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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The soldiers grabbed their shovels. The sound of hundreds of pounds of dirt hitting the wooden lids of the coffins began. It was a heavy, hollow, suffocating sound, the sound of history being buried. Slowly, methodically, the deep earthen chambers were filled, the soil packed down tight, sealing the Wei Dynasty in the absolute dark.

​Once the earth was leveled, the stonemasons took over. Using massive blocks of pre cut, polished grey granite that had been hauled up the mountain, they began the rapid, highly coordinated construction of the surface tomb.

They worked with an intense, reverent speed, erecting a beautiful, sweeping stone structure that was undeniably befitting of Cao Cao, the Cao Clan, and the Five Wei Generals.

It possessed the grand, austere architecture of a sovereign’s resting place, yet it purposefully lacked the imperial dragons and golden insignias that would have challenged the Hengyuan mandate.

​It was a monument of tragic grandeur.

​When the last stone was mortared into place, the air filled with the heavy, pungent scent of burning sandalwood.

​Lie Fan signaled for the spiritual rites to begin. Several high ranking priests, draped in flowing ceremonial robes, stepped forward. They lit massive bundles of incense, the thick white smoke curling up toward the pale afternoon sky, carrying their prayers to the heavens.

The rhythmic, hypnotic chanting of the priests echoed over the plateau, a somber melody pleading for peace for the restless souls of the fallen.

​Emperor Lie Fan did not simply watch from afar. He stepped forward, walking through the thick veil of incense smoke. He approached the grand stone altar that had been erected at the forefront of the tomb.

​A eunuch handed him a golden chalice filled with clear, potent rice wine.

​Lie Fan held the chalice with both hands. He closed his eyes, bowing his head in a moment of profound, private communion. He thought of the tactical brilliance of Cao Ren, the unwavering fury of Xiahou Dun, and the booming, defiant laughter of Cao Cao just moments before the poison took him.

​Lie Fan slowly poured the wine across the cold stone altar, offering the spirits their final drink. He bowed deeply, three times from the waist, participating fully and genuinely in the burial ceremony prayer. The Black Dragon paid his final respects to the men who had forced him to become a god of war.

​As Lie Fan stepped back, the final, permanent touch was applied.

​Several master artisans, wielding heavy iron mallets and fine steel chisels, approached a massive, towering slab of solid, unblemished granite that had been erected before the tomb’s entrance. The sharp, ringing strikes of metal on stone filled the air as they began to sculpt the name of the tomb and its primary occupant.

​The dust settled, revealing deeply carved, elegant calligraphy. It did not proclaim him an Emperor, nor did it insult him as a traitor. It read, simply and powerfully, Here Rests Cao Mengde, Chancellor of Han, and the Emperor of Wei.

​The burial was done. The tomb was officially erected, an eternal, silent monolith overlooking the eastern plains.

​Lie Fan looked at the stone one last time, feeling a massive, invisible weight lift from his shoulders. He turned his back on the grave.

​”Mount up,” Lie Fan commanded.

​The procession reformed, trading the heavy solemnity of the burial for the swift, efficient discipline of the march. They rode back toward the west, turning their backs on the setting sun, making the long, arduous journey back to Xiapi.

​When Lie Fan finally returned to the towering walls of his palace, the exhaustion was absolute. He dismissed his retinue and retreated immediately to his private chambers. He bathed meticulously, scrubbing the dust of the graveyard and the scent of incense from his skin.

He shed the charcoal grey mourning robes, having them burned in the courtyard braziers as was custom, and changed back into his normal, comfortable indoor attire. He sat by the window of his quarters, looking out at the sprawling, unified capital he had built, allowing the quiet peace of his victory to finally, truly settle into his bones.

​Meanwhile, hundreds of miles away, beneath the towering, fortified archway of the West Gate of Xiapi, the winds of war were already gathering speed.

​The air was choked with the dust of thousands of marching boots, the whinnying of warhorses, and the sharp, barked orders of Hengyuan quartermasters organizing supply trains.

The massive western army was mobilizing, preparing for the grueling march toward Chang’An to join the impending, brutal attack against the League of the Northwestern Lords.

​Standing in the shadow of the great gatehouse, mounted upon heavily armored warhorses, were seven men who, just days ago, had been waiting to die in a subterranean cell.

​Yue Jin, Li Dian, Yu Jin, Zhang He, Xu Huang, Pang De, and Gao Lan.

​They wore the heavy, polished steel armor of Hengyuan vanguard commanders. Black cloaks bearing the subtle, red threaded insignia of their new Emperor billowed in the western wind. They had been spared the executioner’s blade, integrated into the absolute apex of the imperial military machine, and immediately deployed to the frontiers to carve their new loyalties in blood.

​Yet, as they sat in their saddles, waiting for the final column of infantry to pass through the gates, the atmosphere among them was incredibly heavy, thick with the complex, agonizing burden of survival.

​The news had spread through the military camps like wildfire that morning. They knew what Emperor Lie Fan had been doing in the east while they were being fitted for new armor in the west.

​”They are in the earth,” Yue Jin murmured, his voice a low, gravelly rasp that barely carried over the noise of the marching troops. His hands gripped the leather reins of his horse so tightly his knuckles were stark white. He stared blankly at the dusty road ahead, his eyes haunted. ”The former Emperor of Wei. Cao Ang. Cao Pi. Xiahou Dun. Xu Chu. All of them. Dead and buried.”

