Reborn In The Three Kingdoms

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(A/N: Don’t forget to give those power stones to Skyrim everyone!)

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He looked at Lie Fan, and in that gaze, there was no plea for mercy, no sudden surge of panic, and no lingering resentment. There was only the profound, silent understanding of the game they had played, and the absolute acceptance of its rules.

​Lie Fan reached his hand out to the side. A waiting eunuch immediately placed a small, dark wooden plaque into his palm.

​Lie Fan did not raise it high. He did not make a grand, theatrical speech about justice or heaven’s mandate. The time for words had ended in the pavilion yesterday.

​He simply looked Cao Cao in the eye, and with a heavy, final motion, he threw the wooden plaque to the stone floor.

​CLACK.

​The sound of the wood hitting the stone was like a thunderclap in the silent, tense courtyard.

​Instantly, the executioners standing beside each member of the Cao Clan moved. These were the Oriole Agents, dressed in plain servant tunics.

They stepped forward in unison, each holding a small, exquisite porcelain teacup on a lacquered tray. The tea within was a dark, fragrant brew, laced with a hyper lethal, incredibly fast acting botanical toxin synthesized by the most brilliant, ruthless apothecaries in the Hengyuan underground.

​”Drink,” the agents commanded softly, pressing the cups toward the lips of the condemned.

​At the front of the formation, the Oriole agent knelt and offered the cup to Cao Cao.

​Cao Cao looked down at the dark, steaming liquid. He did not hesitate. He did not tremble. He slowly raised his bound hands, taking the delicate porcelain cup between his palms.

​He looked up, his dark eyes locking onto Emperor Lie Fan one last time. And then, defying the horror of the moment, Cao Cao let out a loud, booming, entirely genuine laugh. It was a laugh that echoed off the stone walls, startling the executioners and cutting through the sobs of the children, a laugh that mocked the very concept of death itself.

​”A fine vintage for the end of the world!” Cao Cao declared, his voice ringing with immortal defiance.

​Without a single moment of hesitation, the Emperor of Wei raised the cup to his lips and drank the poisoned tea in one massive, unbroken gulp.

​Seeing their patriarch accept his death with such terrifying, magnificent bravado, the facade of the sons immediately shattered.

​”Father! No!” Cao Pi screamed, a sound of pure, unadulterated anguish tearing from his throat. He thrashed wildly against his bonds, his face contorted in absolute despair, but the heavy hands of the Oriole agents clamped down on his shoulders, holding him ruthlessly in place.

​”Drink,” the agent hissed, forcing the rim of the porcelain cup roughly against Cao Pi’s teeth, tilting his head back until the dark liquid spilled down his throat.

​Across the courtyard, the scene erupted into a quiet, horrific struggle. Cao Ang accepted it with pragmatic anger and grace while his face filled with sorrow, Cao Zhang roared, trying to headbutt his executioner, before being forced to the ground and made to swallow the tea.

Cao Zhi wept openly, composing a final, broken verse in his mind as the cup was pressed to his lips. The uncles, the cousins, and the weeping boys were systematically, methodically forced to drink the lethal brew, the agents pinching their noses to force them to swallow the dark liquid.

​Lie Fan sat in the magistrate’s chair, his hands gripping the armrests so tightly the wood groaned. His face remained a flawless mask of stone, but internally, his soul wept at the absolute, terrifying cruelty of his own power. He forced himself to watch. He owed them the dignity of not looking away from the horror he had commanded.

​He watched Cao Cao.

​The poison was an absolute masterpiece of lethal pharmacology. It was the very last, profound mercy Lie Fan could offer his greatest rival. If Lie Fan had wished to be cruel, he could have utilized toxins that boiled the blood, induced agonizing spasms, or caused the victims to suffocate slowly in unimaginable, screaming torment.

​Instead, the tea they drank merely induced a sudden, overwhelming wave of profound lethargy, followed instantly by a massive, painless suppression of the central nervous system.

​Less than ten seconds after swallowing the tea, Cao Cao’s laughter faded into a soft, contented sigh. His eyes fluttered shut, his body going entirely limp. He did not convulse. He did not choke. He simply slumped forward onto the woven mat, slipping seamlessly from the waking world into an endless, painless sleep, his heart quietly stopping in his chest.

​Behind him, the chaotic struggles of his sons and relatives ceased almost as quickly as they had begun.

​The frantic thrashing of Cao Ang and Cao Pi slowed to a sluggish, uncoordinated twitch before his chin dropped to his chest. The poetic weeping of Cao Zhi silenced instantly as he slumped sideways onto the cold stone. The terrified sobs of the young boys were extinguished like blown candles, their small bodies falling limply against the legs of their executioners.

