The military camp stretched across the vast plains like a temporary city, a labyrinth of tents, banners, and watchtowers standing against the night. Countless fires flickered under the star-strewn sky, casting restless shadows against the fabric of command tents and the hardened faces of soldiers preparing for battle. The scent of burning wood, oil-soaked torches, and the unmistakable metallic tang of freshly sharpened blades filled the air.
At first glance, everything seemed orderly—a well-structured war machine ready to march. But beneath the disciplined exterior, the heart of the camp was a writhing mass of intrigue, silent betrayals, and ambitions that clashed in the dark like daggers unsheathed.
From the hill where his command tent stood, An Lu surveyed the lines of his army. His soldiers were seasoned, disciplined, and accustomed to the ruthlessness of warfare. His officers murmured among themselves, ensuring that every spear, every sword, and every bowstring was ready for the upcoming siege of the capital. Yet, despite the looming battle, his thoughts were fixated not on the enemy in Luo Wen, but on the silent war already brewing within the ranks of his so-called allies.
Inside his spacious tent, dimly illuminated by a brass chandelier dripping with melted wax, his most trusted advisor leaned over the massive war table. A vast map of the empire lay sprawled across it, scarred with red ink and wooden markers indicating both friend and foe—though in this war, the lines between the two blurred with every passing day.
"The spies have confirmed it," the advisor murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. "The Patriarchs have already begun their dealings in the capital. They intend to trigger the rebellion just before we arrive."
An Lu let out a quiet chuckle, swirling the wine in his goblet as he leaned back in his chair.
"Of course, they do," he mused, amusement flickering in his sharp eyes. "They want to be the ones credited with 'rescuing' the emperor. If they succeed, they will cement themselves as the rightful saviors of the dynasty before I even step foot inside the city."
His advisor nodded grimly.
"How shall we respond?"
An Lu set down his goblet with deliberate care, his expression sharpening like the edge of a freshly honed blade.
"We give the right information… to the wrong people," he murmured, his voice as smooth as silk yet as dangerous as a viper's fangs. "Let certain rumors find their way to Luo Wen's ears. Let him believe that a full-scale rebellion is imminent inside his own walls."
The advisor's brows furrowed.
"That would mean many of the rebels will be caught and executed before they can act."
An Lu gave a dismissive wave of his hand.
"A necessary sacrifice," he said with cold pragmatism. "We cannot allow the Patriarchs to claim victory before the battle even begins. If their rebellion succeeds too soon, we will have simply traded one tyrant for four."
While An Lu played his deadly game, in another section of the camp, the Four Patriarchs had gathered within their private war tent. Unlike An Lu's more austere command post, their tent was adorned with the wealth of their noble heritage—embroidered silk drapes, gilded furnishings, and silver-plated goblets filled with the finest wine.
Wei Zhong, the towering and battle-hardened leader of the Wei family, was the first to speak.
"An Lu is moving against us," he stated with a grim certainty. "His ambitions are just as dangerous as Luo Wen's—perhaps even more."
Patriarch Li, ever the schemer, nodded slowly, his fingers tapping rhythmically against the polished wood of the table.
"And so is Yuan Guo," he added, his voice tinged with quiet menace. "He has no army of his own, yet his words spread like wildfire through the ranks. The soldiers listen to him, not to us. The longer he remains unchecked, the more difficult it will be to control the army after Luo Wen is gone."
Patriarch Cong, known for his hot temper, slammed his fist onto the table.
"Then we get rid of him," he growled. "Not today, not tomorrow—but the moment we no longer need him, he dies."
A tense silence followed. No objections, no protests—only quiet acceptance.
They all knew Yuan Guo was a problem. Killing him outright would raise too many suspicions, but ensuring that he didn't live to see the end of the war? That was something entirely within their means.
Beyond the confines of their tent, under the cover of darkness, a young captain hurried toward Yuan Guo's quarters, sweat beading at his brow.
"Master," he whispered urgently upon entering. "The Patriarchs are planning to eliminate you. They do not trust your loyalty to the emperor."
Yuan Guo, seated calmly within his modest tent, did not appear surprised.
"And how do they intend to do it?" he asked, his tone even, as if discussing the weather.
"We don't know the details, but they believe you are turning the soldiers against them with your speeches."
The old strategist exhaled slowly, his gaze dropping momentarily to the flickering candle at his side.
"Then," he murmured, more to himself than to his visitor, "I will make myself indispensable."
The days that followed saw Yuan Guo solidify his influence within the army. He walked among the soldiers, speaking with the officers, boosting morale, ensuring discipline. His presence transformed from that of a mere advisor to something far greater—a pillar of unity, a beacon of wisdom amidst the sea of ambition.
But Yuan Guo was not merely winning hearts and minds; he was also weaving a net of protection around himself. He let certain whispers slip into the right ears—hints that any betrayal from within the coalition would be seen as a direct threat to the war effort.
And soon, the very spies the Patriarchs had sent to monitor him began encountering resistance. The soldiers, now fiercely loyal to the old master, grew wary of anyone who spoke ill of him.
Without raising a single blade, without issuing a single order of execution, Yuan Guo had turned the conspiracy against him into his greatest shield.
In the shadows, each faction waged its own secret war. An Lu manipulated the rebellion in the capital, the Patriarchs plotted against Yuan Guo, and Yuan Guo, with nothing but his words, fortified his position within the army.
The camp, which on the surface seemed like a united force, had become a pit of vipers coiled around each other, waiting for the first strike.
And with each passing day, the war against Luo Wen became less important than the war between themselves.