Ghost in the palace

The wind carried smoke and shouting long before the horns sounded.

The northern camp, once calm, now seethed like a boiling pot.

From the ridge above, Duke Lian could see torches moving — hundreds of them — bobbing in the darkness like angry fireflies.

”Your Grace!” a soldier stumbled up the hill, breathless. ”The villagers— they’ve gathered at the supply yard! They say the Duke hides food meant for them!”

The Duke’s eyes narrowed. ”That’s absurd. We distributed grain this morning.”

General Roung strode forward, his face grim. ”Rumors spread faster than fire, my lord. Someone’s feeding them lies.”

Below, the shouts grew louder. ”Traitors! Thieves! Give us our food!”

The Duke felt his stomach twist. After all we did... someone still twists their hunger into hatred.

By the time they reached the yard, the scene had already spiraled out of control.

Dozens of starving villagers, men and women both, surrounded the wagons filled with grain sacks.

A few soldiers tried to hold the line, shields raised, voices pleading for calm.

A rock flew through the air, striking a guard across the face.

Another hit one of the horses, sending it rearing wildly.

”Stop this madness!” Duke Lian shouted, stepping forward. His deep voice carried across the yard, but desperation drowned it.

”They’re stealing our food!” a man screamed from the crowd. ”He’s feeding the nobles while our children starve!”

”That’s a lie!” Roung bellowed, moving to stand beside the Duke. ”Every family received rations—”

But his words ended in a grunt as a stone slammed into his shoulder.

He stumbled back, teeth gritted, blood staining his armor.

”General Roung!” the Duke caught his arm, eyes flashing. ”Fall back! I’ll handle this!”

Roung shook his head. ”No, my lord. You step into that crowd, and they’ll trample you.”

The soldiers tightened formation, but the mob kept surging.

Someone in the back shouted, ”Burn the wagons! If we can’t eat, no one will!”

Torches were raised.

Flames licked the dry air, the smell of smoke sharp and terrifying.

The Duke drew his sword — not to strike, but to be heard.

”Enough!” he roared, his voice cutting through the chaos like thunder. ”Every grain here was bought with my gold! You eat because I paid for it! You burn it, and you burn your own lives!”

The words struck some like cold water — but the fire had already caught.

A torch flew, hitting one of the grain carts. Flames erupted.

The Duke lunged forward, shouting for water, for order — when a sharp whizz of an arrow sliced past his ear.

It buried itself in the wooden post behind him.

Roung tackled him aside, grunting as another arrow struck his leg. ”Sniper—on the ridge!”

The Duke’s heart pounded. ”Archers! Find them!”

But before his men could react, another horn blared in the distance — deeper, stronger.

From the dark horizon, torches appeared — moving fast, steady, disciplined.

The banner of the imperial phoenix shimmered in the light of the burning wagons.

General Han Yi rode at the front, his armor dusted with ash, eyes sharp and furious.

”Put down your weapons!” he roared, voice echoing across the chaos. ”By order of His Majesty!”

The imperial riders surged forward, forming a wall between the Duke’s men and the villagers.

Han Yi dismounted without hesitation, moving straight toward Duke Lian. ”You’re bleeding, my lord!”

”It’s Roung,” the Duke said quickly. ”Arrow wound. Get him a healer.”

Han Yi turned, gesturing sharply. ”You heard him! Healers, now!”

As soldiers dragged water barrels and doused the flames, Han Yi’s gaze swept the yard. ”Who started this?”

The Duke gestured to the villagers, some already kneeling in fear now that imperial soldiers had arrived. ”Someone incited them. They think we’re hoarding food.”

Han Yi’s jaw tightened. ”Then we find their voice.”

Moments later, one of Han Yi’s men dragged forward a young man in torn clothes.

He struggled violently, shouting, ”I didn’t mean to! They told me to say it!”

Han Yi’s eyes narrowed. ”Told you? Who?”

The man dropped to his knees, trembling. ”I—I work at the granary in the next town. A merchant came—rich clothes, said he was from Chen Valley. Gave us coins. Told us to spread the word that the Duke kept grain for the army... and to make the people rise. He said—he said the Duke’s death would make the Emperor see the truth!”

Silence fell like a blade.

Duke Lian’s face turned to stone. ”And you believed him?”

Tears streaked the man’s dirt-covered face. ”My children were starving. I thought—if I shouted once, they’d eat.”

Han Yi’s expression darkened. ”And because of that, men bled tonight.”

The Duke raised a hand. ”He’s a pawn. The real traitors sit behind silk walls.”

He turned to Han Yi, voice low but steady. ”You came in time. If not for you, we’d be ash by morning.”

Han Yi bowed slightly. ”His Majesty sent me with supplies — food, healers, and soldiers. He suspected this would happen.”

The Duke nodded once, eyes hard. ”Then we hunt the hand behind this. If Chen Valley started this chaos... I’ll end it.”

As dawn crept over the burning plains, soldiers carried food to the weeping villagers.

The air smelled of smoke and regret.

General Roung, pale but alive, sat by the fire, his leg bandaged tightly.

Duke Lian stood beside Han Yi, watching the sunrise.

”He always knows,” the Duke murmured. ”Even without being told.”

Han Yi smiled faintly. ”That’s why he’s Emperor.”

The Duke’s gaze hardened toward the horizon. ”Then tell him this: I’ll find the one who turned hunger into rebellion. And when I do... their head will be my offering to the throne.”