Reborn In The Three Kingdoms - Chapter 935

Chapter 935: 892. The Harassing Retreat

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Cao Cao mounted his steed, a black warhorse named Shadow Gale, its breath steaming in the chill morning air. At his side rode Guo Jia, the two men rode at the head of the army, flanked by banners bearing the sigil of Wei, a coiled dragon beneath the sun, now dulled by grime and rain.

Like a great, wounded beast slowly turning, the Wei army began to move. It was a breathtaking, and heartbreaking, display of discipline. Columns of infantry, which for months had only advanced, now began their measured tread away from the city they had bled to reach.

The cavalry, usually a vanguard of unleashed fury, now formed protective screens on the flanks. The vast train of supply wagons, siege engines now dismantled and loaded, creaked into motion at the center of the formation.

Xi Zhicai rode alongside his assigned generals, the mightiest of Wei’s warriors. Xu Chu, the indomitable “Tiger Fool,” stood armored in steel and iron, a massive halberd resting against his shoulder. Zhang He, the elegant tactician of movement, inspected the troop spacing with the eye of a dancer.

Li Dian and Yue Jin commanded the flanking lines, each ensuring that the columns would not break formation under harassment. Behind them were the imperial princes, Cao Ang and Cao Pi, each leading a detachment of elite guards. Xiahou Yuan, Cao Ren, and Cao Hong formed the rearguard’s spine, their reputations alone enough to make any pursuer think twice.

Xi Zhicai surveyed them with confidence. “With men such as these,” he murmured to himself, “even Heaven would find it difficult to pierce our line.”

As the first ranks began to move, the sound rose across the plain, armor clinking, banners flapping, oxen groaning beneath the weight of wagons laden with supplies and siege debris.

The once proud siege camp was now a wasteland of trampled earth and abandoned stakes. The mist thickened, swallowing the shapes of the departing army until they became a shadowed procession moving toward the northern horizon.

From the high walls of Zitong, the sight was met with a moment of stunned silence, followed by an explosion of sound that was almost physical in its force.

Defenders who had spent weeks and months in a state of siege induced dread, watching friends die and walls crumble, now roared their triumph. They shouted, they beat their shields, they wept with relief. The sound washed over the city, a tidal wave of catharsis. “The Wei dogs flee! Victory for Han!”

The sound carried far, down into the valley where the Wei army trudged northward. Some of Cao Cao’s men heard the jubilant echo of their enemies and clenched their fists until their knuckles whitened, their shame burning beneath their armor. But discipline held. They did not break formation.

Meanwhile Fa Zheng, Zhang Song, and Meng Da watched from the command post, their own relief tempered by the Oriole Agent’s warning. They allowed the cheers to continue, letting the morale of their battered army soar. This was a victory, however indirect. But they knew their work was not done.

Fa Zheng allowed the men their moment of joy before raising a hand for silence. “Enough,” he said firmly. “Let them cheer, but not grow complacent. This war is not over. Their retreat is not a rout.”

He turned toward the mustering grounds below the walls. “Send for Zhang Ren and Yan Yan. Tell them to ready their detachments. They are to pursue the enemy at once, not to engage in pitched battle, but to harass, disrupt, and destroy their supply trains whenever possible. Keep them moving, keep them bleeding, but never let them trap you. When they reach Jianmen Pass, disengage.”

“Yes, Master Fa Zheng!” a messenger saluted before sprinting off.

Within the hour preparations was done by the Ha Army and when everything is ready, “Open the gates,” Fa Zheng commanded, his voice cutting through the celebration.

With a great groan of heavy timber, the main gates of Zitong swung open. Out rode Zhang Ren and Yan Yan, two of the city’s most capable and aggressive generals.

They did not lead the entire Han army, that would have been the reckless charge the agent had warned against. Instead, they led a contingent of fast, mobile troops, light cavalry and agile infantry, their purpose not to crush, but to sting.

Zhang Ren, stern and broad-shouldered, gripped his spear tightly as his eyes swept the muddy plain. “We will strike the moment their rear turns into the open. Xi Zhicai will be cautious, but even a cautious man bleeds when his back is pressed.”

Yan Yan, older and wiry, gave a thin smile. “I’ve waited long enough to repay the Wei for the blood they’ve spilled here. Let us make this retreat one they’ll remember in their nightmares.”

Their forces, numbering nearly ten thousand, moved swiftly into the mist.

As the Wei army advanced toward the north, the first arrows began to whistle through the fog.

“Enemy cavalry!” shouted a scout.

From the hills to the east, Zhang Ren’s riders came thundering down, their lances flashing as they struck at the outermost flank. Supply wagons groaned and overturned, spilling grain and timber into the mud. Wei soldiers scrambled to respond, shields locking into formation as Yue Jin barked orders.

“Hold the line! Archers, ready!”

A hail of arrows hissed upward from the Wei ranks, blackening the pale sky. Horses screamed, men fell, and the brief skirmish dissolved as quickly as it began. Zhang Ren’s forces wheeled away, vanishing back into the mist.

