Reborn In The Three Kingdoms

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(A/N: I hope everyone give my new novel Skyrim a chance and added it to their library, also give the power stones on Skyrim!)

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Below, the Hengyuan tide was no longer just advancing, it was pulsing with a new, vicious energy. The shouts of ”For the Emperor!” were a rhythmic chant that drove their strikes. Where before the Wei mass tactics had caused a slow, grinding stalemate, now they were being chewed through with a furious efficiency that was terrible to behold. The cost in Wei lives for every minute of delay had just skyrocketed.

Xiahou Yuan scratched his cheek, an awkward, boyish gesture at odds with his blood spattered armor. ”I... I didn’t expect it to go this far, brother. It was just a bodyguard. One of those masked ghosts. They’re tough, but they’re not Zhang Liao or Huang Zhong. I thought... I thought it would rattle him, make him cautious, slow him down.”

Xiahou Dun finally turned, his scarred face etched with a lifetime of hard command. ”Those ’masked ghosts’ are not just guards. They are the shadows of his rise. Men who have eaten dust with him, shared his fire, guarded his back when he was just another warlord. They are the loyalty made flesh. You didn’t kill a soldier, you killed a piece of his past. And you made that piece a banner for his future.”

He shook his head, a gesture of profound exhaustion. ”A good choice for a protector, stronger than any elite, loyal beyond gold, but not a general whose loss cripples an army. Now, his loss has made an angry army.”

He turned back to the view, his voice dropping to a grim murmur meant only for his brother’s ears. ”All we can do now is hold. Pray for two more days. Three, if the heavens weep for us. Every hour we give is an hour for the western garrisons to march, to pass Tianshui, to reach Chang’An and make His Majesty’s last stand something more than a funeral pyre.”

The brothers stood in silence, both clinging to the fragile hope of the western withdrawal, a plan now racing against time on a road they did not know was already blocked.

They fought on, unaware that the sacrifices they were extorting from their men with such brutal calculus, the lives spent for hours, the hours for miles, were being poured into a vessel that had already sprung a fatal leak.

All of it, the dying, the desperation, the brother killing brother in a crowded hell, was for a destination that might already be out of reach.

As dusk bled the last light from the sky, a brittle, exhausted truce settled over the left courtyard of Tong Pass. The Hengyuan lines held firm, their perimeter solidified, lit by the flickering orange glow of watch fires built from broken furniture and spent arrows.

The air, still thick with the stench of death, now also carried the low murmur of weary soldiers, the clink of tools repairing armor, and the moans of the wounded being tended in makeshift aid stations.

Lie Fan, his dark armor now matte with dried blood and grime, gave his final orders. With Zhang Liao’s unshakable presence holding the choke point to the inner keep, Huang Zhong’s watchful eye commanding the high ground, and Taishi Ci’s restless energy guarding the barracks approach, the position was as secure as it could be.

The trio, along with the other generals scattered at key points, formed an impregnable skeleton upon which the flesh of the army could rest and recover.

Satisfied, Lie Fan turned and made his way back through the breaches, now well trodden paths of conquest. The journey to the main encampment was a silent one, his personal guard reduced by one, the absence of Bo Cai a physical weight beside him.

The celebratory atmosphere of the camp from nights before was gone, replaced by the solemn, purposeful activity of a machine at war. Men saluted as he passed, their expressions a mix of awe at his presence and a shared, somber understanding of the day’s cost.

He went straight to the command tent. Inside, the lamplight revealed his brain trust awaiting him. Sima Yi, Chen Deng, Zang Hong, Pang Tong, and Xu Shu rose as he entered, their bows deep and respectful. The air in the tent was thick with the scent of ink, parchment, and tension.

”Your Majesty,” they greeted in unison.

Lie Fan merely waved a tired hand, moving to the head of the large map table. The weariness was not just physical, it was the fatigue of command, of loss, of bearing the immense gravitational pull of destiny.

Sima Yi was the first to speak, his voice carefully neutral. ”Your Majesty, there is a communique from Advisor Fa Zheng in the west. It arrived hours ago. I did not presume to open it.” He offered the sealed tube. ”The markings suggest... favorable news.”

Lie Fan took the tube, his fingers tracing the familiar seal of the Southern Army. But before he broke it, he looked up, his gaze sharp. ”And the body? Bo Cai?”

It was Xu Shu who answered, his pragmatic tone softened with deference. ”The rites have been observed, Your Majesty. The body has been cleansed and prepared. An honor guard will depart tonight to escort him back to Xiapi for burial. His family will be notified with all due ceremony and... compassion.”

Lie Fan closed his eyes for a brief moment, a silent acknowledgement. ”Good. See that a suitable monetary grant is provided to his household from the imperial privy purse. Not as payment, there is no price. But to ensure no want follows his passing.”

He opened his eyes, and they held a decisive glint. ”When I return to the capital, I will posthumously canonize him. He will be recorded in the imperial annals as the First of the Nine Yellow Ghosts to fall in service, a testament for history, so his name and loyalty are not forgotten when the peace we bleed for finally comes.”

The order was a balm, a gesture that transformed a personal tragedy into an enduring part of the empire’s legend. The advisors nodded, understanding the profound symbolism. It was statecraft as grief management, and it was masterful.

