Reborn In The Three Kingdoms

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”We can’t divide our forces further. The army’s morale is crumbling. We barely have enough supplies for a week.” King Geunchogo closed his eyes. He saw again the faces of his people, the fearful glances, the whispered doubts, the hatred. Once, they had sung his name in the streets. Now, they cursed him in the alleys. And he could not blame them.

He had miscalculated everything. Gaya. Silla. The invaders. The world.

”Let the east hold,” he said finally. ”Send a reserve force to the west, just in case. Prepare the palace defenses. If the walls fall... we make our last stand here.”

Outside the city, the siege had truly begun.

The first volleys from the Hwacha lit the skies like fireworks, their sound was terror for Baekje soldiers who didn’t know what kind of weapon this was.

Dozens of arrows streaked through the air at once, their trails glowing red and orange before slamming into the parapets. Fire spread across rooftops. Baekje’s defenders retaliated by throwing stones and counter archers, but their numbers were thin, and their coordination was weaker.

The trebuchets hurled massive stones into the city at irregular intervals, creating a rhythm of terror that never allowed sleep.

But all of it was misdirection.

On the second night, under the light of a clear, pale moon, Gongsun Gong’s elite units crept into position along the western wall. The climbing tigers were wheeled forward in silence, their wheels wrapped in cloth to muffle sound. Archers provided cover as the first wave ascended.

The defenders on the western wall were few, exhausted, underfed, and fooled.

The wall was breached before the sun rose.

By dawn, Gongsun Gong’s flags flew atop the western towers.

Inside the city, chaos reigned.

Baekje’s defenders rallied for a counterattack, but discipline had broken down. Civilians flooded the streets, screaming and running toward the palace. Fires blazed unchecked. King Geunchogo was roused from sleep by the sound of horns and shouting.

He rushed to the palace balcony, still in his robes, and saw his capital burning.

”How... how did they—”

A general pulled him back. ”They’re inside the walls. You must flee, Your Majesty. We can get you to the southern district—”

”No,” Geunchogo said, eyes wide, hollow. ”There is nowhere to flee.”

In the palace’s grand hall, he stood one last time.

”If Baekje must end, then let it end with its king at the heart of it.”

And so, as Gongsun Gong alongside his and Goguryeo’s soldiers stormed the final defense line, breaking through the palace gates, they found Geunchogo seated upon his throne, armored and his sword in hand.

His advisors had fled. His generals were dead or captured. Even his own family had been smuggled out in a desperate bid to preserve the royal bloodline.

He did not rise. He merely watched.

”King Geunchogo,” Gongsun Gong said, dipping his head slightly. ”It’s over.”

King Geunchogo’s grip tightened on his sword. ”You think I will surrender? To you? To these traitorous dogs who follow you?”

Gongsun Gong sighed. ”You fought bravely. But your kingdom is finished. Lay down your sword, and you will be treated with honor.”

King Geunchogo laughed, a raw, broken sound. ”Honor? What honor is there in kneeling to the men who destroyed my people?”

Before Gongsun Gong could respond, the king raised his blade, not to attack, but to his own throat.

”May the gods curse you all,” he whispered.

And with one swift motion, he ended his own life.

Silence fell over the throne room. Even the battle outside seemed to pause, as if in acknowledgment of a king’s final defiance.

Gongsun Gong exhaled slowly, then turned to his men.

”Secure the city. Any remaining resistance is to be crushed. And send word to Your Majesty and Li Wei, Baekje is ours.”

With Wirye’s fall, the kingdom of Baekje ceased to exist. Its territories were carved up between Goguryeo, the Hengyuan Dynasty, and Gaya, its people scattered or subjugated.

In Seorabeol, King Naemul of Silla received the news with a face like stone.

”King Geunchogo is dead. Wirye has fallen. The rest of the royal family of Baekje, was on their way here to seek asylum.”

His generals stood in stunned silence. Then the questions came, frantic and fearful.

”How long before they begin their march to us?”

”Can we even hold them off?”

”Should we sue for peace immediately?”

King Naemul on the other hand just closed his eyes. The answer was clear. Silla was now alone. And the storm was heading toward them next.

He opened his eyes, his voice calm but firm. ”Summon the court. We must act.”

Moments later, the grand hall of Seorabeol filled with generals, advisors, and officials. The air was thick with unease. King Naemul stood slowly, his presence commanding, the weight of history clinging to his every word.

”We will not wait for death to come to our gates like Baekje did,” he said. ”Effective immediately, all of Silla’s armies are to withdraw to Seorabeol and the cities surrounding it. Every garrison west and north must fall back. All supplies are to be converged here and in the eastern corridor to the coast.”

A murmur rippled through the hall.

”We abandon the rest of our cities?” one minister blurted in disbelief.

”Yes,” Naemul said. ”Abandon them. Every city that does not directly connect to Seorabeol or the eastern ports is to be left.”

The chamber erupted.

”My king, this is madness!” cried a court advisor, his face flushed with anger. ”If we withdraw our forces, we are handing our land over without a fight! The people will rebel as they see it as a betrayal! You are forsaking your duty to protect them, My king!”

