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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To the side, Zhang He was engaged in a dizzying, lethal dance with Taishi Ci. It was a blur of motion, spear tip flashing against twin rod hammers. Zhang He used the ornate pillars of the Great Hall to his advantage, springing off them, thrusting from impossible angles. But Taishi Ci’s cold, calculating eyes tracked every movement.

As Zhang He lunged forward, committing his weight to a thrust aimed at Taishi Ci’s throat, the Hengyuan general executed a flawless, blindingly fast parry. He knocked the spear wide, stepped inside Zhang He’s guard, and brought the heavy pommel of his right hand-halberd crashing down onto Zhang He’s wrist.

The bone snapped with a loud crack. Zhang He cried out, his spear clattering to the floor. Before he could retreat, Taishi Ci swept his leg, sending the Wei general crashing onto his back. A dozen Hengyuan spear points were instantly at his throat.

”Do not move,” Taishi Ci commanded coldly. Zhang He, his face pale with pain, yielded, allowing himself to be dragged to his feet and bound.

With Xu Huang and Zhang He subdued, the remaining Wei elite guards were rapidly butchered by the overwhelming numbers of the Hengyuan heavy infantry. The Great Hall was secured, save for one final, bloody holdout.

Near the shattered doorway, Xiahou Dun was fighting a desperate, agonizing last stand against Zhang Liao and Guan Yu.

The Grand Marshal of Wei was a horrifying testament to human endurance. He had taken a shallow cut to his thigh, a spear thrust had grazed his ribs, and his armor was literally falling apart, but his single eye burned with an inextinguishable, mad defiance.

”Come on! Is that all the Black Dragon has?!” Xiahou Dun roared, swinging his nicked and bloodied broadsword in wild, desperate arcs, keeping the two titans at bay through sheer, unpredictable ferocity.

Zhang Liao parried a heavy blow, stepping back to let Guan Yu take the front. ”He is a mad dog. Put him down, General Guan Yu, before he hurts himself further.”

Guan Yu’s eyes narrowed, a look of profound, martial respect settling onto his majestic features. ”You have fought with honor, Xiahou Dun. But your war is over.”

Guan Yu stepped forward, his Green Dragon Crescent Blade moving with terrifying, fluid speed. He did not aim to kill. He executed a complex, sweeping maneuver. The heavy blade hooked the crossguard of Xiahou Dun’s broadsword, violently wrenching it from the exhausted general’s grasp.

As the sword flew across the room, Xiahou Dun did not surrender. He let out a feral roar and lunged forward with his bare hands, trying to tackle Guan Yu.

Zhang Liao stepped in from the flank, reversing his grip on his saber. He brought the heavy, blunt pommel crashing down onto the back of Xiahou Dun’s knee. The joint buckled. As Xiahou Dun fell to one knee, Guan Yu brought the flat, heavy side of his Crescent Blade slapping hard against the side of the Wei general’s helmet.

The concussive impact finally shattered Xiahou Dun’s monstrous endurance. His single eye rolled back, and he collapsed heavily onto the blood soaked marble, bleeding profusely, his body twitching with exhaustion, but alive.

The Great Hall fell silent.

The clash of steel faded, replaced by the heavy, ragged breathing of the exhausted Hengyuan elites and the low groans of the bound and injured Wei generals. The opulent center of the Wei Dynasty was a ruined, smoking slaughterhouse. The tapestries burned, the pillars were chipped and splintered, and the floor was a sticky, horrific red.

Then, over the crackle of the flames, a new sound emerged from the corridor outside.

It was the slow, rhythmic, impossibly heavy tread of armored boots. The sound carried an unnatural, terrifying weight, echoing through the antechamber.

The Hengyuan soldiers standing near the shattered doorway immediately snapped to attention. They parted like the Red Sea, creating a wide, respectful avenue through the carnage.

Zhang Liao wiped the blood from his face. Dian Wei retrieved his dropped halberd and stood tall. Guan Yu grounded his Crescent Blade, bowing his head slightly.