Only then did Lie Fan break the seal on Fa Zheng’s letter. He unrolled the parchment, his eyes scanning the concise, elegant script. As he read, the lines of fatigue and sorrow on his face eased, replaced by a slow, genuine smile, the first true sign of positive emotion since Bo Cai’s fall.

He looked up at the expectant faces of his advisors. ”It seems,” he said, his voice regaining some of its resonant strength, ”that the heavens grant a reprieve for every blow. While we were trading blood for stone here, our southern army has concluded its business with... remarkable efficiency.”

He laid the letter flat on the table for them to see the crucial lines. ”Tianshui has fallen. Not by storm, not by long siege. It was opened from within. The garrison commander is dead, and his deputy, a man named Deng Liang, surrendered the city. Fa Zheng and Meng Da have taken possession with minimal loss. The entrance to the western corridor is now ours.”

The reaction in the tent was a silent, collective intake of breath, followed by a wave of palpable, strategic relief. Chen Deng’s eyes widened as he immediately grasped the logistical implications.

Zang Hong let out a soft sigh. Pang Tong’s lips curled into a fox like grin. Xu Shu simply nodded, filing the information away. Sima Yi’s expression remained composed, but a keen light glittered in his eyes.

”The hedgehog’s western spine,” Sima Yi murmured, ”has been cleanly extracted before it could even harden. Cao Cao’s order to withdraw for his western garrisons... it is now an order leading them into a trap, or to a closed gate.”

”Precisely,” Lie Fan said, tapping the map at the location of Tianshui. ”Fa Zheng is fortifying the city as we speak. Any Wei forces racing from Xiping, Wuwei, or the Gansu corridor will find not a haven, but a new wall manned by our troops. They will be scattered, demoralized, and cut off. They cannot reinforce Chang’An. At best, they can flee into the hills or surrender.”

Pang Tong chuckled, a dry, rasping sound. ”So the great withdrawal becomes a great wandering. Cao Cao sacrifices his periphery to save his heart, only to find his arms have been severed at the shoulders.”

”This changes the timetable for everything,” Chen Deng stated, his mind racing over supply lines and marching distances. ”The pressure on Chang’An is now absolute and immediate. They will have only what is already within its walls, or what can be scavenged from the immediately surrounding counties.”

Lie Fan leaned over the map, his finger now tracing the road from Tong Pass straight to Chang’an. ”Then we must increase the pressure here. Cao Cao should have know this news. His hope, the thing that lets him spend his soldiers’ lives so freely is now gone, but he still have to hold that belief because there’s nothing he could do other than hoping his western army will arrive to Tianshui. We must shatter that self illusioned hope. We must break Tong Pass completely, and soon. The shock of Tianshui’s fall, delivered on the heels of this fortress’s collapse, may be enough to crack the will of Chang’An itself.”

He straightened, the strategist in him fully re engaged, the grief compartmentalized into a driving force.

”Tomorrow, we do not merely hold. We escalate. Sima Yi, I want the artillery to begin again before dawn. Target the inner keep’s foundations. Chen Deng, Zang Hong, prepare the assault cohorts for a final, concentrated push at the main breach at first light. Pang Tong, Xu Shu, coordinate with the generals in the courtyard. The moment the bombardment stops, they are to push from the inside, a hammer against the anvil of our external attack.”

He looked at each of them, the Emperor fully restored. ”The news from Tianshui is the key. But it is a key that only works if we kick down the door. Let us finish this. For Hengyuan. For the unity to come.” He paused, and his voice softened, but lost none of its steel. ”And for Bo Cai, who will have the best view of all from the Heaven.”

The advisors all bowed their heads in unison, accepting the weight of Lie Fan’s commands without hesitation. There was no need for further words, each of them already understood their role in the storm to come.

One by one they filed out of the command tent, their footsteps brisk, minds already turning toward artillery placements, supply columns, and the delicate choreography of tomorrow’s assault.

For a moment, the tent fell quiet.

Lie Fan remained at the head of the table, staring at the map where fresh candle wax had dripped like pale scars across painted mountains. The victory at Tianshui was a bright star in a dark sky, yet Bo Cai’s absence lingered beside him like an empty chair at a feast.

He had just begun to loosen the straps of his vambrace when a guard announced softly from outside. ”Your Majesty, His Highness the Crown Prince requests permission to enter.”

A genuine warmth, different from the strategic satisfaction of moments before, touched Lie Fan’s eyes. ”Let him in.”

The flap opened, and Crown Prince Muchen stepped in, his youthful frame attempting to project a gravity beyond his years. He was not alone.

Flanking him were the stalwart Ma Chao and the ever vigilant Zhao Yun, their presence a silent statement of the prince’s security and growing importance. Behind them, the venerable scholar Lu Zhi and the astute Zhuge Jin completed the entourage, the Crown Prince’s tutors in both war and statecraft.

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Name: Lie Fan

Title: Founding Emperor Of Hengyuan Dynasty

Age: 36 (203 AD)

Level: 16

Next Level: 462,000

Renown: 2325

Cultivation: Yin Yang Separation (level 11)

SP: 1,121,700

ATTRIBUTE POINTS

STR: 1,010 (+20)

VIT: 659 (+20)

AGI: 653 (+10)

INT: 691

CHR: 98

WIS: 569

WILL: 436

ATR Points: 0