Reborn In The Three Kingdoms

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(A/N: Don’t forget to give those power stones to Skyrim everyone!)

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He took the scroll with Cao Cao’s orders and held it over the flame of the central candle. The silk curled and blackened, catching fire. They watched in silence as the vermilion seal of the Wei Emperor turned to ash and crumbled onto the map of the lands they now claimed as their own.

​”It is decided,” Yan Xing announced, his voice regaining the steel of command. ”We do not march to Canluan. We do not sail to Chang’An.”

​He swept his hand across the map. ”Cheng Li, take your divisions and secure the road back to Gansu. Mang Xing, send riders to Qinghai, ensure the passes are sealed. Lu Kan, Yang Qiu, mobilize your men to fortify the perimeter of Xingping and Wuwei.”

​”We are no longer the Western Garrisons of Wei,” Yan Xing declared, the firelight reflecting in his eyes. ”We are the Lords of the Northwest. And we answer to no one but ourselves.”

The candles in the Governor’s Castle burned low as the five commanders bent over the map, redrawing the lines of loyalty and survival in the dust of a dying empire.

​Outside, the wind howled through the battlements of Xingping, carrying away the smoke of the burning orders, signaling the birth of a new, fractured power in the chaotic tapestry of the era. The two hundred thousand men of the western garrisons continued their preparations, unaware that their purpose had just shifted from reinforcement to independence.

The western flank of Cao Cao’s defense and reinforcement had not just crumbled, it had seceded. And far to the east, Lie Fan remained unaware that his enemy’s desperation had just gifted him a victory he hadn’t even fought for yet.

The wind howled through the eaves of the Governor’s Castle in Xiping, rattling the tiles and masking the subtle movements of the shadows within. While Yan Xing and his cohort of newfound ”Lords” were busy carving up the map of the northwest, believing their treason was a secret shared only amongst themselves, they were not alone.

​High above the main hall, tucked into a crawlspace between the heavy timber beams and the roof, a pair of eyes watched the proceedings through a small ventilation slat. These eyes belonged to a man known only as ’Grey Star,’ a senior field agent of the Oriole, Lie Fan’s pervasive intelligence network.

​Grey Star shifted his weight ever so slightly, his dark clothing blending perfectly with the gloom. He had been stationed in Xiping for months, his cover that of a lowly clerk in the granary archives.

His mission had been clear, monitor the morale of the Western Garrisons, identify weak links, and, if ordered, plant the seeds of discord to fracture Cao Cao’s support.

​He had come tonight prepared to do the hard work of a spy, to listen for grievances, to note which commander hated whom, to find the cracks he would later pry open with rumors and bribes.

​But as he watched the scene unfold below, a look of genuine, baffled amusement crossed his face. He watched Yan Xing burn the Emperor’s decree. He listened as Cheng Li proposed the League. He saw the hesitation and then the capitulation of Yang Qiu.

​”Well,” Grey Star breathed, the sound inaudible even to himself. ”That certainly makes my job easier.”

​He signaled to a shadow in the corner of the rafters, a junior agent named Little Finch. They retreated silently, moving with the practiced grace of cats, slipping out through a maintenance hatch that led to the castle’s rain gutters, then down a trellis into the servant’s quarters, and finally vanishing into the labyrinthine streets of Xiping.

​Back at their safehouse, a nondescript merchant’s dwelling near the western market, the atmosphere was electric.

​”They actually did it,” Little Finch whispered, pouring water from a pitcher. ”They severed ties with Wei without us having to spend a single coin or whisper a single lie. It’s... unprecedented.”

​Grey Star was already at his desk, grinding ink. ”Fear is a better motivator than gold, and self preservation is the most persuasive orator of all. Yan Xing and the others are terrified of His Majesty’s army. They think that by hiding in their shell, they can ride out the storm.”

​He dipped his brush, the tip sharp and black. ”They are fools, of course. They have traded a quick death in battle for a slow strangulation by the Empire. But for now, their foolishness is His Majesty’s fortune.”

​He began to write rapidly, his hand steady. He drafted two scrolls. The first was detailed, breaking down the psychological profiles of the five commanders, Yan Xing’s desperation, Cheng Li’s ambition, Yang Qiu’s reluctance.

​”Keep a close watch on them,” Grey Star ordered his team, who had gathered around. ”Specifically Yang Qiu. He wavered. His conscience is heavy. If the League begins to crack, he will be the first fissure. We do not intervene yet. We watch. We record every secret, every illicit meeting, every hoarding of grain. If His Majesty decides to conquer them by sword, we will have the gates open. If he decides to conquer them by words, we will have the leverage.”

​He sealed the scrolls with the discreet mark of the Oriole.

​”Send the fastest raven to Tianshui,” he commanded, handing one scroll to a handler. ”Fa Zheng needs to know immediately. The threat to his flank has just evaporated. Tell him to await instructions from the Emperor.”

​”And this one?” the handler asked, taking the second, heavier scroll.

