Reborn In The Three Kingdoms - Chapter 942

Chapter 942: 898. Update In Hulao, Funan, & Champa

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Zhang Fei was the opposite, raw chaos made flesh. He bellowed curses and challenges, smashing through lines with brute force. “Run, cowards! There’s no fortress thick enough to hide you from Zhang Fei’s wrath!”

Behind them, Zhao Yun’s silver spear flashed through the dark, keeping formation and cutting down any Wei soldier who dared to stand in their way. His calm, disciplined strikes were the anchor to the vanguard’s fury.

But even as the Hengyuan soldiers fought with unmatched ferocity, they began to realize the defenders were not collapsing entirely, they were retreating in organized waves. Wu Ze’s discipline, even under ruin, was buying them precious moments.

Guan Yu’s sharp eyes caught the movement of soldiers hauling carts and barrels. “They’re pulling back their stores,” he muttered. “A clever commander. He means to make us bleed for every inch.”

Zhang Fei spat into the dirt. “Then we’ll make them bleed twice as hard!”

But by the time they reached the inner causeway, the heavy iron doors of the inner fortress had begun to close. The massive gates groaned under their own weight, slamming shut with a booming finality that echoed through the battlefield.

Several dozen Wei soldiers were still outside when the gates closed. Some threw down their weapons in surrender, collapsing to their knees. Others, proud, furious, or too wounded to retreat, chose to die fighting rathern than surrendering to the enemies.

Zhang Fei cut through one such knot of desperate men, breathing hard as he looked toward the sealed gate. “Damn it! They shut themselves in like turtles!”

Guan Yu lowered his blade, eyes narrowing in respect rather than frustration. “A wise move. That man knows how to fight a retreat.”

Behind them, the field was a hellscape, fires still burned in the ruins of the outer wall, and the air was thick with ash and the smell of blood.

Sima Yi arrived soon after, descending from the command ridge with Zhang Liao, Taishi Ci, Zang Hong, and a contingent of elite guards. His robes were soot streaked, but his composure was immaculate.

“Well done,” Sima Yi said quietly, surveying the devastation. “The first gate is ours. But it seems the Wei commander is no fool.”

Zhang Liao nodded, his expression grim. “He’ll dig in now. The inner fortress is far more defensible than this outer shell.”

Taishi Ci cracked his neck, resting his spear on his shoulder. “Then we keep pressing. They’ve nowhere else to run.”

Sima Yi’s gaze swept over the broken battlefield, taking in every detail, the smoldering wall, the retreat lines, the pattern of wagons that had been moved. “He took his supplies,” he murmured. “That means he intends to endure a siege. We’ll turn his fortress into a tomb.”

He pointed toward the remains of the gatehouse. “Establish our new command post here. Send word to Huang Zhong and Chen Deng, Hulao Gate’s first layer has fallen. The siege of the inner keep begins tonight.”

Zang Hong saluted sharply. “At once, Minister Sima Yi.”

The orders rippled outward like waves across the army. Soon, engineers and soldiers swarmed over the captured walls, setting up new artillery lines, repairing ladders, and dragging Hwacha carts into position. The banners of Hengyuan were hoisted atop the ruined gate, fluttering crimson against the night sky.

The sound of drums rolled through the valley, slow, deliberate, like the beating of an immense heart.

Meanwhile, far to the southwest, beneath the golden skies of Funan, another chapter of the Hengyuan Dynasty’s saga was being written.

Where once the jungles and deltas had been wild and divided, now they bustled with life and order. The banners of Hengyuan fluttered over the newly built fortresses, and the streets of Funan’s capital echoed with the rhythm of commerce and construction.

Farmers plowed new fields, temples were restored, and scholars began teaching the locals in the reformed academies established under imperial decree.

And at the center of it all, two figures walked side by side beneath the sun, Ma Chao, the fierce stallion of the west, and Sun Shangxiang, the fiery princess of the south.

In the months of campaign, their bond had only deepened. Ma Chao, for all his valor and pride, had found in her a companion who could match his stubborn will and laugh at his seriousness. Sun Shangxiang, in turn, had found someone who treated her not as a delicate noblewoman, but as an equal, a warrior whose heart beat in tune with her own.

It had become something of a running joke in the camp, when the Sun Clan princess vanished from her tent, every soldier knew exactly where to find her, sitting beside Ma Chao’s command pavilion, teasing him over strategy maps or sharing fruit beneath the moonlight.

Sun Ce and Sun Quan, though exasperated at first, soon grew used to it. Watching their younger sister’s laughter, genuine and free, softened even the stern lines of Sun Quan’s face.

“If she is happy,” Sun Ce had said one evening, watching from afar, “then who are we to scold her? Ma Chao is a good man, and a great warrior. When we return to the mainland, I will personally help arrange their marriage.”

