Reborn In The Three Kingdoms

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They believed, with the blind, frantic hope of dying men, that only the supreme shaman queen of Yamatai, with her rumored legions of spirit warriors and her command over the elements themselves, could possibly stand against the numerous iron clad demons of the advancing Hengyuan Dynasty. The fate of the archipelago now rested on a desperate race against time. The Hengyuan vanguard was already marching eastward, their siege engines leaving deep, crushing ruts in the dirt roads, while the tiny wooden boats of the coalition desperately rowed toward Shikoku, praying to awaken a legend before the thunder of the enemies consumed them all.

While the meticulous and heavy military consolidation of Western Honshu was actively being carried out, with imperial magistrates establishing new taxation grids over the rice paddies and Hengyuan infantry dismantling the native strongholds, Zhang Liao was already looking past the smoke.

Alongside the four peerless strategists, Guo Jia, Xi Zhicai, Sima Yi, and Jia Kui, and the four admirals Gan Ning, Zhou Yu, Jiang Qin, and Huang Zu, who commanded the waters, Zhang Liao, of course, already knew absolutely everything about the desperate situation developing in Central Honshu.

They were not fighting blindly. Through the invisible, ever watchful eyes of the Oriole Agents, who had seamlessly integrated themselves into the panicked refugee caravans, and the swift, low profile naval scout ships that constantly patrolled the coastlines, the Hengyuan high command possessed a god’s eye view of the theater. They were fully aware of the emergency summit at the foothills of Mt. Fuji. They knew about the blood oaths, and they knew about the frantic, fragile coalition being formed by the central clans.

More importantly, they also clearly saw the small, desperate envoy boats that were frantically rowing across the treacherous straits under the cover of night, heading straight toward the mysterious island of Shikoku.

When the naval patrol captains sent word of these small, unarmed vessels trying to slip through the blockade, they expected the order to sink them. However, rather than intercepting these messengers and drowning the coalition’s last hope in the dark waters, Zhang Liao and the strategists deliberately and coldly let this happen.

They intentionally allowed the envoys to slip through the iron net. It was not an act of mercy, it was an act of supreme, terrifying calculation. They deeply wanted to see exactly how the legendary Yamatai Kingdom would react to the invasion. The intelligence regarding Queen Himiko and her domain was shrouded in heavy myth and contradictory rumors, they needed to force her hand, to make her reveal her true military strength and her strategic disposition.

The strategists had already laid out a ruthless, perfectly calculated trap, suspended like a guillotine over the straits. If Yamatai took the bait, if the shaman queen believed the frantic pleas of the central warlords and attempted to send her own army of soldiers on transport ships to cross the strait into Honshu to aid the coalition, the trap would instantly snap shut.

The massive Hengyuan naval fleets, under the command of Zhou Yu and Gan Ning, had not just blockaded the western coasts; they had already secretly, quietly encircled the deep waters around Shikoku. The admirals were strictly, unequivocally ordered to shoot down and obliterate the Yamatai reinforcement fleet the very moment they reached the open, deep water.

They were not to capture them. They were ordered to use the devastating, heavy iron cannons and the unquenchable Fire Oil Cabinets to turn the straits into a burning graveyard, serving as a terrifying, undeniable warning to Shikoku of Hengyuan’s absolute, god like naval supremacy.

Inside their heavily fortified, opulent command pavilion on the western shores, illuminated by dozens of oil lamps, the four strategists confidently laid out the grand master plan for the next, brutal phase of the war. They stood around a massive, sculpted wooden table that held a highly detailed topographical map of the archipelago, moving small wooden blocks representing their legions.

”The central coalition will mass their forces near the Nobi plain,” Sima Yi stated, his long finger tracing the river networks of Owari and Mikawa. ”They will try to use the rivers as defensive moats.”

”Then we will boil the rivers,” Guo Jia replied with a chaotic smile, tapping his fan against the table. ”Our artillery will shatter their spear walls, and Zhang Liao’s heavy cavalry will trample whatever is left. They have numbers, but they lack the discipline to withstand volley fire.”

Jia Kui nodded in agreement. ”After we launch our massive, combined assault and successfully take over the united forces of Central Honshu, the geopolitical spine of this island will be broken.”

