Fear is a slow poison. It seeps into the mind, taints decisions, and reduces men to mere shadows of themselves. Within the encampment of the allied army, that poison had already taken root, spreading insidiously through the ranks.
Luo Wen's relentless night raids had drained their forces. Every patrol massacred, every supply convoy set ablaze, and every outpost reduced to smoldering ruins had chipped away at their confidence. They could not continue to bleed men at this rate without taking drastic action.
And so, they did.
The grand command tent was filled with the leaders of the Four Noble Families, high-ranking officers, and the vassal generals of the coalition. A heavy air of frustration and tension pressed upon the gathering.
"We cannot go on like this," Zhao Heng, the eldest of the leaders, growled. "With every passing day, our forces grow weaker while the enemy remains untouched. We have lost nearly twenty thousand men without even engaging in a decisive battle!"
Gao Shi, ever the sharp-tongued cynic, crossed his arms and cast a scathing look at An Lu.
"And despite that, our commander still has no effective strategy."
An Lu clenched his fists, forcing down his rising anger.
"Luo Wen is attacking us with guerrilla tactics, not open warfare. That alone proves he still fears us. He is merely delaying the inevitable."
"Fears us?" Zhao Heng scoffed. "He's been toying with us for weeks. And with each passing day, more of our troops lose faith in their leaders. And what do we do? Sit here, bickering like trapped rats."
Murmurs spread among the nobles. Each man had his own solution, his own idea of how to break the deadlock.
"If the key issue is morale, we must demonstrate our superiority with overwhelming force," one of the officers loyal to the Four Families suggested. "We must expand our army, summon every available resource. If our numbers are great enough, we will crush him, no matter his strategy."
"With what soldiers?" Yuan Guo's voice was flat, devoid of emotion. "If these attacks have proven anything, it's that sheer numbers mean nothing without discipline."
"Then we will conscript the peasants and local militias," Zhao Heng declared, his tone carrying a finality that left little room for debate. "We will recruit every able-bodied man who can wield a weapon. With an army of 550,000 strong, Luo Wen will have no escape."
And so, amid murmurs of agreement and a few unspoken doubts silenced by the desperation of the situation, the decision was made.
None of them realized that despair had already clouded their judgment.
The orders spread across the nearby provinces. The levy was brutal, merciless in its execution.
Officers marched into villages and seized every man capable of holding a weapon, regardless of age or condition. Farmers who barely had the strength to till the land were torn from their homes, their tools replaced with crude spears. Some were men who had never so much as held a sword. Others were mere boys, their faces pale with terror.
Local militias were absorbed into the army, but most of them were little more than ragtag bands of self-defense forces with no real training. They were a disorganized mass of men, following different chains of command and employing crude, ineffective combat methods. Many resisted integration into the main army, clinging to their own makeshift leaders and traditions.
The result was a chaotic horde: vast in size, but lacking structure.
Yet even as their numbers swelled, Luo Wen's torment did not cease.
Zhao Qing became the nightmare of the allied army. Leading his elite light cavalry, he launched swift, calculated strikes against the freshly recruited troops.
They struck at dawn, at dusk, or in the dead of night. They harassed the flanks of marching columns, scattering supply lines and leaving devastation in their wake—only to vanish into the horizon like ghosts before any meaningful retaliation could be mounted.
The casualties they inflicted were not devastating, but the blows they delivered to morale were far more crippling.
"Damn those demons!" an enraged officer roared after yet another ambush, where his men had been harassed for miles without being able to land a single counterattack. "They refuse to stand and fight! They only humiliate us!"
But that was precisely the point.
With each raid, the allied army's sense of vulnerability deepened. Each night, sentries saw phantoms in the darkness, and the distant sound of hooves set men trembling in their armor.
Fear spread faster than the recruits could be trained.
The decentralization of command proved to be an insurmountable obstacle.
Each noble maintained their own way of organizing their forces. Some outright refused to relinquish control of their contingents to the coalition leadership, insisting on direct authority over their troops. This led to a fragmented command structure, where orders contradicted one another or arrived too late to be of use.
Incompetent officers only made matters worse. Many had earned their ranks through political connections rather than battlefield merit, and their primary concern was preserving their status rather than managing their troops effectively.
Disorder reigned:
Battalions marched aimlessly, unaware of their objectives.
Some units received double rations while others starved.
Crucial messages vanished into the bureaucratic maze of factional rivalries.
Zhao Qing's cavalry struck precisely where the confusion was greatest, ensuring that chaos never ceased.
Worst of all was the critical shortage of capable officers. The army's rapid expansion had outpaced its leadership structure, leaving too many soldiers without competent commanders. Some units were led by men who barely knew how to read a map, let alone issue battlefield orders.
The allied army was a sluggish giant—capable of crushing through sheer mass, but lacking the agility to respond effectively.
With each strike from Zhao Qing, paranoia spread.
"There's a traitor among us!" Gao Shi accused in a heated council meeting. "Zhao Qing always knows exactly where to hit. This cannot be a coincidence!"
"Or perhaps," Yuan Guo replied coolly, "we are simply too incompetent to conceal our movements."
But the seed of doubt had been planted.
Generals and nobles began to suspect one another. Trust eroded, and infighting grew more vicious.
Meanwhile, Luo Wen and Zhao Qing watched from afar.
Waiting.
Because they knew the real battle had yet to begin. And when it did, this divided, mismanaged, fear-stricken army… would crumble under its own weight.