Through the ruined doorway, stepping over the splintered oak and the fallen bodies of the Wei guards, walked Lie Fan.

The Emperor of Hengyuan was a terrifying, magnificent vision of absolute conquest. He was dressed in his full, bespoke panoply of black iron and gold, the armor entirely pristine, free from the grime of the melee he had orchestrated from afar. In his right hand, he casually carried his legendary heavenly halberd, the weapon that had carved an empire out of chaos.

He did not walk alone. Moving with terrifying, silent synchronicity around him were the four pillars of his personal safety, the legendary Yellow Ghost Bodyguards.

Zhang Mancheng walked slightly ahead and to his right, his eyes sweeping the high ceilings and the shadows behind the pillars, his hands resting on his twin blades. Chao Bo and Chao Bai flanked the Emperor’s left, moving with the eerie, mirrored perfection of twins, their polearms held at the ready.

And bringing up the rear, ensuring no blade could ever strike the Emperor’s back, was Huang Chao, his massive frame a living shield of muscle and iron.

Lie Fan stepped into the center of the Great Hall. The smoke seemed to part around him. He looked down at the bound, bleeding forms of Xu Huang and Zhang He. He looked at the unconscious, broken body of Xiahou Dun. He looked at the smashed map table and the burning tapestries.

He had won.

Lie Fan slowly turned his gaze toward the raised dais at the back of the room. He looked at the ornate Dragon Throne of Wei, sitting empty amidst the destruction.

”They fought well,” Lie Fan said, his voice a low, resonant rumble that filled the vast space, carrying no anger, only the cold, objective assessment of a supreme ruler. ”But courage without strength is merely a prolonged suicide.”

Lie Fan stepped toward the dais. He noticed the slight scuff marks on the polished wood near the hidden panel. His sharp eyes caught the faint, lingering scent of expensive silk and fear.

”It seems the young prince has decided to delay the inevitable,” Lie Fan noted, a cold, predatory smile touching his lips. He turned to Zhang Mancheng. ”Secure these prisoners. Lock down the perimeter of the Great Hall. The rat has scurried into the walls. We will smoke him out.”

Meanwhile, the darkness of the secret passageway was absolute, a suffocating, earthy blackness that smelled of damp stone, ancient dust, and the sharp, metallic tang of their own terrified sweat.

​For the brilliant minds of the Wei court, men who had spent their lives in sunlit pavilions plotting the course of millions, this blind, desperate scramble through the bowels of the earth was a profound humiliation. They were scholars, administrators, and poets.

They were not designed for the physical rigors of a subterranean flight. Xun Yu tripped over the hem of his heavy, embroidered robes, his hands scraping raw against the rough hewn stone walls.

Behind him, the suffocating darkness was punctuated by the wet, rattling coughs of Cheng Yu, who was leaning heavily on Guo Jia to keep moving forward.

​At the head of this miserable procession, Cao Pi led the way. His ceremonial sword, previously drawn in a moment of desperate bravado in the Great Hall, was now held out in front of him like a blind man’s cane, the tip occasionally sparking against the stone walls.

His breathing was ragged, echoing loudly in the narrow confines of the tunnel. Every muffled vibration from the palace above sent a jolt of pure adrenaline through his veins. He expected the wall behind them to shatter at any moment, revealing the monstrous, blood soaked visage of Dian Wei or the cold, calculating eyes of Taishi Ci.

​”Keep moving,” Cao Pi hissed, his voice trembling despite his best efforts to sound commanding. ”We must be nearing the end. The incline is rising.”

​”My lungs...” Cheng Yu wheezed, stumbling blindly. ”Your Highness... do not stop for me if I fall.”

​”No one is falling, Master Cheng Yu,” Guo Jia grunted, tightening his grip on the old advisor arm, practically dragging him up the uneven steps. ”We did not abandon the dynasty to die in a rat hole. Keep walking.”

​After what felt like an eternity of stumbling in the suffocating dark, Cao Pi’s outstretched hand finally met flat, polished wood instead of rough stone. He ran his trembling fingers along the grain, feeling for the hidden latch mechanism Guo Jia had described. His fingers brushed cold iron. He pressed hard, shifting his weight against the panel.

