Reborn In The Three Kingdoms

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The thunderous crash crushed men beneath, bones snapping, bodies piled atop one another, sealing the gateway with a grotesque barricade of flesh and rubble. Every attempt to scramble free ended in chaos,men trampling each other, slipping on the blood slicked ground, only to be cut down by spears or arrows.

The cries of the vanguard grew frantic, mingled with the thundering drum of war. The Champa general, still at his command post outside, watched in mounting horror.

His face, weathered with scars of countless campaigns, betrayed for once the crack of despair. From his vantage point, he could see his men scrambling like ants in a burning nest, trying to escape, only to be swallowed by logs, stones, and relentless enemies.

Beside him, his lieutenant leaned in, his voice tight with urgency. ”General, we must order the retreat. The vanguard is lost, but the main body, if we force it forward, we will only add to the slaughter. Already, the cavalry bleeds us on both sides. If we continue... we will not last until sundown.”

The general’s hand trembled as it gripped the hilt of his sword. Pride battled with reality in his chest. To order retreat meant abandoning his men within the fort to certain death.

To press on meant losing far more. His jaw clenched, his eyes darting once more to the chaos at the gate, soldiers crushed under logs, men shrieking as they were dragged down by Shi Clan infantry.

In the end, cold calculation won out. He slammed his fist onto the arm of his chair and barked, ”Signal the retreat!”

The drums changed their rhythm, beating out the heavy, mournful cadence of withdrawal. Like a tide reluctantly drawn back, the Champa main army began to pull away from the killing fields, falling back toward the general’s command point. Shields were raised high, rear guards braced for cavalry pursuit, but no chase came.

For up on the walls, Shi Xin stood motionless, his hands folded behind his back. He had been watching the entire engagement with calm detachment, his eyes sharp as steel. When the Champa lines began to retreat, his lips curved faintly. He lifted a flag, and the signal was given.

The cavalry, already brimming with bloodlust, reined in their horses at once, halting their pursuit at the fort’s front. They wheeled back with discipline, striking down only the stragglers who stumbled too close, then regrouped before the open gate.

The trap had been sprung, the vanguard within was already doomed. There was no need to expend men chasing the retreating bulk of the enemy. Not yet.

Time passed, though to the dying it felt endless. Within the fort, the massacre unfolded with merciless precision.

The Champa vanguard, surrounded on all sides, collapsed under the relentless press of infantry and the endless rain of arrows.

Their screams filled the night, mingling with the crack of breaking shields and the wet thud of steel through flesh. By the time silence returned, only piles of bodies remained, strewn beneath the shadow of the gate.

Shi Hui, standing beside Shi Xin on the wall, let out a long breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. His young face flushed with excitement, his scholar’s hands clenched into fists as he turned to his elder brother.

”Brilliant, elder brother! Absolutely brilliant! The plan unfolded perfectly. To trap them so cleanly, to crush their vanguard and drive their main force back without losing our own strength, it was flawless! I must congratulate you!”

Shi Xin’s laughter came, deep and genuine, echoing across the wooden beams of the fort. He clapped his younger brother on the shoulder, shaking his head with wry amusement.

”Flawless? No. This is but the first step. Do not let victory blind you, Hui. This was only the opening move of a larger game. The Champa are not yet defeated. Their general will not rest. He will return, and with more fury than before. If we grow complacent, if we think ourselves secure, it will be our blood that waters this earth.”

Shi Hui blinked, chastened, but nodded. He had seen enough of his brother’s campaigns to know these words were not meant to dampen spirits but to anchor them to reality. War was never finished with one victory.

”Come,” Shi Xin continued, his voice firm now. ”We must prepare the next stage. Order the men to clear the gate. Remove the stones, the logs, and the bodies. Let the path be open once more. We will close the gates after, but for now, it must appear vulnerable again. The Champa will not give up. They will return to storm this fort, believing we are still exposed. That is when we will draw them in and destroy them fully.”

At his command, the soldiers below began their grim work. The mangled bodies of friend and foe alike were dragged aside, piled for burning. Logs and stones were hauled away, cleared from the gate’s threshold.

The ground was slick with blood, and the smell of iron and smoke clung heavy in the air. Yet the Shi Clan soldiers moved with practiced efficiency, hardened by campaigns, unshaken by the gore.

As the work continued, the night deepened. Torches flickered along the walls, casting long shadows across the fort. Outside, the Champa main army regrouped in the distance, their fires burning like a constellation of embers on the dark horizon.

Between the two camps stretched a no man’s land littered with corpses and broken weapons, a silent testament to the slaughter that had taken place.

