A week had passed since the kingdom of Linhua had begun to recover from the plague. The streets, once filled with the cries of the sick, now echoed with cautious steps as people began to emerge from their homes. The cure that Zhang Wei had created was a miracle in itself. Slowly, but surely, the kingdom was starting to regain its strength, though the damage had been done. The kingdom had been drained, its resources depleted, and its soldiers, though recovering, were far from their full strength.
Despite this, the capital felt quieter. The people walked in careful steps, aware of the fragile peace that had been won at such great cost. The palace was no longer a place of mourning, but the air was still thick with uncertainty. The soldiers who had once patrolled the streets in great numbers were now fewer, and the checkpoints that had once been a constant presence at the borders had been reduced.
It was in this lull, when the tension was at its weakest, that Hei'an's spies saw their chance. Slipping out of Linhua undetected, they crossed the borders and quickly made their way back to the kingdom of Hei'an, carrying news that would shake the kingdom to its core.
Back in Hei'an, the emperor, Zhao Ren, had already gathered his top generals and ministers. The news from their spies was swift and alarming, but also an opportunity.
"Linhua is recovering," Minister Hu Cheng said, his voice calm, but with a trace of arrogance. "Their plague is no longer as dangerous. The people are getting better. But they will be weak. Now is the perfect time to strike."
General Xu, a battle-hardened strategist, leaned forward with a thoughtful look. "If we wait any longer, they might recover faster than we expect. But if we move now, we can take advantage of their vulnerability. Their soldiers are still recovering from the plague, and their resources are low."
General Nie Yun, known for his boldness, smirked. "We can win this. We don't need to wait. A direct attack while they're vulnerable, and we'll have their capital before they can even mobilize."
Zhao Ren listened intently, his eyes darkening with resolve. "Then it's settled. Prepare the forces. We'll strike at dawn. No mercy."
Meanwhile, in Linhua, spies had already sent word of Hei'an's preparations. The news reached the generals and advisors of Linhua, sending a wave of unease through the royal chambers. The kingdom was still weakened. Soldiers were recovering, but the resources to support a long battle were sparse. The generals gathered, their faces grave.
The room was filled with tension as the generals, advisors, and elders gathered in a hurried meeting. The fate of Linhua was at stake. The ministers and the military minds of the kingdom were all present, but there was little agreement among them.
General Wu's voice rang out, heavy with concern. "How do we respond? We're still not fully recovered from the plague. We don't have the men or the resources for a prolonged battle."
The elder advisors, whose wisdom had guided the kingdom for years, were grim as they exchanged wary glances. Elder Fang, his hands shaking slightly from the weight of years and stress, spoke first. "I agree. We've been weakened. Our soldiers are recovering, but many are still too ill or too frail. Our resources are drained, and the enemy is preparing. If they come at full force, I fear for our survival."
One of the younger ministers added, "What we need is strategy. Not just force. We may not have the numbers, but we have the terrain on our side. If we fortify the capital and use our city's defenses, we can slow them down long enough for us to regroup and rebuild."
Another advisor nodded solemnly. "Fortifications alone won't be enough. Hei'an is too powerful. We need more than defenses, we need reinforcements. We need to strengthen our alliances, send messengers, do whatever it takes to delay their forces."
General Cao, standing at the far end of the room with his arms crossed, had been silent until now. His face was set with determination, though the lines of weariness were visible. He had seen many battles, but this one was different. The kingdom was in a vulnerable position. His voice cut through the heated discussions like a blade.
"We defend from within. We fortify the capital, we gather our remaining soldiers, and we fight. It's the only option we have. There's no time for anything else. If we try to retreat or wait for reinforcements, we will be overrun before we can even mobilize." His gaze swept over the room, challenging anyone to argue.
Elder Fang's voice quivered slightly as he spoke, but his resolve was unshaken. "But we can't win a battle without men and resources. Even with the capital's fortifications, we can only last so long. We're already on the edge of exhaustion. If Hei'an attacks with full force..."
Another advisor interrupted, his voice sharp. "You're forgetting something, Elder Fang. We may be weak, but we still have the heart of Linhua. This is not just about soldiers. This is about our will to survive. If we lose that, we lose everything."
"Enough!" another minister's voice cut through the room, silencing the argument for a moment. His eyes were calculating, focused. "There's no point in fighting if we're not unified. We need a clear plan, now. If we don't stop Hei'an at the gates, we won't survive the siege. But if we try to fight in the open field with our strength depleted, we'll fall."
Elder Fang closed his eyes, nodding slowly. "Perhaps... perhaps we are too focused on the battlefield. We need to look at this from a different angle. If we can hold Hei'an back long enough, we may still have time to rebuild. But if we fail... we are lost."