​With a soft, well oiled click, the wood gave way.

​Pale, golden light spilled into the tunnel, momentarily blinding them. Cao Pi pushed the hidden door open and stumbled forward, his sword raised, blinking frantically against the sudden illumination.

​They spilled out of the secret passageway not into another dark corridor, but into the breathtaking, opulent sanctuary of the Harem Palace. The air here was radically different, it was thick with the scent of jasmine, burning sandalwood, and expensive perfumes, completely devoid of the smoke and ash that was choking the rest of Chang’an.

The floors were covered in thick, plush carpets, and the walls were adorned with breathtaking silk tapestries depicting mythological beasts and serene landscapes.

​But the sudden, violent intrusion of a half dozen soot stained, blood spattered men bursting from a seemingly solid wooden wall did not go unnoticed.

​”Intruders! Protect the inner sanctum!”

​The shout rang out with shocking clarity. A dozen elite Imperial Guards, the personal, heavily vetted protectors of the Emperor’s concubines and children, spun around, their faces masks of pure shock.

These were men who had been entirely isolated from the grinding horrors of the outer walls, stationed deep within the safest, most restricted quadrant of the entire capital. Seeing armed men burst from the woodwork, they instantly drew their heavy sabers and leveled their halberds, forming a tight, lethal semicircle around the hidden doorway.

​Cao Pi threw his free hand up, his ceremonial sword drooping toward the carpet. ”Stand down! Stand down, you fools! It is I!”

​The captain of the guard, a seasoned veteran with a scarred cheek, squinted against the light, his blade poised to strike. When his eyes finally adjusted, recognizing the soot stained face of the Second Prince, and the ragged, breathless forms of the highest-ranking ministers in the empire stumbling out behind him, the color drained entirely from his face.

​”Your... Your Highness?” The captain lowered his saber, dropping instantly to one knee, the other guards hurriedly following suit in a cascade of clinking armor. ”Forgive us, Your Highness! We did not know—”

​”There is no time for apologies!” Cao Pi barked, stepping fully into the corridor and hauling the exhausted Xun Yu out behind him. The prince’s eyes were wild, scanning the pristine hallway. He pointed a shaking finger back at the open panel.

​”Barricade that door!” Cao Pi ordered, his voice echoing with absolute, frantic urgency. ”Blockade the secret entrance immediately! Use whatever you can find, tables, statues, braziers! I want a mountain of weight against that wood! The enemy has breached the Great Hall! They will eventually find the mechanism, and when they do, we must ensure no one can break through it in a short time!”

​The Imperial Guards, though deeply confused by the catastrophic implications of the prince’s words, did not hesitate. The absolute terror in Cao Pi’s voice was command enough.

​”You heard His Highness! Move!” the captain roared, leaping to his feet.

​The pristine serenity of the Harem Palace corridor was instantly shattered. The guards threw their halberds clattering to the floor and grabbed a massive, intricately carved mahogany table that held several priceless Han and Qin vases.

The vases shattered into a thousand pieces as the heavy table was violently flipped onto its side and shoved against the wooden panel. Two more guards dragged a colossal, solid bronze incense burner, the metal screeching loudly against the floorboards, wedging it tightly against the table.

Heavy cedar chests filled with winter silks, solid jade decorative statues, and reinforced wooden benches were piled in a frantic, desperate frenzy, creating a dense, heavy barricade against the secret door.

​While the guards worked with feverish intensity, Cao Pi turned to his ragged brain trust. Xun Yu was leaning against a silk lined wall, his eyes closed, drawing deep, shuddering breaths. Cheng Yu had collapsed onto a small stool, coughing into a handkerchief.

”We cannot linger,” Cao Pi said, his voice trembling but gaining strength as the reality of his new authority settled over him. Lead the way,” Cao Pi commanded. ”And send one of the fastest runner to the eunuch quarters immediately. Tell them to sound the silent alarm. The entire harem must be mobilized.”

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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