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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”Leave the Emperor of Wei unbound,” Fan Chou declared, his voice carrying a strange, solemn reverence for the fallen titan. He pointed his riding crop at the terrified physicians. ”You three. You are granted a temporary exception. You will not be bound, so long as your hands remain exclusively on your medical tools. Your only duty is to ensure Cao Mengde does not cross into the Yellow Springs before our Emperor has the chance to look him in the eye. Keep him stable. If his condition turns critical because of your negligence, your heads will roll before the sun rises.”

The physicians nodded frantically, tears of sheer relief streaming down their faces as they immediately returned to checking Cao Cao’s shallow, rattling pulse.

​A few paces away, Cao Pi knelt on the stone, the rough hemp digging into his wrists. He looked to his left, where the great minds of his father’s court were being forced to their knees beside him.

He saw Cheng Yu, struggling to suppress a violent coughing fit, his bound hands unable to reach for his handkerchief. He saw Guo Jia, his face a mask of scowling, impotent fury. And he saw Xun Yu, his immaculate posture maintained even in the dirt, his eyes staring blankly at the fortress walls.

​A crushing, suffocating wave of guilt washed over Cao Pi. He had taken the mantle. He had demanded their fealty in the Great Hall, promising to fight for every stone, only to lead them directly into a meticulously laid trap like sheep to the slaughter.

​”Master Xun Yu... Master Guo Jia... all of you,” Cao Pi whispered, his voice trembling, breaking with the weight of his utter failure. He bowed his head until his forehead nearly touched the cold stone of the courtyard. ”Forgive me. Please, forgive me. I failed you. I failed my father. I led you into the dark, and I... I cannot think of anything anymore. My mind is empty. I cannot save us. I am so sorry.”

​Xun Yu slowly turned his head to look at the broken young prince. The great administrator’s eyes held no anger, no resentment, only a profound, melancholy understanding of the mechanics of fate.

​”Raise your head, Your Highness,” Xun Yu said softly, his voice steady despite the circumstances. He shook his head slowly. ”Do not bear a guilt that does not belong to you. This disaster was not born of your incompetence.”

​”He is right,” Guo Jia nodded his head at that, his face turned neutral a bit. ”We are the greatest strategic minds of this era, Your Highness. Between the seven of us, we have plotted the downfall of warlords, the burning of fleets, and the starvation of entire provinces. Yet, when the walls fell today, none of us... not a single one of us... could conceive of a plan to bring everyone out of this pit.”

​Xun Yu looked up at the towering, armored forms of the Hengyuan cavalry surrounding them. ”We have spent the last hour running thousands of stratagems through our minds. Flanking maneuvers, diplomatic bluffs, scorched earth retreats. But they were all futile. You cannot out think a landslide, Your Highness. We relied on strategy, but Lie Fan simply used absolute power to force his way through.”

”When an enemy possesses the strength to shatter iron gates with a single blow and the numbers to swallow the horizon, strategy becomes nothing more than a desperate prayer. He held the upper hand from the moment his powerful siege engines fired. We were beaten not by your leadership, but by the sheer, overwhelming, monstrous gravity of Hengyuan’s might.”

​The grim absolution offered little comfort to Cao Pi, but it was the undeniable truth.

​”Get them on their feet,” Xu Rong barked, interrupting the tragic mourning of the Wei court. ”The Emperor is waiting. We march back.”

​The Hengyuan soldiers hauled the bound captives to their feet. The humiliated, terrified procession was forced to turn around. With the heavy cavalry forming an impenetrable escort on all sides, the remnants of the Wei Dynasty were marched out of the Northern Courtyard.

They did not return through the dark, claustrophobic secret tunnel they had used to escape, instead, they were paraded openly through the winding, torch lit garden pathways that connected the northern perimeters back to the heart of the Harem Palace.

​The walk was an agonizing eternity. They passed the bodies of their own slaughtered eunuchs and Imperial Guards, lying broken among the crushed plum blossoms and shattered porcelain. The beautiful, serene gardens had been transformed into a macabre gallery of Lie Fan’s absolute victory.

​Finally, they were herded into the grand, expansive central courtyard of the Harem Palace.

​The area had been cleared of the immediate carnage, though the pristine white flagstones were still stained with dark, spreading pools of blood. Standing at the far end of the courtyard, illuminated by the warm, flickering glow of dozens of hastily erected braziers, was the victor.

​Lie Fan stood with an easy, relaxed posture, his terrifying heavenly halberd now resting point down against the stone floor. Though his bespoke black iron armor was still splattered with the gore of the Great Hall, he looked entirely at peace, a man who had finally reached the summit of a mountain he had been climbing for a lifetime.

​Gathered behind him, arranged like a grand portrait of impending dynastic rule, was the brain trust that had engineered this apocalypse. Sima Yi stood with his hands tucked into his dark sleeves, his eyes gleaming with calculating satisfaction. Beside him stood Chen Deng, Zang Hong, Xu Shu, and Pang Tong.

​But it was the group standing slightly to Lie Fan’s right that truly finalized the image of a shifting era. Standing there, observing the scene with wide, intelligent eyes, was the thirteen year old Crown Prince, Muchen.

Lie Fan had summoned his son from the safety of the Serenity Inn so that the boy could witness the exact moment an empire changed hands. Flanking the young prince, a living wall of protective steel and intellect, were Ma Chao, Ji Ling, Zhuge Jin, and Lu Zhi.

