Reborn In The Three Kingdoms

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King Geunchogo’s jaw tightened. He knew the old man was right. But the thought of leading an army himself, of standing on a battlefield where arrows and blades cared not for royal blood, sent a cold trickle of fear down his spine.

One of his oldest generals, a grizzled veteran who had served his father, stepped forward, his voice a low growl. ”My king, we must act now. If we do not rally our forces and strike back, Wirye itself will be under siege within the week.”

King Geunchogo’s jaw tightened. He knew the old man was right. But the thought of leading an army himself, of standing on a battlefield where arrows and blades cared not for royal blood, sent a cold trickle of fear down his spine.

Yet the pressure was unbearable. The nobles, the generals, even his own sons, their eyes bore into him, demanding action.

”Very well,” he finally said, rising from his throne. ”Mobilize the royal guard. Summon every able bodied man in Wirye. We march north at dawn.”

A murmur of relief rippled through the court. But as King Geunchogo turned to leave, his most trusted advisor, a man whose counsel had saved him from countless political pitfalls, caught his arm.

”My king,” the advisor whispered urgently, ”do not commit everything to the north. The foreign fleet, their presence means they intend to strike Wirye directly. If we send all our forces north, the capital will be defenseless.”

King Geunchogo hesitated. The advisor was right. But if he split his forces, would either front hold?

”Then we fortify Wirye as well, split our army into two,” he muttered. ”Prepare the city for siege. And send word to Silla, remind them of our pact. If Baekje falls, they are next.”

On the other hand, in Silla’s capital, Seorabeol, King Naemul of Silla was not a man prone to outbursts. He was deliberate, methodical, a ruler who preferred to weigh every decision carefully. But when the news of Baekje’s invasion reached him, his usually composed face twisted in shock.

”Gaya has decided to go against us?” he hissed, slamming his fist onto the council table. ”They dare side with Goguryeo and these foreign invaders?”

His war council was in chaos. The generals were shouting over one another, some demanding an immediate march to Baekje’s aid, others insisting they fortify their own borders first.

”If we do nothing, Baekje will fall!” roared General Jin, a bear of a man who had fought in countless skirmishes against Baekje and yet now argued to save them. ”And once Baekje is gone, Goguryeo and these foreign dogs will turn on us!”

”And if we send our armies to the west, who will defend our own lands?” countered another advisor. ”What if this is a feint? What if Gaya’s real target is us?”

King Naemul rubbed his temples. The situation was worse than he had feared. The defensive pact between Baekje and Silla had always been a fragile thing, two rivals forced into an uneasy alliance against the greater threat of Goguryeo.

But now, with Gaya’s suddenly turning side after being excluded and the sudden appearance of the foreign fleet, the balance of power had shattered.

”We have no choice,” King Naemul said at last, his voice heavy. ”We must aid Baekje. But we will not commit blindly.”

He turned to his most trusted general, a man who had never lost a battle. ”Take half our forces west. Reinforce Baekje’s northern flank. But do not engage unless absolutely necessary. Let Baekje bleed for us.”

Then, to his spymaster, ”Send agents to Gaya. Find out who truly controls them now. If there is dissent, exploit it.”

And finally, to his naval commander, ”Double patrols along our eastern coast. If the foreign fleet moves against us, I want to know immediately.”

The orders were given, and the council dismissed. But as Naemul stood alone in the empty hall, a cold realization settled over him.

This war was not just about Baekje. Or Silla. Or even Goguryeo.

Someone, someone far more dangerous than a mere warlord, was pulling the strings.

And if he did not uncover the truth soon, Silla would share Baekje’s fate.

Back in Baekje, King Geunchogo’s decision to split his forces proved disastrous.

His northern army, though bolstered by fresh recruits, was no match for Gongsun Gong’s hardened cavalry. The Baekje soldiers fought bravely, but discipline crumbled under the relentless assault. By the third day, the northern front collapsed, and Gongsun Gong’s forces marched unopposed toward Wirye.

Meanwhile, the Hengyuan fleet’s troops, led by a ruthless commander handpicked by Zhou Yu, struck from the west. Villages were torched, supply lines severed. Refugees streamed toward the capital, only to find its gates barred, King Geunchogo had ordered the city sealed, preparing for siege.

Inside Wirye’s walls, desperation festered. Food stores dwindled. The people, once loyal, now whispered of betrayal.

”The king has doomed us,” they muttered in the shadows. ”He should have reacted faster. He should never have trusted Silla.”

And then, the final blow came.

A messenger, bloodied and half dead, stumbled into the throne room.

”My king... Silla’s reinforcements... they’ve stopped at the border. They’re not coming.”

King Geunchogo’s face went pale.

”What?”

”They claim their own borders are under threat. They say... they cannot spare the men.”

A lie. A coward’s excuse.

King Geunchogo let out a strangled laugh. Of course. Silla had betrayed their defensive pact. Just as Gaya had chosen to stab them in the back, the consequence of him excluding them from the defensive pact. Just as fate itself had.

Outside the palace walls, the distant roar of battle grew louder. The enemy has arrived at the gates.

And Baekje was alone in facing its enemy.

