Reborn In The Three Kingdoms

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”Form shield clusters!” Xi Zhicai shouted suddenly, breaking from his stupor. ”Layered formation, double row!” Soldiers obeyed instantly, slamming large shields together, creating overlapping barriers to absorb both the explosion and the flames. Even so, the fire licked through the seams. Guo Jia stepped back, lifting his sleeve to shield his mouth from the smoke.

”This is...”

Xi Zhicai coughed hard, choking on ash.

”...brutal.”

Guo Jia’s expression hardened.

”Then we respond with something equally brutal.”

Xi Zhicai stared at him.

”You have an idea?”

Guo Jia pointed toward the far end of the wall, where several unused cauldrons sat stored from months prior, massive iron vessels large enough to hold a man.

”Those.”

Xi Zhicai blinked.

”You intend to...”

”Fill them with oil,” Guo Jia said coldly. ”As much as we can find. Heat it. Move them to the battlements. And when Hengyuan pushes close—”

He sliced a finger sharply downward.

”Pour it all.”

Xi Zhicai hesitated only for a heartbeat.

”It will be savage.”

”War is savage,” Guo Jia replied softly. ”And we cannot afford mercy today.”

Xi Zhicai nodded.

”Then we do it.”

Orders were shouted.

Teams rushed to gather the cauldrons, heating them over blazing braziers until the oil inside crackled angrily. Men strained and groaned as they lifted the heavy vessels, carrying them to the battlements, where Guo Jia stood watching with a sharp, haunted calm.

Twenty minutes passed.

The air thickened with the smell of hot iron and burning oil.

”Ready?” Guo Jia asked.

Xi Zhicai exhaled.

”As ready as we can be.”

”Then pour.”

And the cauldrons tipped.

Sheets of boiling oil cascaded downward in great glistening waves, splashing over shields, armor, and earth alike. Hengyuan soldiers screamed as the liquid clung to them, burning before it even caught fire.

Sima Yi saw it from atop his command platform.

His eyes widened, not in fear, not in horror, but in cold calculations snapping into place.

”Retreat!” he ordered instantly. ”Tens of meters back! NOW!”

Flags waved frantically.

Trumpets blared.

But the oil moved faster than the soldiers could.

The first wave drenched dozens.

The second wave drenched hundreds.

And when the last of the oil splattered onto the ground—

A single torch dropped from above sealed their fate.

WHOOOMPH.

Fire erupted in a blinding flash, spreading across the ground like a hungry beast unleashed. Flames raced outward in jagged lines, searing everything in their path. Screams tore across the field, raw, agonized, human.

Zang Hong threw his arm over his face as a wall of heat washed over the front lines.

Chen Deng froze mid-command, eyes wide with horror.

Even Sima Yi’s breath caught.

Because this, this sea of fire, was not the impersonal flame of siege warfare.

This was wrath.

This was desperation sharpened into cruelty.

This was Wei refusing to die quietly.

Down below, soldiers thrashed, rolling desperately, beating their bodies against the dirt, anything to smother the flames clinging to their armor and skin.

Water buckets were hurled forward.

Cloaks were thrown.

Commanders shouted for formations to pull back, to regroup, to create buffer zones.

Smoke rose in thick black plumes, twisting upward like dark serpents trying to strangle the sky itself.

Sima Yi watched, his face half lit by the inferno.

His expression was cold.

Steady.

Emotionless.

But inside his mind, gears spun with ferocious speed.

So this is how far they’ve fallen.

Guo Jia, watching from above, felt the same but inverted thought.

So this is how far we must go.

Two minds.

Two philosophies.

Two extremes.

Sima Yi exhaled slowly.

”Zang Hong.”

Zang Hong turned, coughing into his sleeve, face reddened from the heat.

”Yes, Master Sima?!”

”Prepare for the next movement.”

Zang Hong swallowed.

”Next...? After this fire—”

”We are not done.”

His voice was quiet.

Unshakeable.

And cold enough to cut through the flames.

He then turned sharply toward the officers standing behind him.

”Prepare the second formation. No hesitation. We strike again.”

Zang Hong stepped forward. ”Strategist Sima, the men are shaken. The fire—”

”—will burn out,” Sima Yi said coldly. ”Our will will not.”

He turned, voice steady, unyielding.

”Signal the cavalry divisions, order them to brought stacks full of sands. Prepare the storm tact. And gather the heavy shields, we break the line after the flames die.”

Chen Deng felt a chill run down his spine.

This was not anger.

This was resolve sharpened to a lethal point.

Back atop Hongnong, Guo Jia leaned heavily against the battlement, breathing hard.

His hand trembled, not from fear, but from the strain, the smoke, the adrenaline.

Xi Zhicai rested a hand on the wall, chest heaving.

”We bought ourselves time,” he murmured.

Guo Jia nodded, sweat and soot streaking his face.

”Yes,” he whispered. ”But Sima Yi will not stop. He will never stop.”

Xun Yu approached them, gaze steady.

”Then we prepare for his next move,” he said. ”Because what comes after fire...”

He looked toward the Hengyuan lines.

”...will be far more dangerous.”

Guo Jia lifted his eyes toward the rising sun.

Hongnong burned below him.

Hengyuan reeled.

Wei strained.

And the air tasted of smoke, ash, death...

...and inevitability.

Meanwhile on the ground below, the Hengyuan cavalry pushed forward through the choking smoke and shimmering waves of heat. Their horses snorted and shied, hooves stamping furiously at the scorched earth as the riders fought to keep them steady. Each cavalryman carried a heavy sack of sand slung across the saddle, and even through their armor, even through their helmets, they felt the blistering lash of the inferno.

