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 commands them flawlessly, yes,” Chen Deng nodded. ”But the original doctrine? The brutal, unprecedented training methods that forge these men and women into living weapons? That was created entirely by His Imperial Majesty himself, long before he ever wore a crown.”

​Fa Zheng’s eyes widened. He had joined Lie Fan’s cause later in the game, bringing the wealth and strategic depth of Yi Province into the fold. He knew the Emperor was a peerless military commander and an unrivaled administrative genius, but to hear that Lie Fan had personally designed the empire’s shadow network was staggering.

​”It is a truth known only to the oldest blood of this dynasty,” Chen Deng continued, his tone taking on the cadence of a historian recounting holy scripture. ”It is said that only Master Jia Xu and Master Sun Qian truly know the absolute, unvarnished origins of the Orioles. Because those two men are the longest serving pillars to His Majesty. They have stood by his side since the very beginning, when he was just a fiercely ambitious young man navigating a world that was falling apart.”

​Chen Deng stood up from the desk, walking slowly toward the dying embers of the hearth fire in the grand hall.

​”Think of the history they have shared, Fa Zheng. They served His Majesty during the chaos of the Yellow Turban Rebellion, when the fields were choked with millions of starving, desperate zealots. They were with him in the capital of Luoyang when the political rot finally consumed the Han. They survived the bloody night when General He Jin was assassinated in the courtyards. They navigated the apocalyptic purge of the Ten Eunuchs, when the palaces burned and the rivers ran black with the blood of the nobility.”

​Chen Deng turned back, the firelight casting long, dancing shadows across his face. ”And when the tyrant Dong Zhuo rode his heavy Xiliang cavalry into the capital, plunging the entire continent into a nightmare of absolute tyranny and slaughter, it was Jia Xu and Sun Qian who helped Lie Fan forge the foundations of his own independent power. The Orioles were born in that fire. They were created to survive a world where the laws of men had been entirely erased.”

​Hearing the sheer, unimaginable weight of that shared history, Fa Zheng let out a long, deeply humbled sigh. The political landscape of the court suddenly made perfect, crystal clear sense to him.

​”So that is why,” Fa Zheng murmured, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. ”That is why His Majesty trusts those two men with the absolute, unquestionable keys to the inner and outer workings of the palace, essentially handing them the lifeblood of the empire. It is not just a matter of their competence. It is a matter of absolute, unbreakable loyalty forged in the worst crucibles this world has ever seen.”

​”Precisely,” Chen Deng nodded his head slowly. ”Many look at the court and they categorize power by formal titles and seating arrangements. They look at Master Sun Qian, an amiable diplomat and logistical master, and they might whisper that he is not technically part of the ’inner circle’ of ruthless war strategists that dictate global policy.”

​Chen Deng smiled, a deeply knowing expression. ”But in terms of pure, unadulterated trust? In terms of who the Emperor would hand his life to without a second thought? Not many in the inner circle, perhaps none, save for Jia Xu and a few of the original Yellow Ghost commanders, can ever hope to reach the level of trust placed in Sun Qian.

When you have bled together before the world knew your names, the bond transcends politics. It is brotherhood.”

​The grand hall fell into a profound, respectful silence. The two strategists allowed the weight of the dynasty’s history to wash over them, a stark reminder that the empire they were currently expanding had been built upon the quiet, desperate sacrifices of men who moved in the dark.

​But the dark could not last forever. Dawn was approaching, and they had a plateau to conquer.

​Fa Zheng slapped his hands together, violently breaking the solemn atmosphere and dragging their focus back to the immediate reality of war. ”Well. We cannot rely entirely on the ghosts of the past to win the battles of the present. We have verified intelligence, we have a topographical map, and we have an army hungry for an end to this freezing misery.”

​”Agreed,” Chen Deng stated, moving back to the mahogany desk. ”Summon Zang Hong and Meng Da. It is time to draft the final operational orders. We build the plan tonight, and we break the Qinghai Plateau tomorrow.”

