Chapter 7: Masters of the Unseen Hand
To speak of a "Dragon Master" is to chase a ghost through a hall of mirrors. Unlike the Templars with their stone monuments and the Illuminati with their corporate hierarchies, the Dragon have no lineage in the traditional sense, only a continuity of purpose. Perhaps no figure better embodies this than the so-called "Whispering Master" of the late 20th century. We have no name, no photograph, not even a reliable physical description. Their existence is proven only by the aftershocks of their actions. They were not a general who waged wars, but a meteorologist who seeded clouds. A single, seemingly random stock purchase in 1982 that cascaded into the collapse of a Soviet-backed financial institution a decade later. A quiet word to a disillusioned architect in Seoul that resulted in a building with one, single, deliberate flaw—a flaw that, years later, would perfectly reflect a beam of light to expose a hidden Orochi facility for a fleeting two minutes. The Whispering Master played a game of Go on a global scale, where the objective was not to capture territory, but to create the most interesting and unpredictable patterns. To their contemporaries in other factions, they were an infuriating phantom. But to the Dragon, they were the perfect expression of their philosophy: that true power is not in holding the sword, but in knowing the precise, infinitesimal tremor that will one day cause the mountain to fall.
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