The first light of dawn had barely begun to stain the sky with hues of orange and crimson when the thunderous beat of war drums shattered the fragile silence of the morning. The entire camp stirred like a beast roused from slumber, tens of thousands of men springing from their straw bedding, hands instinctively reaching for spear shafts and bowstrings. There was no room for hesitation, no moment spared for sluggishness. Each soldier knew exactly what was expected of him.
Luo Wen stepped out of his command tent with the same unwavering composure that had become his hallmark. His sharp gaze swept across the countless ranks standing in perfect formation, a disciplined sea of warriors awaiting his command. There was no wavering in their eyes, no trace of uncertainty. Seven relentless days had stripped them of their former frailty, leaving only hardened resolve in its place.
The training had been brutal. Men who had once been mere farmers, fearful and hesitant, now carried their weapons with the quiet confidence of seasoned warriors. Units that had stumbled over their own movements only days ago now marched with lethal precision. Luo Wen paused atop a small earthen rise, with Zhang Rui and Zhao Qing flanking him on either side, surveying the vast expanse of 250,000 soldiers prepared for the war to come.
Zhang Rui let out a breath, shaking his head in something akin to awe.
—We did it. —His voice carried a mixture of respect and disbelief—. A week ago, this was a disjointed rabble, nothing more than a shattered force held together by desperation. And now…
—Now, it is a weapon. —Luo Wen corrected with a faint smile, his voice as steady as the steel they carried—. And by tomorrow, it will be the blade that decides the fate of the empire.
To his right, Zhao Qing's cavalry stood in tight formation—20,000 elite horsemen, including 6,000 heavily armored shock troops—waiting in disciplined silence. Though once a force that operated independently, they had now been woven into the greater whole. Even Zhao Qing himself had come to recognize that there was no room for divided leadership in this war. They would stand together, or they would fall apart.
Further down the field, the infantry was arranged in precise layers—shielded spearmen forming an unbreakable wall, halberdiers standing ready behind them, archers stationed at the rear with arrows already notched. Each division understood its role with absolute clarity, and each commander had been drilled on the new centralized chain of command that Luo Wen had enforced. There would be no conflicting orders. No hesitation. No doubt.
Luo Wen raised his right hand, and the drums ceased at once. A deafening silence fell over the battlefield, an unnatural stillness where tens of thousands held their breath, waiting for his decree.
His voice rang out, crisp and unwavering.
—We march.
The front ranks began to move, and then the entire force followed, shifting forward like the tide of an unstoppable storm. There was no disorder, no stuttering steps—only the sound of boots against the earth, a rhythmic thunder of iron and determination.
The march continued for hours, each step drawing them further from the safety of the capital's towering walls. Luo Wen rode at the vanguard, Zhao Qing at his right and Zhang Rui at his left. The wind carried dust beneath the hooves of their warhorses, while banners, unfurling against the sky, rippled like flames waiting to consume the battlefield.
Their enemy awaited them beyond the horizon.
Scouts arrived in swift succession, breathless and urgent, bearing the expected reports. An Lu, Yuan Guo, and the Four Families had assembled their combined force. 400,000 soldiers, an overwhelming sea of steel, were advancing upon them.
Zhao Qing, his keen eyes fixed on the distant haze that marked the approaching army, let out a quiet scoff.
—They have the numbers. —He spoke as if unimpressed—. But do they have anything else?
Luo Wen did not answer immediately. His mind was already shaping the battlefield before them.
Their enemy was mighty, but their strength was fractured.
An Lu held contempt for the Four Families, seeing them as parasites clinging to power out of sheer desperation. The Four Families, in turn, distrusted Yuan Guo, knowing that the old strategist fought not for them, but for an ideal they neither understood nor valued. And Yuan Guo—he did not trust any of them.
Luo Wen's lips curled ever so slightly. They had an army, but they lacked a mind.
His army, on the other hand, did not suffer from that flaw.
As darkness cloaked the sky, the army established its encampment with silent efficiency. No fires were lit, no unnecessary sound was made. Luo Wen had no intention of allowing his enemies to pinpoint his exact position.
Inside his command tent, he spread out a large map of the battlefield, the flickering glow of lanterns casting shifting shadows over the parchment. He had summoned his key officers—Zhao Qing, Zhang Rui, and the commanders of his infantry and archery divisions. It was time to finalize the battle to come.
The wind howled outside, cold and merciless, rattling the edges of the tent as if whispering of the storm that was about to be unleashed.
Luo Wen, his fingers resting lightly on the map, surveyed the faces of his assembled officers before he spoke.
—We will not win with numbers. We will win with time.
The weight of his words settled over the room like an iron shroud.
—Our enemy is not a single entity —he continued—. An Lu seeks power. The Four Families want to reclaim their influence. Yuan Guo clings to his illusion of an empire restored. But none of them trust each other.
Zhao Qing let out a quiet chuckle, arms crossed.
—So, you want to drag this battle out until their alliance shatters.
Luo Wen nodded.
—Precisely. We will never engage them in a single, decisive confrontation. Instead, we will maintain a constant war of attrition—small, controlled skirmishes, sudden withdrawals, unrelenting harassment under the cover of night. Enough bloodshed to keep them committed to battle, but never enough to allow them to claim victory.
Zhang Rui's fist met the wooden table with a dull thud.
—And when do we strike for real?
Luo Wen's finger traced a line on the map, his voice as sharp as a drawn blade.
—When they begin tearing themselves apart.
The strategy was set. His spies were already woven into the enemy's ranks. Rumors would be sown among An Lu's troops, whispers of betrayal and secret ambitions. Doubts would be planted in the minds of the Four Families, feeding their paranoia. And Yuan Guo—he would find himself standing on shifting ground, watching the alliance he had tried to forge begin to splinter.
—Zhao Qing. —Luo Wen turned to the cavalry commander—. Your forces will be our hammer. When their discord reaches its peak, when their battle lines begin to crumble, you will charge with your entire cavalry force. We will strike like thunder against a collapsing sky.
A cold glint flickered in Zhao Qing's eyes.
—You better be right, Luo Wen. If we wait too long, it might be us who collapse first.
Luo Wen did not falter.
—We will not wait too long. We will make them beg for the end.
The plan was in motion. The battle had yet to begin, but the war had already been decided.