​Within minutes, the heavy oak doors opened, and the two esteemed army strategists, Zang Hong and Meng Da, hurried into the grand hall. They carried fresh rolls of parchment, vials of black ink, and a palpable aura of eager anticipation. They knew the campaign was entering its final, lethal phase.

​For the next several hours, the four brilliant minds huddled around the massive topographical map, illuminated by the flickering light of a dozen oil lamps. They aggressively deconstructed the information gained from Yan Xing and Cheng Li.

​Every piece of data was weaponized.

​”The Qilian valley springs,” Meng Da pointed out, drawing a swift, decisive circle around the coordinates with his ink brush. ”If we choke their water supply, the altitude sickness will decimate them twice as fast. We send General Zhang Wei and General Yang Ang. Their troops from Hanzhong are accustomed to fighting in mountainous terrain. Have them secure the perimeter of the springs. No direct assaults on the fortified caves, just a brutal, impenetrable blockade. Let thirst do the heavy lifting.”

​”But we must keep their main forces entirely distracted from the water crisis,” Zang Hong interjected, tracing the wide, heavily fortified primary access ravine that served as the main gateway to the plateau.

”This requires a massive, overwhelmingly loud demonstration of force. General Guan Yu and General Zhang Fei. We send the heavy infantry and the dismounted cavalry straight into the teeth of their barricades. We bring up the Black Dragon Cannons to the base of the cliffs. The echoing of the artillery in the narrow canyons will be deafening. Lu Kan and Mang Xing will be forced to commit every single reserve unit they possess to hold the front gates.”

​Fa Zheng smiled, a cold, predatory grin. ”Which leaves the back door entirely unguarded.”

​He pointed his brush directly at the jagged, nearly invisible line of elevation that Yan Xing had identified. ”The Serpent’s Spine. It is too steep for armor. It is too treacherous for horses. It is a suicide climb for regular infantry.”

​”But not for men desperate to prove themselves,” Chen Deng finished the thought, his eyes gleaming with the flawless, interconnected logic of Hengyuan strategy. ”We utilize the former Wei generals. We assign the infiltration of the Serpent’s Spine to Yue Jin and Pang De. We give them a specialized strike force of light, unarmored mountain infantry. They scale the icy cliffs under the cover of the predawn darkness, completely bypassing the frontline barricades.”

​”Once they reach the summit,” Fa Zheng continued, the plan crystalizing perfectly, ”they strike the command pavilions of Lu Kan, Mang Xing, and Yang Qiu directly from the rear. They burn the remaining granaries, assassinate the lieutenants, and shatter the command structure from the inside out. By the time the three lords realize they have been flanked, Guan Yu will be breaking down their front door.”

​The plan was a masterpiece of diversion, environmental exploitation, and surgical brutality. They cross referenced the tactical movements against the additional, deeply detailed troop concentrations that had been double checked and decided to be valid by the Oriole Agents. Every potential counter attack was anticipated, every geographic hazard was accounted for.

​By the time the first pale, gray light of pre dawn began to bleed through the high windows of the grand hall, the operational edicts were completely drafted, sealed, and ready for deployment.

​The four strategists left the citadel and moved out into the freezing, breathless air of the military encampments situated at the base of the towering plateau.

​The high command was summoned. The generals gathered in the massive, central command tent, their breath pluming in the freezing air, their armor cold to the touch. The atmosphere was thick with the adrenaline of the impending climax.

​Chen Deng and Fa Zheng stood before the assembled titans of war. With swift, uncompromising authority, the plan of attack was introduced.

​The generals received their orders with stoic, professional nods. There were no arguments. The strategy was flawless, and the roles were perfectly suited to the unique talents of the commanders. Guan Yu stroked his beard, his eyes narrowing as he envisioned the frontal assault. Zhang Wei and Yang Ang shared a look of fierce determination, ready to choke the life out of the enemy’s water supply.