The room fell silent for a moment as each person considered the stakes. General Cao stepped forward, his voice unwavering. "The only option we have is to hold them back ,defend the capital. I'll lead the charge. I've seen many battles, and I know when the odds are stacked against us. We'll fight not for victory, but for time. Time for Linhua to recover, to rebuild, and to stand strong again."
General Wu met his gaze, his expression dark. "And if that time doesn't come? What happens if we fall before the reinforcements arrive?"
General Cao's eyes hardened. "Then we fall with honor. But I'll be damned if I let our people fall without a fight."
Elder Fang, after a long pause, finally spoke. "Then let it be decided. We'll fortify, we'll defend, and we'll buy time. If reinforcements come, we'll make our stand. If they don't, we will die defending our kingdom."
The ministers and generals nodded in agreement, each knowing the heavy burden of the decision. Linhua would hold its ground, even if it meant sacrificing everything.
The meeting dissolved into quiet murmurs of preparation. As they departed, General Cao stayed behind for a moment, reflecting on the decision. He could feel the weight of his years, the countless battles fought, the comrades lost. But this fight was different, it wasn't just about him. It was for the kingdom, for the people he swore to protect.
In the silence of the chamber, Cao Jinggou knew that this battle might be his last. But it didn't matter. The kingdom had to survive.
That night, as the capital prepared in hushed, tense silence, General Cao stood alone on the palace balcony, overlooking the darkened streets of Linhua. The stars shimmered faintly above, cold and distant, as if watching silently over the kingdom on the brink of war.
He turned as quiet footsteps approached.
Zhang Wei and Pan Qiang bowed respectfully, both still pale from days of strain and sleeplessness. Cao Zhihao gave them a nod and motioned them forward.
"I asked you both here," he said, his voice low, "because there's something I need to say not as a general, but as a man who has spent his life on the battlefield."
He leaned on the railing, gazing out into the night.
"Many years ago, I stood against the western barbarians at Mount Feilong. They came with ten thousand riders, armor like iron waves, and they thought Linhua would kneel before them. I led five hundred men. We held that pass for six days. On the seventh, we broke their will."
He looked over his shoulder at them, a faint smile on his lips. "The king of that land called me the 'Sword of the North.' Their people sang songs of fear and awe… and yet here I am, an old man fighting for borrowed time."
Zhang Wei opened his mouth, but General Cao raised a hand.
"No need for praise. I'm not telling this for glory. I lived by the sword, Zhang Wei. Every scar, every honor, every ghost in my dreams ,I earned them with blood." He turned to face them fully, eyes dark but steady. "And I will die by the sword if it means buying Linhua one more breath."
Pan Qiang's jaw tensed. "General…"
"I'm not afraid," Cao said. "But I will not die for nothing. This kingdom… it still has heart. It has minds like yours," he said, looking at Zhang Wei, "and brave youth like the Sky Battalion. If we fall, we fall so that something stronger can rise from the ashes."
He took a step forward, placing a firm hand on each of their shoulders.
"Live. And make our sacrifice worth it."
Then, with a tired nod, he turned and walked into the darkness of the palace hall, leaving only silence behind.
The next morning, sunlight broke through the heavy clouds, casting a pale golden light over the recovering capital. A quiet stillness lingered in the air, the kind that came before a storm.
On Zhang Wei's worktable lay a folded letter, the seal of General Cao pressed into the wax.
His fingers trembled as he broke it open. The words were written in firm, deliberate strokes—each one heavy with finality:
_"Zhang Wei, my friend. I will not let the Dragon of the North fall. Not while I still draw breath. I go now to meet the enemy, not for victory… but to slay despair itself. If this is my last march, let it be written that I faced the gods themselves for the sake of Linhua.
—Cao Jinggou "_
Zhang Wei read the letter in silence, his eyes tracing each line again and again. The paper crinkled in his grip. Across from him, Pan Qiang stood frozen, his mouth slightly open, disbelief in his gaze.
The room felt colder than before.
Then, Zhang Wei lowered the letter, his voice caught in his throat.
"He's gone."
Pan Qiang clenched his jaw, looking away but it was no use. His vision blurred as tears welled up in his eyes.
Neither man spoke.
Instead, they stepped out into the open courtyard, the rising sun casting long shadows across the stone path. In the distance, just past the outer walls, the glint of armor and fluttering banners could barely be seen, a line of soldiers moving like a silver tide beyond the horizon.
The First Sky Battalion.
And at its front, a lone rider leading them all, General Cao Jinggou, the Sword of the North.
Zhang Wei raised his arm in a silent salute. Pan Qiang did the same beside him, their hands trembling as tears ran freely down their cheeks.