”And then,” Xi Zhicai added, moving a large block of naval markers toward the east, ”we immediately pivot.”

The master plan was brutally efficient. They would crush the center, and then instantly begin a brutal, full scale amphibious advance directly into Shikoku to crush Yamatai, striking the snake’s head while its body was still twitching.

During this massive, complex southern pivot toward Shikoku, they would not leave their newly conquered territories vulnerable. They planned to simultaneously leave a massive, heavily armed garrison to permanently consolidate Central Honshu. More importantly, they would order the engineering corps to build massive, impenetrable defensive fortifications, deep trenches, stone watchtowers, and overlapping crossbow batteries, along the eastern borders.

This was to absolutely ensure the border was secure against any opportunistic, desperate attacks from the completely unexplored, savage Eastern part of Honshu, a region known only to be filled with fierce, untamed barbarian tribes that even the central warlords feared. The jaws of Hengyuan Dynasty were opening wide, ready to swallow the heart of the archipelago.

Meanwhile, hundreds of miles away from the smoke and thunder of the mainland, on the deeply mystical, fog shrouded island of Shikoku, a scene of sheer panic and profound spiritual dread was unfolding.

The ancient, sprawling capital of Yamatai, known as Makimuku, was a city built on devotion and myth. It lacked the towering stone walls of the mainland, relying instead on massive, intricate wooden palisades, sprawling moats, and a deeply ingrained cultural belief that their island was divinely protected.

Deep within the grand, heavily guarded wooden palace at the center of the city, the atmosphere was thick with the scent of burning incense and the heavy, terrifying weight of reality crashing down upon legend. The palace was adorned with massive, highly polished bronze mirrors designed to catch the sun’s rays, and sacred ceremonial bells that chimed softly in the ocean breeze.

Sitting upon a raised, veiled throne of lacquered wood was the legendary Shaman Queen. She held the revered, divine title of Himiko, acting not just as a monarch, but as the supreme spiritual and political ruler of the Yamatai Kingdom, a living conduit to the sun goddess herself.

She urgently addressed her sprawling court. The massive hall was packed with a tense, sweating council of high priests in white robes, heavily tattooed clan heads, and seasoned generals who had never known defeat on their own shores.

Kneeling on the woven mats before the veiled throne were the exhausted, terrified envoys from the Central Honshu coalition. They were soaked in sea spray, their clothes ragged, their faces hollow with exhaustion and sheer terror. They had just arrived, throwing themselves to the floor, abandoning all courtly protocol in their desperation.

They frantically, breathlessly informed the Queen and her council of the apocalyptic events that had just happened in the west. The court listened in horrified silence as the envoys wept openly, their voices cracking as they described how the wealthy, powerful western chiefdoms, Kibi, Izumo, Tango, and many more, were completely annihilated in mere days.

They spoke of armor clad demons who marched in perfect unison, indifferent to pain or death. They described the towering, floating fortresses that belched black smoke and commanded the ocean. And, most terrifyingly, they described the weapons of deafening thunder and unquenchable, liquid fire that melted iron swords and turned mountains into rubble.

Listening to these horrifying, impossible reports, a heavy, suffocating silence fell over the mystical court. The priests stopped chanting. The generals tightened their grips on their hilts, their knuckles white. The myths of their invincibility were being aggressively dismantled by the brutal reality of the mainland.

Behind the sheer silk veil of her throne, Queen Himiko sat perfectly still. Though her face was hidden, her presence dominated the room. She was not a frail mystic; she was a woman of terrifying intellect who had united dozens of warring tribes through sheer charisma and political genius.

When she finally spoke, her voice echoed through the hall with profound, unshakeable authority, yet it was tinged with an undeniable, heavy dread that sent shivers down the spines of her council.

”The western shores burn, and the center bleeds,” Queen Himiko stated, her voice resonating like a perfectly struck bronze bell. She formally asked her trembling council of elders and generals, ”How should we possibly respond to this? The dragons of the mainland have finally turned their eyes toward the rising sun.”

A high priest, an old man covered in sacred tattoos, stepped forward, his hands trembling. ”My Queen, surely the gods will protect us. The kami of the winds and the sea will sink their iron ships before they reach our shores. We must retreat to the inner shrines and pray for a divine storm.”