​Row by row, man by man, boy by boy, the absolute, terrifying intellectual and political force of the Wei Dynasty collapsed into the dust.

​Within a span of sixty seconds, the chaotic, struggling courtyard was transformed into a perfectly silent, perfectly still graveyard. The poisoned cups lay shattered on the stone, the dark tea pooling around the bodies of the fallen.

​Not a single man had screamed in physical agony. They had simply gone to sleep.

​Emperor Lie Fan remained seated in his chair for a long, heavy eternity, looking out over the dozens of bodies. The silence of the courtyard was no longer the oppressive, fearful silence of waiting; it was the absolute, eternal silence of the grave.

​The Warlord Era was truly, finally over. The bloodline that had burned the Han to ash had been eradicated.

​Lie Fan slowly closed his eyes, carrying the immense, permanent stain of this quiet massacre on his soul. He had protected his future, he had secured the peace of millions, and he had unified the heavens.

The courtyard was perfectly, unnervingly still. The wind that swept over the high walls of the Wang Estate seemed to carry the faint, bitter scent of the dark tea, mingling with the metallic tang of blood that still lingered in the air from the eastern yard.

Lie Fan remained seated in the magistrate’s chair, his hands resting heavily upon the wooden armrests. He stared out over the dozens of bodies, his mind a turbulent ocean of contradictory emotions.

The absolute, terrifying calculus of statecraft had been perfectly executed. The Wei Dynasty was extinct. His throne was secure.

​Yet, as he looked at the serene, lifeless face of Cao Cao, the man who had laughed at death, the man who had handed him the architectural blueprint for his own dynasty’s survival just yesterday, a profound, unexpected sensation pierced through the cold, iron mantle of the sovereign.

​Lie Fan blinked.

​Something warm and unbidden slid down his cheek.

​He raised his hand, his fingers trembling ever so slightly, and touched his face. He pulled his hand away and looked at his fingertips. A single, solitary tear glistened against his skin in the midday sun.

​Lie Fan stared at it, genuinely surprised by his own physical reaction. He was a conqueror who had walked through battlefields choked with the dead, he had ordered sieges that had burned cities to the ground. He had thought his heart was entirely immune to the sight of death.

​But this tear was not born of pity for the weak. It was the profound, aching grief of a man who had just lost his greatest, most respected rival. It was a mourning that transcended lifetimes.

He had known the legend of Cao Cao in his past life, studying the brilliant, ruthless warlord from the sterile distance of historical texts. But in this life, he had actually known the man. He had shared wine with him, fought him, bled against his armies, and ultimately, shared a profound, unspoken brotherhood of ambition with him.

​To look upon Cao Cao’s lifeless body was to realize that a massive, irreplaceable part of Lie Fan’s own history had just died. The world was now entirely his, but it was suddenly, undeniably, much emptier.

​Lie Fan slowly wiped the tear from his finger, absorbing the feeling, locking it away deep within his soul where the ghosts of his conquests resided. The brief moment of personal mourning was over. The machinery of the empire required its master.

​He gripped the armrests and stood up from the wooden chair, his dark crimson robes swirling around his boots. The terrifying aura of the absolute sovereign instantly returned, washing away the fleeting vulnerability.

​”The judgment is concluded,” Lie Fan announced, his voice carrying a somber, resonant authority across the silent courtyard.

​He gestured toward the fallen figures. ”Treat their remains with the utmost dignity. I want the bodies of Cao Cao and his clan members carefully collected and meticulously cleaned. Have the morticians dress them in high quality silk garments, attire that explicitly respects and befits their former noble station. Pay special attention to Cao Mengde. He shall be dressed in the ceremonial robes of a Emperor.”

​Lie Fan turned his gaze toward the waiting officers of the imperial guard.

​”Once they are properly prepared, they are to be immediately transported toward the designated burial location in the eastern hills, precisely as the Minister of Rites, Lu Su, has mandated,” Lie Fan ordered. ”Handle them with the respect owed to the vanquished. Any soldier found disrespecting these remains will answer to my sword.”

​”We receive Your Imperial Majesty’s command!” the officers and soldiers chorused, dropping to one knee before immediately mobilizing to execute the order.

​The soldiers moved into the courtyard, their heavy boots stepping carefully around the shattered porcelain cups. They began to respectfully lift the bodies of the sons, the uncles, and the nephews, placing them onto waiting stretchers to be transported to the cleaning tents. A specialized, high ranking detachment moved specifically toward the front of the formation to secure the body of Cao Cao.

