Yuan Guo's command tent was engulfed in an oppressive silence, broken only by the faint, rhythmic crackling of an oil lamp flickering in the corner. Outside, the night was thick and heavy, the air saturated with the anticipation of an imminent battle. The weight of war hung in the atmosphere, suffocating, inescapable.
Inside, two men who despised the very notion of sharing a room sat across from each other, their expressions carved from stone.
An Lu and Yuan Guo.
For far too long, their relationship had been defined by rivalry, distrust, and a fundamental difference in strategic philosophies. Yet now, with the war tilting dangerously in favor of Luo Wen, there was no longer any space for personal disputes. They either cast their differences aside, or they would watch their coalition collapse under the relentless advance of their enemy.
They were not alone. A third figure sat with them—a man who, despite his silence, carried significant weight in this war.
A representative of the Four Families.
His robes were of fine silk, embroidered with symbols of noble heritage, yet his posture betrayed discomfort. He was not a soldier, nor a strategist. He was a political emissary, sent by the great noble houses to ensure their interests were not sidelined in this war.
Yuan Guo was the first to break the silence.
"We can't afford to keep waiting. Luo Wen is closing in on us, and with every passing day, his forces grow stronger while ours grow weaker. If we continue in this deadlock, we will be destroyed—systematically, piece by piece, until nothing remains of our army."
An Lu, his expression as unreadable as ever, nodded slowly. His sharp eyes studied the map before him with ruthless precision.
"I agree," he said finally. "But the question is, how do we strike? He is meticulous. His troops are disciplined. We cannot break him with a direct charge. We must exploit our greatest asset—our numbers."
The representative of the Four Families cleared his throat.
"Coordination is the key," he interjected. "If we organize our armies efficiently, the shortage of officers won't matter as much. We can compensate for our lack of leadership with sheer brute force."
An Lu and Yuan Guo exchanged glances. The real problem was not just the strategy—it was the scarcity of capable officers.
Many of their best military minds had fallen in previous battles, leaving them with an army riddled with incompetent commanders—men who held their ranks not through merit, but through bloodline and political connections.
Yuan Guo exhaled slowly, heavily.
"We don't have enough officers to coordinate a precise assault. That means we can't attempt anything too complicated. We need a strategy that relies on the raw power of overwhelming numbers."
An Lu dragged his hand across the map, tracing a thick, deliberate line down the center.
"Our attack will focus on an all-out push through the middle," he said, his voice devoid of hesitation. "We will throw everything we have—our lowest-quality troops, the militias, the desperate conscripts who have been forced into battle. They lack training. They lack discipline. But they have numbers—and desperation. If we hurl them forward like an unstoppable wave, Luo Wen's lines will buckle under sheer weight."
The representative of the Four Families stroked his beard thoughtfully.
"We could distribute the officers we do have among the militias, give them some degree of structure."
An Lu shook his head.
"It won't make a difference. We don't have enough competent officers to lead them properly. But if we place our cavalry directly behind them, they will have no choice but to advance. If they attempt to retreat, we will cut them down ourselves. There will be no turning back—only forward. They march, or they die."
Yuan Guo clenched his fist and slammed it against the table.
"If this works… Luo Wen won't be able to withstand the shock. His soldiers are disciplined, yes, but if a massive tide of men with nothing to lose crashes against them without respite, his formation will break."
—"While the center pushes forward, our regular troops will hold the flanks,"—Yuan Guo continued, gesturing toward both sides of the map. "We cannot allow Luo Wen to attempt an encirclement. His infantry is formidable, and his cavalry is swift. If we can secure our flanks properly, we will prevent him from tearing through our sides and collapsing our entire formation."
—"Once the militias shatter his front lines, our cavalry will charge in,"—An Lu traced an arc behind the enemy's rear, eyes gleaming with cold calculation. "When disorder and chaos spread through Luo Wen's ranks, our cavalry will strike the killing blow, cutting them down from behind and sealing their fate."
The representative of the Four Families nodded.
"The plan is dangerous, but… there is no alternative."
Silence returned to the command tent. The two generals stared at the map, each envisioning the battlefield in their minds—the deafening roar of combat, the relentless advance of thousands of men, the desperate resistance of Luo Wen's forces as they struggled to hold the line.
If everything went according to plan… this battle would mark the end of their greatest enemy.
Yuan Guo lifted his gaze, locking eyes with An Lu.
"You understand what this means, don't you?"
An Lu nodded.
"There is no room for error. If we fail, our coalition is finished."
Without another word, both men rose to their feet. For a long moment, they stood there, their gazes unyielding, as if sealing their shared fate with sheer willpower alone.
Finally, Yuan Guo extended his hand.
"Then, for now… we put aside our differences."
An Lu clasped his hand firmly.
"For now."
The representative of the Four Families observed the scene in silence. To him, this was a promising sign. Two leaders who had once stood as bitter adversaries were now bound together by a greater cause.
The pact was made.
At dawn, their armies would march with everything they had.
Luo Wen did not yet know it, but the storm was already on its way.