"May the heavens watch over you," Zhang Wei whispered, voice breaking. "And may the gods fear your coming."
The wind carried no reply.
But far away, the drums of war began to beat.
They knew.
This would be their last stand.
But none faltered. None turned back.
For Linhua.
For honor.
For the Dragon of the North.
The wind howled through the cliffs as General Cao Jinggou surveyed the terrain from atop his steed. The mountains loomed behind them, providing natural cover, while a narrow pass opened into the valley below. Steep ridges, dense forests, and rocky choke points made this the perfect place for an ambush and, more importantly, a clean retreat should the tides turn against them.
Only 300 men stood with him—veterans, scouts, and soldiers who had survived the plague and still had strength in their limbs. They wore no gleaming armor, no extravagant banners. Their gear was light, worn, but their eyes burned with purpose. They knew this might be their last stand.
Cao raised his hand and pointed to the ridgelines. "We strike from the shadows. Hit and vanish. Bleed them slowly. Every minute we stall them is another breath for Linhua."
They nodded, grim and silent, and took their positions across the pass.
By dawn, the tremor of marching feet reached their ears. Dust rose on the horizon. The army of Hei'an had arrived.
Thousands strong, a sea of banners painted in black and crimson. Leading them were two familiar figures, General Nie Yun, a cold-eyed tactician, and General Xu, a brutal and cunning warrior. They halted at the mouth of the pass, their gazes fixed on the narrow cliffs ahead.
General Xu stepped forward, his voice booming. "Cao Jinggou! Sword of the North! You waste your talent here. Why fight for a crumbling kingdom? Join us. With your strength, we can reshape the world!"
Beside him, General Nie Yun added coolly, "Your kingdom is weak. A husk of what it was. There is no shame in survival, General. Surrender, and we will grant your men mercy."
Atop his horse, Cao Jinggou stood tall and proud. The rising sun cast his silhouette like a blade carved from stone. He said nothing.
Instead, he raised his arm ,and dropped it.
From the cliffs, arrows rained like a storm. Rocks tumbled. Smoke flared. Screams erupted from the valley below.
The ambush had begun.
Chaos enveloped the enemy ranks. Cao's men struck fast and vanished, using the terrain to outmaneuver their larger foe. Fires lit the tree lines. Whistles signaled flanking groups. Each clash delayed the invaders by precious moments.
General Cao led from the front, his sword flashing like lightning, his war cries shaking the hearts of his enemies. Every cut he made, every drop of sweat, every ounce of pain, it was for Linhua.
The battle raged for seven days.
The forest was painted with ash and blood. More than half of the Sky Battalion had been annihilated. Some men were too injured to stand, yet clutched their swords with trembling arms, refusing to let go. One had no leg, another no arm, but still, they fought, biting their pain, their faces fierce with the resolve to protect their homeland.
On the sixth day, General Cao personally led a charge that decimated a large unit of Hei'an troops, cutting down dozens with unrelenting fury. He moved like a storm, a phantom in the trees. When General Nie Yun himself rode out to challenge him, the clash echoed like thunder, but even Nie Yun, skilled as he was, was forced back by Cao's relentless blows. Bloodied, the Hei'an general retreated, and Cao pulled his forces away once more.
At their makeshift camp deep in the woods, Cao crouched beside a fire with his lieutenant.
"We're running low," the lieutenant murmured, handing him a pouch with dried meat and water.
Cao examined it with tired eyes. "This… this won't last us two more days."
"The last shipment from Linhua barely covered the wounded," the lieutenant added quietly. "They're still recovering, General. They gave us what they could."
Cao nodded slowly, voice low and grim. "We must hold on."
A pained shout rang from the corner of the camp. Cao turned and rushed toward the sound.
It was one of the young troop leaders, barely more than a boy, his arm already lost days ago to a blade. Now his body convulsed, face pale, lips bloodied. Cao knelt beside him, gripping his hand.
The boy's eyes fluttered open, locking with his general's.
"General…" he gasped, "…drive those mongrels away. Save our homeland… our Linhua…"
Then, with a final breath, he went still.
Silence fell.
Some soldiers turned away, unable to contain their tears. Others sobbed openly, the weight of the week's losses finally breaking through.
Cao stood slowly, his fists clenched. His voice trembled, not with grief, but with fury.
"Stop crying!" he roared. "Crying won't bring him back! You want to honor his sacrifice?"
He pointed to the boy's body.
"Then fight. Hold your blades high. Make sure he didn't die for nothing!"
The men stood, heads bowed but eyes hard. And through the smoke, through the ache, through the grief ,they stood with him.
For Linhua.
For the fallen.
For the Dragon of the North.