​It was a grim, highly organized operation, proceeding with the quiet efficiency of a well oiled military machine.

​But suddenly, the meticulous silence of the cleanup was shattered by a sound that made the blood of every man in the courtyard run cold.

​It was a shriek. A high, piercing, absolutely hysterical scream of pure, unfiltered agony.

​The heavy wooden doors of the main mansion were violently thrown open. Stumbling out into the bright sunlight, their fine silk dresses in disarray, their faces pale and streaked with fresh, desperate tears, were two women.

​It was Empress Ding and Grand Concubine Bian, the primary wives of Cao Cao, the matriarchs of the ruined Wei Dynasty.

​The absolute, suffocating perimeter established by Jia Xu’s Oriole agents had kept them locked securely within the inner halls during the execution, shielding them from the sight of the poison being administered. But the silence that followed the horrific deed had been too profound, and they had managed to break past their domestic guards.

​They ran out into the courtyard, their eyes wildly scanning the scene. And then, they saw them.

​They saw the stretchers. They saw the lifeless bodies of the young boys. They saw the pale, peaceful face of Cao Ang, Cao Pi, and their younger brothers. And finally, they saw the soldiers lifting the limp form of Cao Cao.

​”No! No! Heaven strike you down! No!” Empress Ding shrieked, her voice tearing from her throat with such raw, devastating anguish that several hardened imperial soldiers physically flinched.

​She collapsed to her knees on the hard stone, her hands reaching out desperately toward the body of her husband. Beside her, Grand Concubine Bian wept hysterically, covering her face as she looked upon the bodies of the sons she had birthed and raised, now nothing more than cold flesh on the pavement.

​Despite the complex, historically fraught relationship Empress Ding had shared with Cao Cao, having famously refused to acknowledge him for years after he had nearly gotten Cao Ang killed in a reckless campaign in the original timeline, the reality of this timeline was different.

Lie Fan’s intervention had saved Cao Ang’s several months ago. Because her adopted son had survived, the bitter, irreconcilable resentment had never fully taken root. She still loved Cao Mengde. She still loved the boys who lay dead before her.

​And now, they were all gone.

​The two women, entirely consumed by a grief so profound it shattered their minds, looked up from the bodies. Their tear filled, bloodshot eyes locked onto the tall, imposing figure of Emperor Lie Fan standing near the magistrate’s chair.

​”You! You monster!” Empress Ding screamed, struggling to her feet.

​Fueled by a sudden, hysterical burst of adrenaline, the two matriarchs charged across the courtyard, sprinting directly toward the Emperor.

​Instantly, the courtyard erupted into motion. The Yellow Ghost Bodyguards, trained to react to any sudden movement toward their sovereign with lethal force, surged forward.

Zhang Mancheng and Liu Pi drew their swords with a sharp shhhk of steel, stepping in front of Lie Fan, forming an impenetrable wall of iron, fully prepared to strike the grieving women down before they could get within ten paces.

​”Hold your blades!” Lie Fan roared, his voice cracking like a whip across the yard. ”Back off! I command you to back off!”

​The Yellow Ghost Bodyguards hesitated, their instincts screaming at them to protect him, afraid that the women might have concealed daggers or poisoned needles hidden within their sleeves. But the absolute, terrifying authority in Lie Fan’s eyes forced them to obey. They reluctantly sheathed their swords and stepped aside, though their hands remained hovering inches from their hilts.

​Lie Fan stepped forward, purposefully leaving the safety of his guards, and stood entirely exposed in the open courtyard.

​Empress Ding and Grand Concubine Bian crashed into him.

​They did not hold weapons. They only held the desperate, clawing hands of mothers who had lost everything. They grabbed fistfuls of Lie Fan’s dark crimson robes, pulling and yanking at the heavy silk, their fists weakly pounding against his chest.

​”You butcher! You cruel, heartless demon!” Empress Ding sobbed hysterically, her nails digging into the fabric of his tunic. ”Why?! Why did you have to kill them all? The boys! The children! What threat were they to your throne?! May the heavens curse your name for a thousand generations!”

​”Give me back my sons!” Grand Concubine Bian wailed, her legs giving out beneath her as she clung desperately to his robes, burying her face in the fabric. ”Give them back! You have the world, isn’t it enough?! Why did you have to take my family?!”

​The curses, the insults, and the raw, unadulterated words of absolute anguish washed over Lie Fan like a torrential, freezing rain. He did not push them away. He did not summon the guards to drag them off. He simply stood there, an unmovable pillar of stone, absorbing the full, horrific emotional consequence of his own decree.

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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