Queen Himiko let out a sharp, cold sigh that cut through the incense. She pointed out, with chilling, brutal clarity, that prayers alone would not extinguish liquid fire.

”Do you not hear the words of these men?” Himiko demanded, gesturing to the weeping envoys. ”These foreign invaders clearly have some kind of terrifying, unstoppable magic on their side to manage to take over such vast, heavily defended territories at such a fast, unprecedented rate. They shattered Izumo. They starved Kibi. They do not fear the kami, they bring their own.”

A seasoned general, his face scarred from tribal wars, stepped forward, bowing deeply. ”Then we must send the fleet, Divine Queen! We must intercept them in the straits. We must land our warriors in Harima and fight alongside the central coalition. If we strike them while they are divided, our spears can find the gaps in their iron armor!”

Queen Himiko remained silent for a long moment. Her sharp, strategic mind was rapidly processing the geopolitical catastrophe, piercing straight through the religious mysticism and the martial arrogance of her court.

”No,” Himiko finally commanded, her voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. ”We will not send our fleet into the open water to die.”

A murmur of shock rippled through the generals. ”But my Queen—!”

”Silence!” she snapped, and the room instantly froze.

Queen Himiko leaned forward, the silk veil shifting slightly, revealing the hard, brilliant glint of her dark eyes. She warned them of a grim, undeniable geopolitical reality that the generals, blinded by their warrior pride, were failing to see.

”Think, you fools,” she hissed. ”If they possess ships that breathe fire and weapons that shatter mountains, do you truly believe they have not anticipated our movements? They have blockaded the west. They are marching on the center. If we send our wooden ships into those straits, they will not meet us with swords. They will meet us with thunder, and our warriors will drown in a sea of fire.”

She paused, letting the terrifying image sink into their minds.

”However,” Himiko continued, her voice heavy with the terrible burden of absolute leadership. ”If we just sit back, hide behind our shrines, and watch... if we allow the invaders to completely conquer the vast lands of Honshu, then Yamatai will inevitably lose as well.”

She stood up from her throne, her silken robes cascading around her. She walked to the edge of the dais, looking down at her council.

”Without Honshu acting as a massive, populated buffer,” the Queen explained, outlining the grim reality of their geography, ”our sacred island of Shikoku would be completely and utterly surrounded. The enemy’s terrifying iron ships will encircle us entirely, cutting off all trade, all communication, and all escape. We would slowly starve in our own fortress, waiting for the demons to finally land on our shores. If Honshu falls, it seals the total, inescapable destruction of the Yamatai Kingdom.”

The council was paralyzed by the impossible dilemma. To sail out was suicide. To stay was a slow death.

”Then what must we do, Divine Queen?” the high priest asked, his voice cracking with despair. ”If we cannot fight them on the water, and we cannot hide behind our walls... how do we survive the thunder?”

Himiko looked toward the eastern windows, where the sun was beginning to set, casting long, bloody shadows across the wooden floor of the palace.

”We do not fight them where they are strong,” she stated, her mind racing, forming a desperate, highly unconventional plan. ”We do not fight them on the water. We must let them come to us, but on our terms.”

She turned back to the trembling envoys of the central coalition.

”Return to your warlords,” Himiko commanded. ”Tell Chief Takeinawake and High Priestess Otohime that the Yamatai Kingdom will not send its fleet to burn in the straits.”

The envoys wept harder, believing they had been abandoned.

”But,” Himiko added, her voice ringing with a fierce, terrifying resolve, ”tell them that the Shaman Queen has not abandoned the archipelago. Tell them to abandon the plains. Tell them to retreat their combined armies deep into the impenetrable mountains of Shinano. Force the demons to drag their heavy, iron thunder weapons up into the freezing passes where their ships cannot support them.”

She looked at her generals, her eyes blazing. ”We will quietly abandon the coasts of Shikoku. We will pull our entire population, our warriors, and our priests deep into the interior, into the thickest, most treacherous jungles and mountains of this island. We will prepare the deep earth. We will not fight a war of formations. We will fight a war of shadows, of poisoned darts, and of the dense, suffocating fog.”

