Reborn In The Three Kingdoms

If you want to read 20 Chapters ahead and more, be sure to check out my Patreon!!!

Go to https://www.patreon.com/Tang12

________________________________

The air was filled not with the general roar of battle, but with the distinct, terrifying music of top tier combat, the bone shuddering CLANG of Xu Chu’s hammer meeting Lie Fan’s halberd, the sharp, rapid CLASH CLICK of Zhang He’s spear feints, the heavier, grinding shriek of Xu Huang’s axe against Huang Zhong’s blade, the flurry of strikes between the others.

Every impact sent tremors through the ancient stones of Hongnong’s wall. Dust shaken loose from the battlements drifted down like a morbid snow. Lie Fan, at the center of the storm, was a figure of concentrated fury and skill. He was giving ground, but strategically, circling, never letting himself be pinned.

A cut opened on his cheek from a grazing spear tip. A hammer blow he partially deflected sent a numbing shock down his left arm. But his eyes were alight, his movements losing none of their precision.

His halberd moved like an extension of his will, sweeping, thrusting, hooking, forcing Xu Chu and Zhang He to constantly adjust. Sweat poured down his brow, mixing with blood and grime, but his eyes burned with fierce, undiminished focus.

He was holding, and in holding against two of Wei’s best, he was proving his myth was rooted in unbreakable reality.

”This is it,” he thought distantly. ”This is the answer Cao Cao gives me.”

Back in the Hengyuan command post, the mood had shifted from calculated intensity to a frigid, watchful dread. Sima Yi had the long, brass telescope pressed to his eye, his usually inscrutable face now a mask of grim concentration.

He had seen the clash clearly, the sudden appearance of Xu Chu and Zhang He, the way the wall had fractured into duels. The way his Emperor was expertly maneuvering between two foes, but he also saw the strain, the narrowing margins for error.

”This changes the calculus,” he murmured, more to himself than anyone. He believed in Lie Fan’s prowess as one believes in the sun rising, it was a fundamental fact of the world.

But warfare was the realm of chance, of a stray arrow, a loose stone, a moment of fatigue, anything could happened really. And the Wei had just raised the stakes immeasurably.

He lowered the telescope, his voice cutting through the anxious silence that had gripped the platform. ”Messenger. Find General Dian Wei and General Ji Ling. Their positions are to be relieved immediately. Their new orders are to get to that section of the wall. Their sole objective is to reinforce His Majesty and break that deadlock. Go. Now.”

The messenger saluted and fled down the steps at a dead run. Sima Yi watched him go, his jaw tight. The distance was significant. It would take time, precious minutes in which the fate of the assault, and perhaps the emperor himself, hung in the balance on the edge of a halberd and a hammer.

Behind him, Chen Deng, Xu Shu, Pang Tong, and Zang Hong fell silent for a rare moment, each understanding the gravity of what they were witnessing. Opinions and refinements could shape formations, could optimize pressure points, but when true mights collided, strategy bowed briefly to fate.

The news had reached Muchen immediately right after, who had been engrossed in a discussion with Zhuge Jin about supply line vulnerabilities. A low voiced report from a junior officer, and the blood drained from the Crown Prince’s face. The complex theories of war vanished, replaced by a single, terrifying image, his father, surrounded.

”Imperial Father...” he whispered. He then turned, his young face pale, seeking the two immovable pillars of his own security. ”Generals... my father... will he be...?”

Zhao Yun was the first to speak, his voice a calm, deep river cutting through the prince’s fear. ”Your Highness, do not let the spectacle cloud your judgment. His Majesty has faced worse odds in darker times. What you see is not desperation, it is control. He is managing them.”

Ma Chao nodded, his hand resting on the hilt of his spear, his gaze instinctively checking the sky for threats even as he reassured his charge. ”Zhang He is clever and Xu Chu is strong, but together they get in each other’s way. The Emperor is using that. He is tiring them out. Look at his footwork, steady and balanced. He is not being driven back, he is choosing where to fight.”

Their words were confident, born of absolute faith and professional assessment. But Muchen saw the way Zhao Yun’s knuckles were white where he gripped his spear, and the subtle, constant tension in Ma Chao’s stance. They believed, but they also knew the razor’s edge their emperor walked.

”Master Sima Yi has sent Dian Wei and Ji Ling,” Zhao Yun continued, forcing a note of finality. ”It is a precaution. To tip the scales decisively. To protect His Majesty from any... unforeseen intervention. It is the correct move. Not a move of fear, but of overwhelming certainty.”

Muchen swallowed, trying to absorb their certainty, to make it his own. He looked back toward the distant wall, now just a chaotic blur of movement and dust.

The abstract lessons of morale, strategy, and logistics had just become horrifically personal. The weight of the crown his father bore was no longer an idea, it was the very real possibility of watching it fall, dashed on the stones of Hongnong.

The classroom had become a crucible, and the fire was almost too fierce to bear. He stood between his two guardians, his heart hammering a frantic rhythm against his ribs, learning the hardest lesson of all, that for an emperor, and for his heir, even victory had a price written in terror and waiting.

Back on the wall, the duel raged on.