A general, his armor still bearing the scratches of past battles, barked back before Naemul could respond, his face as stern as stone. ”If we divide our forces now, we will be crushed piecemeal. You saw what happened to Baekje. Their king split his forces and doomed his capital. We must consolidate our strength. Better to hold Seorabeol with our full strength than lose everything piece by piece.”

”And what then?” an advisor snapped. ”We huddle in Seorabeol like cowards while the rest of the land burns?”

”If we survive,” the general replied, ”we can rebuild. If we die, we rebuild nothing.”

The debate raged like a storm. The advisors argued tradition, honor, and the sacred duty of a king to his people. The generals countered with cold pragmatism, numbers, supply lines, and the reality of facing an enemy that had crushed Baekje in weeks.

Naemul listened, his face unreadable. When the voices grew too loud, when the arguments turned personal, when a minister nearly came to blows with a young commander, that was when King Naemul slammed his fist on the table, silencing the room.

”Enough!” he roared. His voice was loud, carrying the weight of finality.

The throne room fell silent.

”This is not a debate. It is my command.” He looked at each man in turn, his gaze unyielding. ”It is final. If we hold, we may yet survive. If we scatter, we will be picked apart. And if the worst comes... then we live to fight another day.”

The advisors opened their mouths to protest, but King Naemul raised a hand.

”When this war is over, if we are victorious, I will walk barefoot through every city we abandoned. I will beg their forgiveness. I will give gifts them golds from my own coffers and exempt them from taxes. But if we fall because of arrogance and pride, what then? The people will have no king to blame, only ashes.”

The hall fell into a grim silence. The advisors exchanged glances, defeated and bitter. The generals, by contrast, wore smug expressions of vindication, their king having backed their strategy.

Orders went out immediately and what followed was a retreat unlike anything Silla had ever seen.

Messengers galloped to every garrison, every outpost, relaying the king’s command: ”Fall back to Seorabeol. Now.”

The armies obeyed. Columns of soldiers, some confused, others relieved, marched eastward, leaving their posts undefended.

From the western and northern frontiers, Silla’s armies were recalled, abandoning forts, towers, and outposts. Caravans of grain, weapons, and coin flowed toward Seorabeol. Entire military districts moved, relocating in a matter of days.

And then came the exodus of the nobility.

With the sudden vacuum left behind, Prefects, administrators, governors, men who had once ruled their cities with pomp and ceremony, fled like thieves in the night. They took their families, their wealth, their personal guards, desperate to preserve their status and safety.

They left behind only empty offices, the common folk, abandoned by their rulers and stripped of leadership, descended into panic, and the common people woke to a nightmare.

No soldiers patrolled the streets. No officials sat in the courthouses. The markets, once bustling, now stood silent, picked clean by the retreating army.

And in the absence of order, the criminals rose as in city after city, order broke down.

Gangs, bandits, and warlords sprang up overnight. Stores were looted. Homes burned. Power shifted to whoever could hold it, and Silla’s outer lands became a patchwork of fear and lawlessness. In some cities, desperate peasants turned on the wealthy, burning mansions and looting what little remained.

The kingdom was tearing itself apart and the enemy had not even arrived yet.

But Seorabeol transformed into a fortress.

Armies flooded in, swelling its garrisons. The surrounding cities along the corridor to the eastern coast prepared evacuation fleets in secret. The eastern ports became hubs of quiet urgency. Scribes drafted lists. Ships were reinforced. The Yamato State, long-standing allies, had been informed: if Silla were to fall, they would come. And Yamato would welcome them.

Meanwhile, Gongsun Gong was not idle.

After consolidating control over Wirye and integrating it under Goguryeo’s administration, he led the combined armies of Goguryeo and his own forces southward, with Gaya’s armies striking from the southwest. The invasion of Silla began.

When Gongsun Gong’s scouts reported that Silla’s border forts stood empty, he assumed it was a trap.

”They’re luring us in,” he muttered, studying the maps. ”Waiting for us to overextend.”

But as his forces advanced, they found no ambushes, no hidden armies, but what they found stunned them.

There were no organized armies. No coordinated resistance against them.

Instead, the cities they marched upon were in chaos, fighting not against invading soldiers but among themselves. Criminals ran rampant. Local warlords refused to surrender. In some places, cities had already burned before the invaders arrived.

Gongsun Gong’s generals were baffled. Reports came in, towns ransacked by looters, not defenders. Grain stores were emptied by the retreating bureaucracy. Forts left unmanned. Inquiries revealed the truth, the Silla government had abandoned the interior.

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Name: Lie Fan

Title: Founding Emperor Of Hengyuan Dynasty

Age: 34 (201 AD)

Level: 16

Next Level: 462,000

Renown: 2325

Cultivation: Yin Yang Separation (level 9)

SP: 1,121,700

ATTRIBUTE POINTS

STR: 966 (+20)

VIT: 623 (+20)

AGI: 623 (+10)

INT: 667

CHR: 98

WIS: 549

WILL: 432

ATR Points: 0