​Li Dian, sitting beside him, closed his eyes, a profound, visible physical pain washing over his scholarly features. He had served Cao Cao almost since the very beginning, acting as a pillar of logistical brilliance and steady command. To outlive the man who had defined his entire existence felt like a grotesque, unnatural violation of the cosmic order.

​”We are breathing the air they should be breathing,” Li Dian whispered, his voice thick with a crushing, suffocating regret. ”I close my eyes, and I see Xiahou Yuan laughing in the command tent. I see Xu Chu standing guard. They went to the block... and we bent the knee. We traded our pride for our pulse, Wenqian.”

​Yue Jin swallowed hard, his jaw clenching. ”We betrayed him. For all the logic, for all the talk of new mandates and ending the chaos... we broke our oaths. We let the Black Dragon put a collar on us while our brothers drank poison.”

​”Do not speak of treason when the state is already ash,” Yu Jin interjected, his voice sharp and utterly devoid of romanticism. The strict disciplinarian sat rigidly in his saddle, his eyes fixed firmly on the western horizon.

”You did not betray the Emperor, Li Dian. The Emperor lost the war. When the king falls, the army breaks. To die in a dark cell for a dead dynasty is not loyalty, it is a dereliction of a soldier’s duty. Emperor Lie Fan spared us because he recognized our utility. We serve the law of the land, and the law of the land is now Hengyuan. Do not let sentimentality blunt your edge before we even reach Chang’An.”

​Zhang He, ever the adaptable pragmatist, gently patted the neck of his warhorse, offering a more nuanced, philosophical perspective.

​”Wenze speaks harshly, but he speaks the truth,” Zhang He said smoothly, looking at the agonizing grief etched into Yue Jin’s face. ”The guilt you feel is natural. It is the curse of the survivor. But ask yourself this, would Cao Mengde have wanted you to die a meaningless, forgotten death in a damp dungeon? No. He was a man who valued talent above all else. He built his empire on the backs of capable men. If he were standing here, he would tell you to take this new armor, ride west, and make the world remember the ferocity of the men he trained. Our banner has changed from blue to black, but our swords are still our own.”

​Xu Huang grunted in agreement, reaching back to adjust the massive, heavy battle axe strapped to his back. The weapon was a comforting, familiar weight against his spine.

​”I fight for the martial craft,” Xu Huang rumbled, his deep voice carrying a terrifying, focused intensity. ”I offered my life to the Chancellor, and the Chancellor’s war ended. The Black Dragon has promised me the blood of the northwestern barbarians. He has promised me the vanguard. I will honor the memory of Xiahou Dun and Cao Ren not by weeping, but by showing Emperor Lie Fan exactly why the Wei vanguard was the most feared force on earth. Let the historians judge our loyalties. I will let my axe do the talking.”

​Gao Lan, the quiet, solid anchor of the group, nodded silently in agreement with Xu Huang. He was a soldier. He needed a commander to point him at an enemy. The politics of the capital were beyond him, he only cared about the men marching behind him, ensuring they were fed, equipped, and led to victory.

​Pang De, however, was already looking past the grief. The fierce, incredibly proud warrior hailed from the harsh, arid lands they were currently marching toward. His blood was already humming with the anticipation of the impending campaign.

​”You can mourn the past when you are old men sitting by a fire,” Pang De declared, his voice slicing through the heavy melancholy like a sharpened blade. He spurred his horse slightly forward, turning to look back at the other six generals. His eyes burned with an aggressive, predatory fire.

”We are marching into Liang Province. That is my home. The warlords there, Yan Xing, Cheng Li, Ma Teng’s old remnants, they are treacherous, paranoid wolves who respect nothing but absolute force. If you ride into those mountains carrying the heavy baggage of your guilt, they will smell the hesitation on you, and they will slaughter you.”

​Pang De pointed a heavily gauntleted finger toward the west. ”Emperor Lie Fan did not spare us out of charity. He spared us to be his executioners. He threw us into this campaign because he wants to see if the hounds of Wei can still hunt. So dry your eyes. Tighten your saddles. We have a new Emperor to impress, and a province to burn.”

​Yue Jin looked at Pang De, the harsh, unforgiving reality of the warrior’s words finally piercing through the thick fog of his grief. He looked back over his shoulder, toward the east, where the sun was beginning to cast long shadows across the walls of Xiapi. He offered one final, silent prayer to the ghost of Cao Cao, buried in the distant hills.

​He then turned his face to the west, his jaw setting into a hard, uncompromising line. He reached down and drew his steel sword a few inches from its scabbard, the sharp sching of metal ringing out as he checked the edge.

​”Pang De is right,” Yue Jin growled, the fierce, unyielding energy of the vanguard commander finally returning to his eyes. ”We are dead men who have been given a second chance to breathe. Let us ride to Chang’an. Let us show the northwest what happens when you awaken the ghosts of Wei.”

​With a synchronized, thunderous crack of leather reins, the seven legendary generals spurred their warhorses forward. They rode out from the shadow of the great gatehouse, joining the endless river of marching steel, leaving the ashes of their past behind as they charged toward the brutal, bloody horizon of their new destiny.

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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