​And Yue Jin and Pang De stepped forward to receive the most dangerous, critical assignment of the entire campaign. They took the sealed bamboo slips detailing the ascent of the Serpent’s Spine. They did not show fear at the prospect of scaling a frozen, black-ice cliff face in the dark; they showed only the cold, unyielding hunger of predators finally let off the leash.

​The briefing concluded as the sun crested the horizon, casting a blinding, brilliant light across the snow-capped peaks of the Qinghai Plateau.

​”Generals,” Chen Deng called out, his voice cutting through the freezing morning wind. ”The era of the warlords ends today. Take your positions. Do not fail the Emperor.”

​The commanders dispersed instantly, returning to their respective divisions. The massive war drums began their slow, rhythmic, terrifying heartbeat. The soldiers of Hengyuan tightened the straps of their armor, drew their weapons, and turned their faces toward the freezing, towering heights of the roof of the world.

​The next day, dawn broke over the Qinghai Plateau not with the gentle warmth of spring, but with the cold, piercing brilliance of a drawn blade. The sky above the roof of the world was a vast, unforgiving expanse of pale, cloudless blue, offering no shelter from the biting, bone chilling winds that swept down from the high glaciers.

​At the base of the towering, jagged cliffs that marked the entry to the plateau, the Hengyuan war machine stood ready, a terrifying ocean of dark iron and polished steel.

​Standing atop a raised, timber-reinforced command platform, the architects of this final conquest gathered to unleash the storm.

Chen Deng and Fa Zheng, their aristocratic robes snapping violently in the mountain wind, stood shoulder to shoulder with their fellow master strategists, Zang Hong and Meng Da. Flanking them were the supreme physical manifestations of the Emperor’s wrath, the grizzled, eccentric Marshal Huang Zhong, leaning casually on his massive longbow, and the stoic, iron willed Marshal Zhang Ren.

​There were no more debates to be had. The maps had been drawn, the intelligence verified by the Orioles, and the treacherous betrayals of Yan Xing and Cheng Li fully weaponized. It was time for action.

​Chen Deng looked out over the vanguard, his eyes tracing the perfect, immaculate lines of the Hengyuan infantry. ”The board is set,” he murmured softly, his breath pluming in the freezing air. ”The trap is closed.”

​He turned to the two Marshals and gave a single, sharp nod.

​Huang Zhong’s eyes lit up with the familiar, predatory fire of a lifelong warrior. He drew his heavy command sword, the steel singing a sharp, metallic note that cut through the howling wind. He raised the blade high above his head, letting it catch the pale morning light, and then brought it down in a vicious, sweeping arc.

​”ADVANCE!” Huang Zhong roared, his voice echoing off the canyon walls with the force of a thunderclap.

​The response was an earth-shattering cacophony. The massive, hide-covered war drums began to beat, a heavy, rhythmic, terrifying cadence that synchronized the footsteps of hundreds of thousands of men.

The soldiers of Hengyuan moved forward.

Unlike the starving, demoralized, and frozen defenders waiting terrified in the crags above, the imperial army was in peak physical condition. The double rations provided the night before, thick, nutrient dense meat stews, hot steamed grain, and clean, boiled water, fueled their bodies with an abundance of caloric heat.

The brief but vital hours of undisturbed sleep had cleared their minds. As they marched toward the grueling, uphill inclines of the Qinghai Plateau, they did not march with the sluggish hesitation of exhausted men. They marched with the terrifying, boundless stamina of a well-oiled, perfectly supplied juggernaut.

They moved with singular, fanatical purpose. Every soldier, from the lowest spearman to the highest cavalry commander, understood the monumental historical gravity of this specific morning.

This was not just another border skirmish. This was the final stroke of the brush on the map of the continent. They were marching to unify the land under the Hengyuan banner, to permanently erase the chaotic, bloody lines drawn by decades of warlord ambition, and to lay claim to a vast, new western territory in the name of Emperor Lie Fan. The absolute pacification of the realm was no longer a distant dream, it was waiting for them at the top of the plateau.

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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