Scent

News of the Crimson General's return spread swiftly through the capital, carried in hushed whispers as if even the air itself feared to speak his name aloud. In the grand estates of the nobles and the narrow streets of the markets, the tension was palpable, like a storm about to break.

"Did you hear?" a merchant murmured to his customer, eyes darting nervously. "The Crimson General—he's back. After all these years."

"No," gasped the customer, clutching her shawl tighter, her voice barely above a whisper. "I thought he was dead."

"He showed up at the courtroom today. Right in the middle of an execution," another vendor added from behind his stall, leaning in as if afraid the walls had ears. "Stopped it dead in its tracks. They say swords flew on their own, like magic."