not as a fallen prince.
But as the storm that would tear the throne apart.