Xu Chu bellowed and brought his hammer down in a crushing blow that cracked stone where Lie Fan had stood a heartbeat earlier. Zhang He seized the opening, spear thrusting toward Lie Fan’s side,

Lie Fan caught the spear shaft barehanded.

For an instant, the world seemed to pause.

Zhang He’s eyes widened as Lie Fan twisted, yanking him forward while his halberd came around in a brutal, sweeping strike. Zhang He barely managed to disengage in time, armor screeching as the blade glanced off his shoulder.

Xu Chu roared and charged again, hammer swinging.

Lie Fan met him head on, halberd slamming into the hammer with a deafening crash. The shockwave rippled outward, knocking nearby soldiers off their feet.

”Again!” Xu Chu laughed, blood running from his mouth.

Lie Fan grinned, teeth bared. ”Gladly.”

Their weapons collided once more, the sound echoing across the battlefield like the tolling of a bell.

The world on the wall had narrowed to a series of furious, isolated stars, each burning with lethal intent. Around the central, earth-shaking conflict between Lie Fan, Xu Chu, and Zhang He, the other duels raged with their own ferocious cadence.

To the left, Huang Zhong and Xu Huang were a study in grim, veteran mastery. There were no flourishes, no wasted motion. Each blow, Huang Zhong’s heavy, cleaving glaive strokes, Xu Huang’s powerful, grinding axe swings, was delivered with the cold precision of a craftsman.

CLANG. SHRIEK. CLANG.

The sounds were heavier, slower than the central fray, but each impact carried the weight of decades of experience. They tested each other’s guard, probing for a lapse in concentration, a moment of fatigue. Sweat streamed down Xu Huang’s determined face, while Huang Zhong’s expression remained as impassive as stone, though his breath came in sharp, controlled bursts. It was a duel of endurance as much as skill.

Nearby, Xiahou Dun and Zhang Liao were a storm of raw, clashing wills. Xiahou Dun, fueled by a lifetime of loyalty and the sting of recent setbacks, fought with a berserker’s fury, his sword a blur of relentless attacks. Zhang Liao, a bastion of disciplined strength, met each assault with unyielding defense and devastating counter strikes.

Sparks flew where their blades met. Xiahou Dun’s armor gained a new dent with a punishing blow from Zhang Liao’s halberd, Zhang Liao’s vambrace was scored by a furious slash. Zhang Liao held a slight, grinding upper hand, his movements more economical, his positioning cutting off Xiahou Dun’s angles, but the Meng’s fury made him dangerously unpredictable.

Further along, Taishi Ci and Xiahou Yuan were a whirlwind of speed and passion. Their duel was less about heavy impacts and more about lethal grace. They darted, feinted, and spun, their blades, Taishi Ci’s twin rod hammers, Xiahou Yuan’s paired sabers, flashing so fast they seemed to weave a cage of steel around them.

The sound was a continuous, high pitched shing shring shick! of metal kissing metal. Taishi Ci fought with a fiery fervor, each strike accompanied by a fierce cry, while Xiahou Yuan was a silent, deadly blur, his eyes coldly calculating every opening. They were evenly matched, a tempest meeting a cyclone.

And at the edge, the two Yellow Ghost Bodyguards fought Cao Hong and Cao Ren in a battle of synchronized discipline against familial synergy. The Ghosts were silent, moving as one mind with two bodies.

One would shield bash to create an opening, the other would strike with a short, heavy spear. They were defensive experts, masters of containment, but they were being slowly, inexorably pressed.

Cao Hong and Cao Ren, fighting with the unspoken communication of cousins who had shared every battle of their lives, were stronger individually. Cao Hong’s aggressive spear work kept one Ghost occupied, while Cao Ren’s more strategic, heavy bladed attacks forced the other onto the back foot.

The Ghosts’ armor was dented, their movements growing fractionally slower. They were holding, but the line was thinning.

It was into this powder keg of clashing titans that the relief finally arrived.

They came not with a roar, but with the terrifying inevitability of a landslide. First, a guttural bellow cut through the cacophony as a massive, double ended axe swept into the central duel, intercepting Xu Chu’s descending hammer with a CRASH that sounded like a mountain splitting.

”YOUR DANCE PARTNER HAS CHANGED, OX!” Dian Wei roared, his massive frame filling the space beside Lie Fan, his wild eyes fixed on Xu Chu with predatory glee.

A heartbeat later, a sleek, deadly ji (halberd sword) flickered like a serpent’s tongue, deflecting Zhang He’s probing spear-thrust with a sharp clang.

”The general should stick to dueling generals not Emperor,” Ji Ling said, his voice a cold, smooth contrast to Dian Wei’s thunder. He slid into place, separating Zhang He from Lie Fan with fluid, confident movements. ”This dance floor is too crowded for you.”

The sudden shift was seismic. Xu Chu and Zhang He, locked in their intricate rhythm with Lie Fan, were caught off balance. Lie Fan himself took a swift step back, his mind instantly processing the change. A flare of irritation, this was his fight, his answer to Cao Cao’s challenge, was instantly smothered by the iron discipline of a supreme commander. This was not the time for prideful duels. This was the time to win the wall.

______________________________

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