”Easy! Easy!” riders shouted, gripping reins with white knuckled tension.

The fire roared inches from their path, snapping upward like a wounded beast trying to claw at anything that dared come near. Horses balked, eyes rolling, nostrils flared. Their natural instinct screamed at them to flee, to escape the burning death ahead.

But the Hengyuan army did not bring ordinary horses to war.

These steeds were trained for battlefield chaos, conditioned to hold the line even before the snap of a bowstring, even under a rain of fire. And with their riders murmuring firm commands, tightening their legs, and adjusting their grips, the horses pressed forward.

Sacks thudded against armored thighs. Scouts signaled the path of least flame. And, one by one, the riders approached the edge of the burning field.

”Now! Pour it!”

The first rider heaved his sack over the saddle, ripping it open with a hooked knife.

A cascade of sand spilled downward like a tan waterfall, hissing as it smothered the licking flames. The fire recoiled, sputtering angrily as the sand smothered its hungry tongues. Another rider followed. And another. And another.

Lines of cavalry fanned out around the burning sea, dumping sand in sweeping arcs.

But the Wei defenders were not idle.

From atop the wall, Guo Jia narrowed his eyes as he watched the movement unfold below.

”They’re trying to smother the fire,” he murmured.

Xi Zhicai nodded tightly. ”And they brought enough sand for a full field operation. Sima Yi anticipated the oil.”

Guo Jia’s jaw tightened, but his voice remained steady.

”Then we test the resolve of those horses.”

He raised his arm sharply.

”Archers! Loose!”

Poisoned arrows sang through the air in a storm of dark, deadly streaks. They rained down on the cavalry in waves, thin, sharp, unstoppable. The riders raised their shields, forming angled barriers above themselves, but the Wei marksmen had spent years perfecting shots against shields.

One arrow found a gap.

Another clipped a rider’s thigh.

Several struck armor, scraping or skidding, but others found softer targets, unarmored joints, throats, unlucky exposed skin.

And the horses...

Even armored, many were still vulnerable.

A single poisoned arrow grazing their neck or flank was enough.

One mare shrieked, stumbled, then collapsed with a horrible thud, pinning her rider beneath her. Another horse reared violently before crashing down. Others buckled, crumpled, or staggered sideways.

For every bag of sand poured, there was a horse and rider falling behind it.

Guo Jia exhaled long and slow, a rare moment of sorrow touching his expression.

”They train them so well... it is a shame.”

”War makes no allowances for sentiment,” Xi Zhicai replied hoarsely, his lungs still aching from the earlier smoke.

But even as Hengyuan’s first wave faltered, they did not stop.

Sima Yi was already signaling the second movement.

”Second cavalry forward!” his voice thundered.

The next line of riders surged forth, not with sand, but with crossbows, fire lances, and nests of bees strapped to their saddles.

Bolts fired upward in a hissing storm. Dozens of fire lances erupted with bursts of flame, sending streaks of fire arcing over the sands to hammer the tops of the battlements. From the nests of bees came spiraling, shrieking clusters of small rockets that scattered into dozens of burning stingers.

Wei soldiers ducked behind merlons. Shields lifted to cover exposed heads. A few unlucky men were struck before they finished crouching, bolts piercing their armor, fire lances bursting against their shields, rockets slicing across their arms or faces.

The battlements briefly became a battlefield of smoke, sparks, and screams.

And below, shielded by this barrage, the first wave of sand carriers retreated, limping, staggering, dragging wounded comrades away.

The third wave rode forward immediately.

Buckets sloshing violently, tied to saddle hooks, swinging with each stride.

Water.

Cold, precious water.

”On my signal!” an officer shouted.

The cavalry formed tight groups and poured the water over the sand covered flames. The result was explosive, steam burst upward in thick white columns, billowing like clouds of boiling fog.

The fire roared in response, sputtering, then shrinking, then sputtering again as the sand-and-water mixture smothered it from below.

On the battlements, Guo Jia’s eyes widened, not in fear but in honest, tactical appreciation.

Sima Yi’s flow was perfect.

Sand to smother.

Cover fire to protect.

Water to seal.

Xi Zhicai let out a low whistle. ”He turned our brutality into his opportunity.”

Guo Jia smiled weakly. ”He always does.”

”But we can still interrupt his rhythm,” Xi Zhicai said sharply.

Guo Jia glanced at him. ”How?”

Xi Zhicai jabbed a finger toward the inner city.

”The catapults. Order them to fire on the cavalry positions. Scatter them. Break the cycle.”

Without hesitation, Guo Jia lifted his command staff.

”Messenger! Catapult crews, fire all engines at the marked coordinates!”

Drums pounded.

Ropes tightened.

Seconds later, Hongnong trembled as massive stones were hurled into the sky.

They arced high, so high the sun glinted off them, before crashing down like falling stars.

The first boulder smashed into a cluster of cavalry, crushing three horses and flinging riders like dolls. The second struck the ground near the water crews, sending dirt, sand, and human bodies flying.

The cavalry scattered immediately.

”Retreat! Pull back! Pull back!” officers cried.

The riders turned, horses kicking up dust as they fled the kill zone. Some were too slow. One horse was clipped by a stone shard, stumbled, then fell, pinning its rider beneath its weight. Another boulder landed with a sickening crunch atop an unlucky soldier.

______________________________

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