Queen Himiko raised her hand, her long, elegant fingers pointing toward the heavens. ”The conqueror of the mainland rely on their machines. We will pull them into a world where their machines cannot go. We will make the very island of Shikoku bleed them.” The court bowed deeply, their despair replaced by a grim, terrifying resolve. The legendary Yamatai Kingdom was preparing for a war of total, desperate attrition. They would not face the Black Dragon in the open, they would drag it into the dark, and pray that the ancient magic of the island was stronger than the iron of the mainland.

With Queen Himiko officially letting out her divine decree and strategic suggestion to counter the apocalyptic invaders, the entire Yamatai Kingdom immediately began to mobilize. They did exactly as she commanded, driven by a mixture of absolute religious devotion and a creeping, primal terror. The sprawling, ancient capital of Makimuku became a hive of frantic, organized abandonment.

Priests gathered sacred bronze mirrors and jade magatama from the central shrines, packing them into heavy wooden chests. Warriors abandoned their coastal watchtowers, pulling their outrigger canoes deep into the hidden river mouths and sinking them to prevent capture.

The civilian population, farmers, weavers, and fishers, packed whatever meager supplies they could carry on their backs and began a massive, silent exodus. Following the strict orders of their Shaman Queen, they vanished into the thick, suffocating fog, retreating deep into the treacherous, heavily forested interior and the jagged mountains of Shikoku, preparing the deep earth for a war of shadows.

Meanwhile, the exhausted, salt stained envoys of the Central Honshu coalition had no time to rest. They were forced to frantically cross the treacherous, churning ocean strait once again. Their small, narrow wooden boats were tossed by the unforgiving waves as they desperately avoided the shadowy silhouettes of the towering Hengyuan naval patrols blockading the coasts. Gripping the pure white silk scroll that bore Queen Himiko’s heavy words, they brought the Shaman Queen’s terrifying verdict back to their desperate allies.

Upon finally making landfall, the envoys rode on exhausted horses for two days and nights until they arrived at the grand war camp situated on the massive, fertile expanse of the Nobi plains. This camp was an awe inspiring sight, a sprawling sea of tribal banners, flickering campfires, and tens of thousands of armed warriors representing the final, desperate hope of Central Honshu.

The envoys urgently called for a gathering of all the clan leaders and warlords. Inside the massive, central command tent, smelling of damp earth, sweat, and cheap wine—l, the atmosphere was thick with suffocating tension. Chief Takeinawake of Owari sat at the head, his massive frame clad in iron laced bamboo armor, while High Priestess Otohime of Mikawa, Warlord Suwa of Shinano, and the wealthy lords of Suruga flanked him.

Before the tense, silent council, the lead envoy dropped to his knees. With a trembling voice, he unrolled the silk scroll and read aloud the strategic suggestion that Queen Himiko had asked Central Honshu to execute. He detailed the highly controversial strategy, the central powers were to immediately abandon their coastal cities, their ancestral borders, and their fertile plains.

They were to draw the enemy deep into a unified, mountainous meat grinder, specifically the impassable highlands of Shinano, sacrificing their homelands to bleed the iron demons and buy time for a combined, attritional counterattack. ℯ

For a long, agonizing moment, there was absolute silence in the command tent.

Then, instead of unifying the desperate lords, this radical decree immediately caused a massive, catastrophic split of opinion that struck the highest leadership of the coalition like a physical blow.

Some of the more pragmatic and deeply spiritual leaders, including High Priestess Otohime and Warlord Suwa, fervently supported Queen Himiko. Suwa, whose entire domain consisted of the very mountains Himiko suggested using, saw the undeniable tactical brilliance of the plan. 𝔣𝖗ⅇℯ

Otohime, recognizing the Queen’s divine wisdom, understood that fighting the invaders head on at the open borders was sheer suicide against such overwhelming, thunderous weapons.

”The Queen speaks the truth,” Warlord Suwa rumbled, his deep voice echoing in the tent. ”You cannot fight a storm by standing in an open field. We must pull them into the rocks, where their massive iron carts will break their axles and their formations will shatter. The mountains are our shield!”

______________________________

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

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