Shi Xin stood upon the battlements, gazing out toward the enemy encampment. His mind was already racing ahead, envisioning the steps yet to come.

This battle was far from over, but the initiative was his. He had bloodied the Champa Army and shaken their confidence. Now, with patience and cunning, he would break them entirely.

”Rest well, brothers,” he murmured under his breath, his eyes narrowing on the distant fires. ”Tomorrow, the dance begins anew.”

Shi Hui, standing nearby, looked at his elder brother in silence. For the first time that day, he truly saw the weight in Shi Xin’s eyes, the burden of command, the endless calculations behind every decision. Victory was sweet, but responsibility was heavier still.

Meanwhile, at the Champa command tent was thick with tension. The officers gathered inside stood rigid, their faces tight with suppressed fury and fear. The general himself sat at the head of the table, his scarred face darkened by the flickering lamplight.

”We walked straight into their trap,” one of the captains spat. ”Like fools!”

The general’s fist slammed onto the table. ”Enough!” The room fell silent. He exhaled through his nose, forcing his temper down. ”We underestimated them. That won’t happen again.”

His lieutenant, a wiry man with sharp eyes, leaned forward. ”General, it looked like our enemies outnumber us by large amount. I think we should retreat, or at least alleviate this foreign enemies control over the villages and small town around here.”

The lieutenant’s voice carried the sharp edge of desperation, immediately hung in the air, as the choice between only between retreat or loosen the foreigner’s grip over the surrounding villages. For a heartbeat, silence ruled the tent, the crackle of the oil lamps and the distant shouts of sentries the only sound.

Then, as if a dam had burst, one of the captains barked, his voice filled with contempt.

”Retreat? From these dogs? Do you hear yourself, lieutenant? To abandon the field without striking them down would shame every warrior in Champa! They caught us unprepared, yes, but that is no proof of their strength. We misstepped, nothing more!”

Another captain quickly added, pounding his fist into his chest. ”The fort was ours once before. It will be ours again! Do you think our fathers, who bled to build these lands, would forgive us if we turned tail like frightened children?”

Their words struck like sparks against dry tinder, and soon the tent was ablaze with defiance. But the lieutenant’s eyes flashed, and he surged to his feet, no longer willing to keep his temper bridled. His words cut like a whip through the tent.

”Arrogance!” he snapped. ”You fools let pride blind you! Do you not see it? This enemy is nothing like the petty tribes you have slaughtered before. Nothing like the small kings you’ve crushed under your boots.”

”These men fight with precision, with discipline, with skill beyond anything we’ve ever faced. Their strategy, yes, brilliant, but it is not strategy alone! Even without their tricks, their soldiers follow orders as if one body, one mind! Can’t you see? We are facing wolves, not sheep!”

The captains bristled, red faced with fury at the scolding. One slammed his hand onto the table, rattling the cups of wine.

”And you would have us cower, lieutenant? You dare accuse us of arrogance while you spout cowardice? What kind of officer are you? Better to die with honor than to slink away like beaten dogs!”

Another leaned forward, his sneer twisting in the lamplight. ”Perhaps you have grown soft, too fond of caution. But we? We are warriors of Champa! We do not bow to foreign invaders!”

The lieutenant’s chest heaved, his hands tightening at his sides as the heat of the argument spread.

”Warriors? Is that what you call yourselves? Then open your eyes! Half our navy lies at the bottom of the sea, burned by their ships. Our fleet, our pride! Swept away like kindling! And you still prattle of glory? You don’t even realize what stands before you!”

The word navy stung the tent like a whip crack. The captains erupted again, voices overlapping like clashing swords.

”Enough with your obsession with the navy!” one shouted. ”The navy is a relic, weak and bloated, not what it once was. The army is the heart of Champa now!”

”Yes!” another agreed vehemently. ”Let the sea rot. As long as our spears stand tall, Champa stands! We will crush these invaders on land, as we always have!”

The lieutenant’s lips pressed into a hard line. Their scorn washed over him, bitter as bile, but his eyes turned, desperate, toward the one man who mattered.

The general.

He had sat in silence, jaw tight, listening as the tent descended into a storm of voices. But at last, his patience broke. With a roar that shook the very stakes of the tent, his fist came crashing down onto the table. Cups flew, wine spilled across the maps, and every man flinched into silence.

”Enough!” The word cut through the argument like a sword stroke. No one dared to speak now. The captains clenched their jaws, the lieutenant bit back his fury. All eyes fixed on the scarred face at the head of the table.

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Name: Lie Fan

Title: Founding Emperor Of Hengyuan Dynasty

Age: 35 (202 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