​”To Tong Pass,” Grey Star said, his eyes gleaming. ”To the Emperor. Fly it straight and true. He needs to know that the Northwest has just fallen into his lap.”

​The skies between Xiping and Tianshui were turbulent, buffeting the black feathers of the messenger raven, but the bird was bred for endurance. It cut through the mountain passes, riding the thermals, carrying the news that would shift the balance of the entire war.

​In Tianshui, the atmosphere was one of grim industry. The city had been transformed into a fortress prepared for a siege that was expected to be brutal.

​Inside the command center, the air was thick with the smell of old paper and dust. A large table was covered in architectural blueprints. Fa Zheng stood at the head, his face gaunt and intense, pointing at a diagram of the city’s outer perimeter. Beside him stood Meng Da, looking equally serious.

​Around the table stood Zhang Ren, Yan Yan, Meng Huo, Li Yan, Wu Lan, and Zhang Ni.

​”The current moat is insufficient,” Fa Zheng was saying, his voice sharp and precise. ”If the Western Garrisons bring siege towers, they can bridge the gap too easily. We need to widen the trench by another ten feet and divert water from the tributary to flood it.”

​”That will take days of digging,” Meng Da countered, rubbing his chin. ” The ground is hard, and we are already working the men in double shifts.”

​”Then work them in triple shifts,” Fa Zheng snapped. ”When two hundred thousand men march on us, you will wish the ditch was a mile wide. We are the anvil, Meng Da. We cannot crack.”

​Zhang Ren nodded in agreement. ”My spearmen can dig when they are not drilling. Better to sweat now than bleed later.”

​”I say we just go out and hit them when they arrive!” Meng Huo grumbled, leaning back in his chair, the wood creaking under his massive frame. ”Digging holes... it is women’s work. Let them come! I will crush them!”

​”And you will die under a rain of arrows before you reach their lines,” Li Yan said calmly. ”Discipline, King Meng Huo. We follow the strategist’s plan.”

​Fa Zheng was about to retort when a flurry of movement at the window caught his eye. A raven, sleek and dark, landed on the sill, tapping its beak against the wood. It bore the red ribbon of urgent intelligence on its leg.

​The room went silent.

​Fa Zheng moved quickly, unlatching the window. The cold wind rushed in, fluttering the maps. He untied the scroll, checking the seal.

​”From Xiping,” he murmured. ”The Oriole.”

​He unrolled the small strip of paper. As he read, his eyes widened. His eyebrows shot up toward his hairline. He read it again, then a third time, his lips parting in silent astonishment.

​”What is it?” Meng Da asked, stepping closer. ”Have they marched? Are they closer than we thought?”

​Fa Zheng looked up, a strange expression on his face, half shock, half calculating smirk.

​”They are not marching,” Fa Zheng said. ”At least, not toward us. And not toward Chang’an.”

​He tossed the scroll onto the map of the defensive trench they had just been arguing about.

​”Yan Xing, Cheng Li, Mang Xing, Lu Kan, and Yang Qiu have rebelled,” Fa Zheng announced to the stunned room. ”They have burned Cao Cao’s orders. They have declared themselves the ’League of Lords of the Northwest.’ They claim independence.”

​A heavy silence hung in the room for a heartbeat, followed by a collective gasp from the generals.

​”Independence?” Yan Yan rumbled, stroking his white beard. ”With His Majesty on one side and Cao Cao on the other? Are they mad?”

​”They are terrified,” Fa Zheng corrected. ”They fear the Emperor’s army more than they fear Cao Cao’s wrath. They have decided to hole up in their territories and play kings of the dust.”

​Meng Da let out a long breath, looking at the blueprints. ”If this is true... then the threat to our flank...”

​”Is gone,” Fa Zheng finished. ”Or at least, neutralized for the moment. They will not attack Tianshui. They are too busy securing their own borders and counting their stolen tax revenue.”

​”This changes everything,” Meng Da said, his mind racing. ”The complexion of the campaign... it has shifted immensely. Cao Cao is expecting two hundred thousand reinforcements. He is making his plans based on their arrival.”

​”And they are never coming,” Fa Zheng said, a cold smile touching his lips. ”Cao Cao will be defending Chang’An with a phantom army on his ledger.”

​Suddenly, a booming laughter filled the room, shaking the dust from the rafters. It was Meng Huo. The barbarian king was slapping his thigh, his laughter deep and mocking.

​”Hah! Ah hahaha!” Meng Huo wiped a tear from his eye. ”Those five... they have hearts of steel, I will give them that! To spit in Cao Cao’s face! But their brains? Their brains are made of mush!”

​He stood up, pacing around the room. ”They choose the wrong path! If they had surrendered to us, to His Majesty, they might have kept their titles. They might have lived. But to start their own kingdom now? In the middle of this?”

​Meng Huo shook his head. ”They are like rabbits declaring themselves wolves because the tiger is busy elsewhere. They wouldn’t last long. His Majesty will crush Cao Cao, and then he will turn his head and poof, the ’League of Lords’ will be nothing but a footnote. Stupid! Bravely stupid!”

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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