Reborn In The Three Kingdoms

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”They are already damned!” Jin roared, his voice raw, the voice of a man with nothing left but fury. He slashed again, wild, desperate. Lord Kaito turned the stroke aside, pivoted, and drove his knee into Jin’s gut. The envoy staggered but did not fall. He came on again, teeth bared, the sword whipping in silver arcs.

Steel shrieked against steel as Kaito parried, the force of the blow vibrating up his arm. The tranquil space of meditation became a killing floor. Jin fought with the frenzied, unpredictable strength of a man who has nothing left to lose. He was not a master duelist, but he was fueled by a potent cocktail of grief, betrayal, and utter despair.

Lord Kaito, however, was a trained warrior of the Yamatai nobility. His movements were calmer, more economical, his defense a solid wall of disciplined skill. He deflected a wild slash, sidestepped a desperate lunge, and used his footwork to control the space, turning Jin’s frantic energy against him.

Jin kicked over a low table, sending incense and scrolls scattering, trying to create chaos. He grabbed a heavy bronze censer and hurled it at Lord Kaito’s head. Lord Kaito ducked, the object whistling past his ear to crash against a tent pole.

It was this commotion, the crash of metal, the grunts of effort, the sharp ring of clashing swords, that finally pierced the quiet of the night and reached the Yanatai guards stationed outside.

The tent flap was thrown open violently. Two Yamatai elite guards burst in, their own swords drawn, their eyes wide with shock at the scene before them, their lord, locked in a deadly struggle with the Silla translator.

Seeing the guards, Jin’s last hope vanished. With a final, wordless scream of frustration, he redoubled his efforts, making a reckless, full force thrust aimed at Kaito’s heart. It was a move born of pure suicidal impulse.

Lord Kaito, seeing the opening, didn’t take the kill. He twisted his wrist, executing a precise, disarming maneuver. His blade slapped against Jin’s with a sharp crack, and the sword flew from the translator’s hand, skittering across the rug.

Before Jin could react, the guards were on him, grabbing his arms, forcing him to his knees. He struggled for a moment, a wild animal caught in a trap, before the fight went out of him. His head drooped, his body slumping in their grip, consumed by the utter failure of his final, desperate gambit.

Lord Kaito stood breathing heavily, his sword still pointed at the now disarmed man. The incense smoke still curled peacefully, a stark contrast to the violence that had just transpired. He looked down at Jin, not with triumph, but with a profound and weary sadness.

Lord Kaito lowered his weapon slowly, his breath ragged, his eyes hard as hammered iron and his voice cold as a winter sea. ”Bind him,” he said, voice like ice. ”But harm him no further. He will answer for this treachery at dawn.”

The soldiers obeyed without question, taking hold Jin’s arm as he struggled and binding his wrists in coarse hemp then picking him up. As they bore him out into the night, Lord Kaito sheathed his blade with a rasp that echoed in his tent and skull like judgment.

When the tent was empty once more, he stood alone amid the ruin, the overturned table, the guttered candles, the faint smear of blood on the floor. His hand trembled as he reached for the incense burner, steadying himself with the familiar ritual of flame and smoke.

But no incense could cleanse the stench of what had passed inside his tent.

Outside, the sea boomed against the rocks, relentless, eternal. Tomorrow, the negotiations would proceed as planned. He would meet Li Wei on the open plain, smile with measured grace, speak of friendship and peace.

Meanwhile the next day, to the far west of Jeju-Do, in the rugged heartland of Yi Province, the world shook with another conflict. The siege of Zitong was underway.

Its high earthen walls were blackened with soot, its gates battered with makeshift rams, and the cries of the dying rose with the smoke of burning siege towers.

Inside, Yan Yan and Zhang Ren, two of Liu Zhang’s most trusted generals, commanded with grim resolve, bolstered by the sharp minds of Fa Zheng, Zhang Song, and Meng Da. Their banners fluttered defiantly, even as wave after wave of Wei soldiers surged against them.

At the head of that vast army stood none other than Emperor Wu, Cao Cao himself, resplendent in armor lacquered black, his presence as commanding as the thunderheads gathering over the battlefield. At his side, two of his finest advisers, Guo Jia and Xi Zhicai, murmured strategies amidst the chaos.

The air reeked of blood and ash, the groans of the wounded were drowned by the pounding of war drums. This was no longer merely a clash of steel, it was a test of endurance, of hearts against an empire’s will.

While the carnage unfolded outside Zitong’s gates, over at Chengdu it was heavy with silence, the kind that sits on the shoulders of men and presses them into stillness.

The capital of Yi Province was restless beneath the light if the sun, rumors of the bloody stalemate in Zitong spreading like sparks on dry grass. Every street vendor, every innkeeper, every courier whispered of Yan Yan’s stubborn resistance and of Cao Cao’s inexhaustible legions pressing at the city walls.