Meanwhile, the air outside Wirye was thick with tension, as Gongsun Gong stood atop a raised embankment overlooking the city of Wirye, narrowed his eyes at the distant walls. The once proud capital of Baekje stood defiant behind thick stone fortifications, its banners fluttering weakly in the wind.

Around him, more than 200,000 troops, his own men and the armies of Goguryeo, waited like coiled serpents. The earth trembled with the movements of thousands of feet, wagons, and horses. War drums thudded in the distance, keeping time with the ever growing machinery of siege.

Inside his command pavilion, pitched beneath a sea of fluttering Hengyuan and Goguryeo banners, Gongsun Gong met with his commanders. The tent was wide, with maps and diagrams pinned to wooden boards, a translator stationed between each line of generals to facilitate the fusion of Xiangping’s northern drawl with Goguryeo’s guttural tongue.

Gongsun Gong’s armor gleamed in the torchlight, and though his expression was stoic, there was a sharpness in his eyes that warned silence was not weakness, it was judgment.

”Gentlemen,” he began, hands resting on the table, ”Wirye is strong, but it is not impregnable. However, we cannot waste men. Silla will be next, and every drop of blood we spill here weakens our future advance. So I ask you, how do we take Wirye, quickly and cleanly?”

The tent came alive with voices. His own generals spoke first.

”A full frontal assault,” one suggested. ”We batter their gates down with rams and storm the breaches. Overwhelm them before they can regroup.”

Another offered, ”We burn their granaries with fire arrows and wait. Starve them out. Let fear do the work for us.”

A third said, ”Use the Hwacha to soften the ramparts. Then send the climbing tigers up the walls under the cover of night. Precision over brute force.”

The Goguryeo generals, after quick translations, added their voices. Some favored stealth and night raids. Others recommended digging tunnels to collapse sections of the wall. One veteran proposed a feigned retreat to lure out Baekje’s forces, then ambush them in the open.

Gongsun Gong remained silent. He listened with arms crossed, his gaze shifting from face to face as each man presented his idea.

Minutes passed. The air in the tent grew heavy with anticipation. Then he raised a hand. Silence fell instantly.

”Enough.”

He stepped forward and pointed to a spot on the map.

”Here. Their weakest wall lies on the western flank. We’ll strike there, but not with brute force. We will feign a siege on all fronts, draw their eyes everywhere. We use the trebuchets and Hwacha to rain chaos, but the real assault will come on the second night. Climbing tigers here, at the west, under full moonlight. While they look east, we breach west.”

The generals nodded. Some murmured praise, others scribbled adjustments. Orders were given.

”Prepare siege equipment. Assemble the rams. Ready the Hwacha. And make sure every unit knows their role, one mistake, and we lose momentum.”

Within hours, the camp outside Wirye transformed into a hive of activity. Carpenters and smiths worked tirelessly.

Massive siege towers took shape. Rows of Hwacha, fearsome wooden carts designed to fire dozens of rockets, were lined up and loaded. Trebuchets were tested, their slings hurling rocks the size of oxen skulls into distant fields.

Climbing tigers, armored wooden ladders fitted with hooks and spikes, were inspected for integrity. Archers prepared buckets of pitch and oil, their arrows tipped for fire. Infantrymen rehearsed breach drills, moving in synchronized formations.

Night fell, and with it came the first wave of psychological warfare. From beyond the walls, the people of Wirye heard the beat of war drums, the whistle of trebuchets launching fiery payloads into the outer districts, and the distant hum of approaching doom.

Inside the city, King Geunchogo sat slumped on his throne. His robes were wrinkled, his face drawn and hollow. Around him, his remaining generals unfurled maps across the stone table.

”They’re surrounding the city from all sides,” one said. ”We believe the eastern wall will be struck first. Their siege engines are being positioned there.”

Another chimed in. ”They are testing our defenses with probes. Skirmishers have already scouted our outer barricades.”

King Geunchogo said nothing. He merely stared at the map, lips slightly parted, as if trying to recall how he had ended up here, besieged, betrayed, and abandoned.

”Your Majesty?” a young commander asked gently.

King Geunchogo stirred. His voice was brittle. ”What... what do you recommend?”

The generals exchanged nervous glances. It was clear their king was no longer the man he once was.

”We should concentrate our forces on the eastern wall,” said the youngest. ”That is where the enemy shows the most activity.”

”And if it’s a trick?” another interjected. ”If they strike the west while we watch the east?”

”We can’t divide our forces further. The army’s morale is crumbling. We barely have enough supplies for a week.” King Geunchogo closed his eyes. He saw again the faces of his people, the fearful glances, the whispered doubts, the hatred. Once, they had sung his name in the streets. Now, they cursed him in the alleys. And he could not blame them.

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Name: Lie Fan

Title: Founding Emperor Of Hengyuan Dynasty

Age: 34 (201 AD)

Level: 16

Next Level: 462,000

Renown: 2325

Cultivation: Yin Yang Separation (level 9)

SP: 1,121,700

ATTRIBUTE POINTS

STR: 966 (+20)

VIT: 623 (+20)

AGI: 623 (+10)

INT: 667

CHR: 98

WIS: 549

WILL: 432

ATR Points: 0