Xi Zhicai, observing from horseback, nodded grimly. “They’re testing us,” he said to Zhang He beside him. “Fa Zheng knows better than to commit fully. He’ll harry us every step to Jianmen.”

Zhang He adjusted his gloves, eyes scanning the haze. “Then we must give him no opening. Rotate the rearguard in intervals. Let Xu Chu and Cao Hong take the brunt of the next wave.”

Orders were relayed swiftly. The rear formation shifted like a living wall, lines tightening and reforming with precision. When Yan Yan’s troops struck from the western flank not long after, they met not chaos but steel, and Xu Chu’s booming voice cutting through the din.

“Come then! Let’s see if Yi men’s courage matches their noise!”

He charged forward like a battering ram, his halberd cleaving through shields and spears alike. The clash was brutal but brief. Yan Yan’s men, recognizing the danger of lingering too long, pulled back before the heavier Wei cavalry could encircle them.

By midday, the rolling valley between Zitong and Jianmen had become a deadly dance. The Han forces struck and withdrew, struck and withdrew, each time leaving behind the dead and wounded and each time testing the patience and endurance of the retreating Wei.

Xi Zhicai, overseeing the vanguard, received regular reports of the skirmishes. He read each one in silence, his mind working through possibilities. When Guo Jia approached him from the vaguard to get some reports, Xi Zhicai offered a faint, weary smile.

“They are clever, I’ll grant them that,” he said. “But they underestimate our Emperor’s resolve. Every man in this army knows what is at stake. They fight not for victory now, but for the chance to return home.”

Guo Jia nodded, though his eyes were shadowed. “Still, each mile costs us blood. And each day lost brings Lie Fan’s northern advance closer to Luoyang.”

Xi Zhicai’s voice softened. “Then let us ensure that every drop of that blood buys us time.”

As dusk fell, the rain returned, a cold, steady downpour that blurred the line between sky and earth. Torches flickered in the gloom as the Wei columns pressed onward, mud sucking at their boots and wheels.

Behind them, the scattered forces of Zhang Ren and Yan Yan continued their relentless harassment, attacking in waves, then fading into the shadows.

By nightfall, Cao Cao’s army reached the outer foothills that led toward Jianmen Pass. The towering mountains loomed ahead like ancient sentinels, their peaks lost in fog.

Cao Cao reined in his horse at a ridge overlooking the valley. Behind him stretched the line of his army, battered, weary, but unbroken. Ahead lay the narrow defile that would take them home.

Guo Jia rode up beside him. “Your Majesty,” he said quietly, “the men are holding, but they are exhausted. Shall we rest here before entering the pass?”

Cao Cao shook his head. “No. Not yet. We rest only once we are beyond Jianmen. Until then, we keep moving. The enemy’s courage wanes with distance.”

Guo Jia bowed his head. “As you command, Your Majesty.”

Cao Cao turned his gaze southward, toward the faint glow of Zitong now distant, almost swallowed by mist and rain.

And with that, he spurred Shadow Gale forward, leading the weary dragon of his army into the mountain pass, retreating, yes, but not defeated. The thunder of hooves and the tramp of countless boots echoed off the cliffs, a grim promise carried into the night, Wei would rise again.

The march through the mountains had been grueling beyond measure. By the time the first vanguard of the Wei army reached Jianmen Pass, the soldiers looked less like conquerors and more like men dragged through the bowels of despair. The once proud banners of Wei, each bearing the golden dragon, hung heavy and rain soaked, their edges torn by wind and battle.

The sight of Jianmen Pass’s towering, scarred gates was like a glimpse of salvation for the weary, bloodied Wei army. Cao Cao finally gave the signal to enter, his voice carried like thunder through the pass. “Forward! Into Jianmen! Wei does not falter at Heaven’s barriers!”

The men obeyed, though their steps were heavy. The echoes of their boots and hooves bounced between the cliffs like the tolling of an iron bell, slow, hollow, and mournful.

As the last of the rearguard units, under the watchful eyes of Xu Chu and Zhang He, marched through the narrow entrance, the massive wooden doors groaned shut with a final, thunderous boom that echoed through the mountain pass.

The sound was a physical barrier, cutting them off from the relentless, stinging harassment of Zhang Ren and Yan Yan. For the first time in days, there was no whistle of arrows from the flanks, no sudden war cries from the mist shrouded hills.

From the rear, Zhang Ren and Yan Yan watched the final columns disappear into the narrow maw of Jianmen. The two generals sat astride their mounts, their faces pale with exhaustion, their armor streaked with grime and rain. They could still smell the sharp tang of blood in the air, the scent of the dead left behind along the road of retreat.

Yan Yan exhaled through his nose, his breath misting in the chill dawn. “Enough. They’ve entered the pass. Our work here is done.”

Zhang Ren nodded grimly. “Master Fa Zheng’s orders were clear. We were never meant to destroy them, only to drive them, like cattle, back to Jianmen Pass, while harassing them along the way to Jianmen. Now they will carry their wounds with them all the way back to Luoyang.”

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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

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