But far away from the noise of the streets, in the deepest heart of Chengdu’s palace, a different kind of battle was being prepared. One fought not with swords and shields, but with words, secrets, and ambition.

Inside the inner chamber of the palace, Emperor Xian himself had dismissed every servant, every attendant, even his most trusted eunuchs, and now sat in private company with only two men, Wu Yi, the seasoned general of Yi Province, and Wang Fu, a counselor known for his sharp tongue and cautious heart.

Both men were bewildered at being called here in secret. Never before had the Son of Heaven granted them such intimacy, not without the presence of Liu Zhang or his coterie of advisors who was currently in Zitong, Fa Zheng, Zhang Song, and Meng Da.

Emperor Xian’s chamber was lit softly by candles and perfumed with the faint aroma of sandalwood. The lacquered table before him was neatly set with a teapot and three porcelain cups, simple but elegant. The Son of Heaven sat not upon a throne tonight, but cross legged upon a cushion, as if to emphasize the secrecy and humility of this clandestine meeting.

He gestured with a faint smile. ”Please, sit.”

Though both Wu Yi and Wang Fu felt unease prickling their skins, they bowed deeply, murmuring thanks before lowering themselves onto the cushions laid out before the table.

Emperor Xian poured the tea himself, a gesture that unsettled them further, for such duties were always for servants. Yet here he was, steady hand tilting the pot, filling their cups with fragrant steam.

They accepted with murmured gratitude, though their eyes never strayed far from his face. When the Emperor offered something so personal, so unusual, it was never without deeper meaning.

It was Wang Fu, cautious and deliberate, who broke the silence after a respectful sip. ”Your Majesty... forgive the bluntness of this humble servant, but may we inquire why such secrecy tonight? Why summon us here alone, without even your most trusted attendants?”

The Emperor placed his cup down gently, his expression serene, though the faint tapping of his finger on the polished wood betrayed the storm beneath. His gaze lifted, calm but edged with intent.

”Because,” he said softly, ”what I am about to speak must never reach another ear. Not my imperial cousin Liu Zhang’s, not Fa Zheng’s, not Zhang Song’s, not Meng Da’s. This task is for you two alone, and it is of the highest secrecy. If it succeeds, the Han will rise once more. If it fails...” His voice faltered only for an instant, ”...then let Heaven judge me.”

The air in the chamber tightened like a bowstring. Wu Yi shifted uneasily, while Wang Fu’s brows furrowed.

”What task, Your Majesty?” Wu Yi asked, his voice low, steady, though his heart quickened.

Emperor Xian leaned slightly forward, lowering his tone to a near whisper, though the chamber was already sealed in silence.

”Tell me, both of you, have you never harbored doubts about the loyalty of Fa Zheng, Zhang Song, and Meng Da? Have you never wondered where their true hearts lie? With me, with the Han, or with their own ambitions?”

Wu Yi stiffened, his eyes flashing instinctively toward Wang Fu. The counselor, too, blinked in surprise. Both men hesitated, caught between fear of offending the Emperor and the weight of their own unspoken suspicions.

Emperor Xian’s gaze sharpened. ”Do not lie. I know you have felt it. I have reports from sources I trust, sources who tell me you have long doubted them. Speak honestly now, and know that honesty is the only coin of value in this chamber.”

Wang Fu’s lips parted, then closed. He turned toward Wu Yi, who gave him a slight nod. Finally, the counselor spoke with deliberate care.

”Your Majesty... while we are astonished that you know this, it is true. Both I and General Wu Yi have harbored doubts. Ever since they rose as Prime Minister Liu Zhang’s favored advisors, and even now as they stand close to you, their counsel... it has always served their designs more than the Dynasty’s. We have felt it, but dared not speak. For who are we to question the Emperor’s chosen men?”

A thin smile touched Emperor Xian’s lips, though it did not reach his eyes.

”I asked this not only to test your honesty,” he said, ”but because I share your suspicions. Fa Zheng, Zhang Song, Meng Da... their tongues are honey, but their loyalty is vinegar. They circle me like falcons, waiting to decide whether I am their master or merely their prey.” His hand curled into a fist upon the table. ”I will not be prey in my own palace.”

The silence that followed was heavy, punctuated only by the faint hiss of candles. Wu Yi felt his chest tighten. Wang Fu lowered his eyes, sensing the gravity of the storm unfurling.

Emperor Xian continued, his voice firmer now. ”That is why I have summoned you. To give you a task that bypasses their eyes and their ears. A task that strengthens me, not them. A task that restores power to the Han throne, not to the cabal of self serving men who whisper in my imperial cousin’s shadow.”

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Name: Lie Fan

Title: Founding Emperor Of Hengyuan Dynasty

Age: 35 (202 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