Reborn In The Three Kingdoms

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They were accompanied by Liu Ye and Huang Chengyan, both men looking haggard from the frantic, non stop journey from the mountain compound, but their eyes blazed with a fervor that transcended fatigue. With them came a squad of engineers and soldiers, their hands carefully away from the covered shapes, their demeanor a mix of reverence and barely contained excitement.

With them came a squad of engineers and soldiers, their hands carefully away from the covered shapes, their demeanor a mix of reverence and barely-contained excitement.

Liu Ye and Huang Chengyan approached and bowed deeply. ”Your Majesty,” Huang Chengyan’s voice was rough from the road but strong with pride. ”By your command and by the grace of countless trials, we deliver the first commissioned battery of field cannons. They are ready for your service.”

At Lie Fan’s nod, the engineers moved. With a synchronized pull, they yanked the tarpaulins away.

A collective gasp, sharp and involuntary, rippled through the assembled generals and advisors.

The cannons sat on their sturdy wooden carriages, not as brutish as the prototypes, but much more refined, deadly sculptures in iron. They were polished to a dull gleam, their barrels thick and ominous, their touch holes precisely drilled.

They looked less like tools and more like artefacts of a future age, misplaced in the dust of Hongnong. Beside them were stacked crates of cannonballs, each sphere a perfect, dense weight of destruction.

Muchen took an unconscious step forward, his scholar’s mind struggling to categorize what he was seeing. It was a tube. A metal tube on wheels. But the aura it emitted of latent, contained violence, was palpable.

”Explain it to everyone present,” Lie Fan said quietly to Huang Chengyan.

The master craftsman cleared his throat, addressing the circle of some of the empire’s most powerful and influential men. ”These are cannons, my lords. They use a controlled explosion of refined gunpowder to propel a solid iron shot. The range...” he gestured toward the distant, scarred walls of Hongnong, ”...exceeds that of our finest trebuchet by half again. The impact is concentrated. A single shot can shatter a gatehouse, collapse a siege tower, or erase a rank of soldiers instantly.”

Pang Tong’s eyes, usually narrowed in sly thought, were wide. Xu Shu was already muttering about trajectory and windage. Sima Yi’s face was utterly still, but his mind was racing, re evaluating every defensive parameter he had ever known.

Lie Fan walked up to the nearest cannon, running a hand along the cool, unforgiving metal. He looked from the weapon, to the walls of Hongnong, and then to his son.

”This, Muchen,” he said, his voice carrying clearly in the hushed space, ”is the sound of a stubborn past meeting an uncompromising future. Cao Cao holds his walls with courage and cleverness, virtues of the age that is passing.” He patted the cannon barrel. ”This is the virtue of the age to come, which was sheer, undeniable force.”

He turned to Huang Chengyan and Liu Ye. ”The two of you have done a service beyond measure. Take some rest first. You will oversee their first deployment tomorrow at dawn.”

He then addressed the entire group, his tone shifting to that of the Emperor, the Generalissimo. ”The siege of Hongnong ends not with a trick, or a treaty, but with a demonstration. We will show Cao Cao, and the world, that the time for his kind of war is over. The walls he relies on are about to become his tomb.”

As the engineers began the careful process of positioning the cannons on a specially prepared berm facing the city’s strongest gate, a new kind of anticipation thrummed through the Hengyuan camp.

It was no longer the grim resolve of a long siege, but the electric, fearful excitement of those about to witness a fundamental change in the order of things. The sandcastle was not just facing the tide anymore, it was facing the tsunami.

The moment after the cannons’ unveiling, the siege took on a different tenor. The news of the mysterious, shrouded weapons had spread through the Hengyuan ranks like wildfire, morphing from rumor into a tangible, buzzing certainty.

As the Hengyuan army formed up for the day’s assault, there was a new energy in the air, not just the grim determination of soldiers performing a duty, but the fierce, almost giddy anticipation of spectators about to witness a marvel.

Men checked their gear with extra care, eyes constantly flicking toward the rear where the cannons were being prepared. They fought that day with a ferocity born of newfound confidence, pushing the weary Wei defenders harder than they had in weeks.

On the walls of Hongnong, the Wei soldiers fought with the desperate, cornered courage of men who have nothing left to lose. They were being pushed back, inch by bloody inch. The absence of Lie Fan from the frontlines was the only thing that prevented a complete collapse.

The Hengyuan generals, Zhang Liao, Huang Zhong, Taishi Ci, Dian Wei, Ji Ling, Guan Yu, Zhang Fei, and many more were unleashed, and while Cao Cao generals are holding on, without the counterweight of Cao Cao’s captured champions, they rampaged across the battlements like wolves in a sheepfold.

The loss of Cao Hong, Cao Ren, Li Dian, and Yue Jin wasn’t just a numerical depletion, it was a catastrophic erosion of command structure and fighting spirit. The heartwood of the Wei army was missing.