Sun Quan had chuckled softly. “You’re becoming sentimental, brother. But I agree.”

And so, amid the soft southern winds, preparations began for their return to the mainland.

Ma Chao and Sun Shangxiang stood together at the head of the gathered host, hundreds of thousands of soldiers who had spent months consolidating the empire’s rule over Funan. Their banners formed a sea of red and gold stretching across the horizon.

The people of Funan gathered along the roads, watching their conquerors not with fear, but with reluctant admiration. Under Hengyuan’s rule, trade had flourished, banditry had vanished, and the once fragmented nobles had been brought to heel. The subjugators had become benefactors.

As the horns of departure sounded, Sun Shangxiang looked back one last time at the lush hills and riverlands. “We’ve done well here,” she said quietly. “Funan will thrive, I think.”

Ma Chao smiled, his hand resting gently on hers. “It will. You left your mark on it, as much as any sword or decree could.”

She laughed softly, bumping her shoulder against his. “Flatterer. Just make sure you don’t leave me behind when we march north.”

“Never,” he said simply. “When we return, I will go to his Majesty as I promised and request his help to ask for your hand. Not as a soldier, but as a man.”

Sun Shangxiang’s smile faltered for just a heartbeat, then she nodded, eyes bright. “Then I’ll hold you to that, Ma Mengqi.”

The drums thundered again, and the army began its long march northward.

From the walls of Funan, the people watched as the banners of Hengyuan receded into the distance, shimmering in the heat. To them, these warriors had brought order from chaos, justice from ruin, and now, they departed as legends.

Meanwhile to the northeast, at the besieged capital of Vijaya, turning the air over the battlefield into a shimmering haze. The second day of the siege had begun with a grim new development for the attackers.

As the Shi Clan Army and their Champa Auxiliaries Unit advanced, they were met not only by the weary but disciplined royal guards, but by a ragged, terrified mass of humanity pressed into the front lines. Men with scythes and rusted cleavers, women clutching kitchen knives, their faces pale with a fear that was deeper than any soldier’s, the fear of the untrained, the unprepared, and the sacrificed.

Po Kandar, leading his Auxiliaries unit in a probing attack against the eastern gate, felt his blood run cold. He saw a boy, no older than his own son, fumbling with a spear too heavy for him. He saw an elderly woman, her hands shaking so violently she could barely hold a wicker shield. This was not an army, it was a slaughterhouse, and King Rudravarman IV was the butcher.

A cold, sickening dread coiled in his gut. “My wife… my children… are they up there? Are they among this doomed crowd?” The thought was a physical blow.

Around him, his Champa soldiers, men who had chosen a new path for the future of their people, faltered. Their war cries died in their throats. They looked into the faces on the walls and saw not enemies, but neighbors, cousins, the baker from the corner, the fisherman’s daughter.

The morale of the unit, so high and purposeful the day before, plummeted. Their attacks became hesitant, their formations loose. They were fighting with one arm tied behind their backs, paralyzed by the horrific dilemma.

From his command post, Shi Xin watched the faltering advance through his bronze spy glass. His brow furrowed. The Champa Auxiliaries, who had fought with such conviction yesterday, were now shadows of themselves. “Something is wrong,” he muttered to his brothers. “Their spirit is broken. This is not the face of men who believe in their cause.”

He dispatched a swift aide to the front lines. “Find out what is happening. Why do our allies fight as if they are ghosts?”

When the aide returned, his face was grim. “General, the defenders… the king has forced the common people to fight. They are on the walls. The Auxiliaries… they recognize them. They are afraid they are fighting their own families.”

The revelation landed heavily in the command tent. Shi Zhi cursed under his breath. Shi Hui’s young face paled. “They are using their own people as shields,” he whispered, horrified.

Shi Xin closed his eyes, the strategist in him warring with the man. To press the attack now would mean ordering the Champa Auxiliaries to cut down their kin. It would shatter their loyalty irrevocably and leave Vijaya a city of the dead, a hollow prize that would breed resentment for generations. But to hold back was to grant the tyrant inside more time.

“This is a trap,” Shi Xin said, his voice low and decisive. “But not one of steel and fire. It is a trap for the conscience. We cannot walk into it.” He turned to his signaler. “Sound the retreat. Full disengagement. We pull back to camp.”

The sudden, unexpected blare of retreat horns echoed across the field. The Shi Clan soldiers, disciplined to the core, began a methodical, unhurried withdrawal, covering each other with shield walls and precise archery. The Champa Auxiliaries needed no second order; they fell back with a palpable sense of relief, their eyes still glued to the walls where their people stood.

Inside Vijaya, the reaction was one of stunned, disbelieving joy. The defenders, who had been bracing for a final, bloody assault, watched the enemy tide recede. A cheer, born of sheer, desperate relief, erupted from the walls. The common people, who moments before had been certain of their deaths, wept and embraced each other.

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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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