Kugutsu Island had always been an enigma shrouded in mist. Protected by a labyrinth of perpetual fog and sea currents so violent they served as natural ramparts, it birthed a grim proverb among sailors: "Only he who knows how to avoid Kugutsu truly knows how to sail." For centuries, the island was the unattainable trophy of empires and explorers—a morbid obsession that swallowed entire fleets. The secret of entry was a privilege of blood; only those born under the island's leaden skies knew the hidden routes that allowed one to defy the abyss.

  Kugutsu was not merely geographically isolated; it was morally impenetrable. Feared worldwide for its military might, the island was ruled by laws so draconian they turned the most wicked monsters into cowering hounds.

  The pinnacle of this cruelty manifested in the annual festival known as "The Pigs." Traitors to the crown were displayed in iron cages in the central plaza, abandoned to the mob’s sadism. For hours, any form of scourge was permitted. It was the moment when the people, suffocated by tyranny, were granted the king's permission to vomit their own hatred onto those even more miserable than themselves.

  The society of Kugutsu was a pyramid of unyielding castes. At the apex, ancestral families and prestigious clans orbited the throne. For those devoid of lineage, their fate was masked with cruel sarcasm: it was said they were treated with "love and care," a euphemism for systemic slavery and disposable labor. Curiously, on that island, it was preferable to be a slave than a servant to the great families; to work for the elite meant being stripped of humanity, despised by the masters, and hated by former friends who remained in squalor.

  It was a system designed for eternity, sustained by the "crab mentality": if many crabs are placed in a bucket, none escape, for as soon as one tries to climb out, the others pull him back to the bottom.

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  Yuzuki was the flaw in the proverb.

  He was not just the crab that escaped; he was the one who watched the bucket from afar for ten years. With ice-cold patience, he mapped every weakness, every supply base, and every chink in the armor of that autocracy. Yuzuki personified the greatest nightmare of any dictator: the oppressed who seeks not liberation, but the inversion of pain. He knew that the island’s thousands of wretches did not need a savior—only a nudge toward the precipice.

  One year after the events of Neversand, his planning reached maturation.

  Yuzuki’s "nudge" was incendiary. He did not attack the armies head-on; he burned the granaries, detonated weapon depots, and severed the island's logistical arteries. At his side, Kaien, a dragon of legendary bloodline, tore through the skies like a living calamity, reducing watchtowers to ash before the warning bells could even chime. Meanwhile, Soken infiltrated the slave villages, forging the masses' despair into a blunt revolutionary force. Yuzuki even had the refinement to release the most dangerous traitors from the dungeons—men who harbored a hatred for the king older than the war itself.

  Control of the island began to crumble. Though the clans loyal to the king were formidable, they were few; blood purity demanded small numbers. In contrast, the poor were like ants: infinite and, now, hungry.

  Yuzuki, acting as a puppet master, avoided direct confrontation with the generals. His objective was not a military victory, but a psychological collapse. From chaos would come despair; from despair, failure. One week stretched into a month of bloody insurgency.

  New heroes emerged among the rebels. Kaien, the black dragon, became the symbol of the armed revolution—a god of scales carrying the promise of a new world. To the people, it was hope. To Yuzuki, it was opium.

  The narrative of "revolution" was his most refined lie. Yuzuki knew the rebels would not win; they would be massacred. But that was exactly what he desired. The system only truly breaks when the foundation is decimated, leaving the elite isolated in their ivory towers, forced to come out and hunt the "rats" in person.

  Kaien and Soken fought believing in the island's redemption, fueled by the stories Yuzuki had told them of his suffering past. They believed they were curing Kugutsu. They simply failed to realize that the doctor guiding them did not seek the patient's cure.

  Yuzuki only wanted the world to burn, and for Kugutsu Island to be the first pyre.