Yet, as the sun began to sink, painting the carnage in shades of orange and crimson, a strange unease settled over the victorious. It was as if they were merely clearing the stage.

That evening, as the screams of the dying faded into the moans of the wounded, Cao Cao made a rare appearance on the walls. It was a tour of grim necessity, an attempt to pour the wine of his presence into the cracked vessel of his army’s morale.

He walked slowly, his imperial robes seeming too heavy for his frame, flanked by son Cao Pi and Crown Prince Cao Ang. Behind them, like shadows of the empire’s fading intellect, came Xun Yu, Guo Jia, and Xi Zhicai.

Cao Cao paused at a section of the parapet that faced the sprawling, torch lit beast of the Hengyuan encampment. He looked out, not at the specific tents or siege lines, but at the dark mass of it, the hive of his enemy’s will.

And then, it hit him, a cold, sharp dread that slithered down his spine and coiled in his gut. It was not fear of the army, nor of the coming assault. It was something else, something primal and formless, a sense of impending, fundamental wrongness.

He stopped so abruptly that Cao Pi nearly bumped into him. The entire retinue halted, a frozen tableau against the darkening sky.

”Your Majesty?” Xun Yu’s voice was soft, probing. ”Is something amiss?”

Cao Cao did not turn. His eyes remained fixed on the enemy camp. ”Yes,” he said, the word flat and heavy. ”Something is.”

The air around them seemed to grow colder. Guo Jia and Xi Zhicai exchanged a swift, knowing glance. They were men who trusted intuition, especially when it came from a mind as battle honed as Cao Cao’s.

”A feeling,” Cao Cao continued, his voice low, almost to himself. ”It washed over me just now. A premonition. Tomorrow... something happens. Something... bad. Not just another assault. Something... different.”

He finally turned, and in the twilight, his face was etched with a weariness that went beyond physical exhaustion. It was the look of a man who senses the chessboard itself is about to be overturned.

Cao Ang, ever the dutiful son seeking a rational explanation, stepped forward. ”Imperial Father, you have borne the weight of this siege for months. The mind, when fatigued, can conjure phantoms. Perhaps you should rest.”

Cao Cao shook his head, a slow, stubborn motion. ”It is not fatigue, Ang. It is a... pressure. In the air. Like before a typhoon hits the coast. You cannot see it, but you can feel it. Something is coming from that camp that we have not prepared for. That we cannot prepare for.”

The admission hung between them, terrifying in its vagueness. How do you fortify against a feeling?

Guo Jia, his voice a thin, reedy thread of sound, offered what solace he could. ”Your Majesty, Xi Zhicai and I will review every contingency tonight. Every report, every scout’s whisper. We will ensure the defenses are as tight as human ingenuity can make them. We will be ready for whatever trick Lie Fan has concocted.”

Xi Zhicai nodded his firm agreement. ”The walls are strong. The men, though tired, are loyal. We have faced his every stratagem. We will face this.”

Cao Cao looked from one loyal face to another, his brilliant advisor, his stern strategist, his earnest heir, and his ambitious second son. He saw their faith, their determination, and beneath it, the same unspoken dread he felt.

He forced a nod, a leader’s gesture meant to instill confidence he no longer possessed. ”I hope you are right. I truly do.”

The night passed in a taut, sleepless silence for the Wei command. In the Hengyuan camp, it was a night of final, meticulous preparation.

Dawn broke, not with the gentle promise of light, but with a strange, suspended quiet. The usual pre-assault noises—the clatter of arms, the shouted formations—were absent. In the Hengyuan encampment, a wide berth had been cleared around a newly constructed earthen berm. Upon it, like five silent gods of a new religion, sat the cannons.

Lie Fan stood before them, a congregation of his empire’s future at his back. Sima Yi, Chen Deng, Zang Hong, Pang Tong, and Xu Shu, their minds already trying to deconstruct the physics of what they were about to witness.

There’s also Muchen, flanked by Lu Zhi and Zhuge Jin, his youthful face pale but set, his education now entering a Chapter titled ’Revolution’. Zhao Yun and Ma Chao stood slightly apart, their warrior’s instincts wary of the unnatural silence and the strange, wheeled tubes.

Liu Ye and Huang Chengyan, despite the deep bruises of fatigue under their eyes, moved with the calm authority of high priests. They directed the team of specialist engineers, their engineers, men who understood the language of angles, powder measures, and fuse lengths.

The soldiers with them worked with a reverent precision, loading the iron spheres, packing the powder, adjusting the elevation screws on the carriages with delicate taps of a hammer.

”Is it ready?” Lie Fan’s voice was quiet in the morning hush.

Huang Chengyan bowed. ”They are ready for your command, Your Majesty. We have ranged the primary gatehouse and the towers to either side.”

Lie Fan nodded. He looked at the cannons, then at the distant, ancient walls of Hongnong, silhouetted against the brightening sky. He thought of Cao Cao inside, trusting in stone and courage. A fierce, almost pitying smile touched his lips. He raised his arm, high and straight.

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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