​As Xu Rong and Fan Chou forced the Wei captives to halt in the center of the courtyard, Lie Fan took a slow, deliberate step forward. The dancing firelight caught the golden dragons etched into his breastplate.

​He looked at the defeated masses. He saw Cao Pi, his face pale and eyes downcast. He saw Grand Concubine Bian, weeping silently as she walked beside the stretcher of her comatose husband. He saw the brilliant, bound advisors.

And his eyes swept over the broader royal family that had been rounded up, he recognized the fierce, broad shouldered Cao Zhang, the ’Yellow Bearded Son,’ whose martial prowess was legendary in the future when he have become an adult but now useless in ropes, and the young delicate, highly intelligent face of the famed poet, Cao Zhi.

​A slow, genuine smile spread across Lie Fan’s face. It was not a smile of cruel mockery, but rather the profound, exhausted relief of a man looking at the final pieces of a puzzle he had spent decades solving.

​”Cao Pi. Lady Bian. Cao Zhang. Cao Zhi,” Lie Fan said, his deep, resonant voice easily carrying across the quiet courtyard, addressing them by name, a terrifying testament to his intelligence network.

He offered a slight, almost imperceptible nod of his head. ”I am genuinely happy to finally meet the entirety of the illustrious Cao family in person. I have fought your armies, intercepted your letters, and studied your poetry for years. You are a family of unparalleled brilliance.”

​Lie Fan sighed, a sound of mild, theatrical regret. ”I must admit, I had always hoped our formal introduction would be under much happier, more diplomatic circumstances. A grand banquet in Luoyang, perhaps, celebrating a peaceful integration. But... history rarely bends to our polite wishes. It is what it is.”

​Cao Pi, finding a desperate, final shred of the pride that had driven his father, forced himself to look up. He met the eyes of the man who had destroyed his world.

​”Do not mock us with false pleasantries, Lie Fan,” Cao Pi spat, his voice trembling with a mixture of fear and venom. ”You have broken our gates, slaughtered our guards, and dragged us before you in chains. If you are going to execute us, then have the spine to do it without dressing it up in polite poetry. You have won the crown of blood. Wear it.”

​Lie Fan’s smile did not waver; it merely sharpened at the edges.

​”I do not mock you, Cao Pi,” Lie Fan replied smoothly, his tone shifting from polite host to absolute sovereign. ”I merely state a fact. I would have preferred a bloodless surrender. It would have saved the lives of thousands of my men, and tens of thousands of yours. But your father’s pride, and your own stubborn delusion, demanded this slaughter. You sit in ropes not because of my cruelty, but because of your own refusal to recognize the shifting of the Heavens.”

​”The Heavens?” Cao Pi laughed, a harsh, bitter sound. ”You brought thunderous siege weapons and monsters, not divine mandate! You are a usurper!”

​”Power is the only mandate the Heavens recognize, little prince,” Lie Fan countered effortlessly, taking another step forward, his towering presence dwarfing the kneeling captives. ”When your father held the Emperor hostage in Xuchang, did he claim it was by divine right, or by the edge of his sword? Do not preach to me of usurpation when your entire dynasty was built on the ashes of the Han. I have simply built a hotter fire.”

​Cao Pi opened his mouth to retort, to throw another desperate barb at the conqueror, but he was silenced by a sound that made every person in the courtyard freeze.

​It was a low, rattling, agonizingly wet cough.

​It came from the wooden stretcher.

​Grand Concubine Bian gasped, dropping to her knees beside the canvas. ”My Lord? My Lord Mengde!”

​The imperial physicians practically tripped over themselves, frantically checking his pulse.

​Slowly, as if lifting the weight of the entire world, Cao Cao’s eyelids fluttered open.

​The great warlord was a ghost of his former self. His face was gaunt, his skin devoid of color, his lips cracked and dry. The terrifying, pulsing headache that had felled him in the council chamber had subsided into a dull, agonizing throb, leaving him weak and severely disoriented.

But as his blurry vision cleared, taking in the flickering braziers, the bound forms of his greatest advisors, his sons on their knees in hemp ropes, and the towering, pristine figure of Lie Fan standing victorious over them all, his peerless intellect instantly processed the reality of the situation.

​He didn’t need to ask for a battle report. He didn’t need to ask where Xiahou Dun was. The visual of his family in chains within the deepest sanctum of his own palace told him everything.

​He had lost. The great game was over.

​Cao Cao let out a long, shuddering sigh that seemed to deflate his very soul. He weakly reached out, his trembling, cold fingers finding Grand Concubine Bian’s hand and giving it a faint, reassuring squeeze. Then, with an agonizing effort that brought a grimace of pure pain to his face, he painfully turned his head on the stretcher to look directly at Lie Fan.

​The two greatest warlords of the era finally locked eyes.

​”Lie Fan,” Cao Cao rasped, his voice barely louder than a whisper, yet possessing a gravity that commanded absolute silence from everyone in the courtyard. ”It seems... the Black Dragon... has finally swallowed the sun.”

Lie Fan’s expression sobered immediately. The mocking smile vanished, replaced by a look of profound, solemn respect. He brought his right fist to his open left palm, offering a deep, martial bow to the fallen titan, a gesture he had not offered to Cao Pi. ”Brother Mengde,” Lie Fan replied quietly. ”You fought brilliantly. You built a magnificent state. But the tide of history cannot be stopped.”

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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