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"Enough!" The word cut through the argument like a sword stroke. No one dared to speak now. The captains clenched their jaws, the lieutenant bit back his fury. All eyes fixed on the scarred face at the head of the table.
The general's voice, low and gravelly, carried the weight of command. "This is not the time for us to claw at one another like dogs fighting for scraps of leftovers. The enemy is before us that stayed at that fort, they are the ones we must tear apart, not each other."
Silence lingered heavy as he turned his gaze to the lieutenant. His voice softened, but his eyes burned with a desperate question.
"Tell me, is there no other way? You yourself said retreat is suicide. Their numbers are greater than ours, you know this. If we turn our backs now, what prevents them from chasing us down like cattle? We would be slaughtered on the open fields. So tell me, what is your answer?"
The lieutenant bowed his head, the fire of his anger dimming into sorrow. He nodded slowly, acknowledging the truth in his commander's words.
"Yes, general. You are right. A retreat through open ground would cut us to ribbons. Yet… yet to press forward is no better. It is death all the same. We fight an enemy too powerful for us, too disciplined, and too advanced in their equipment. If we strike again as we are now, the entirety of Champa itself may fall if we all died here today."
His words fell heavy, like stones sinking into the still water of the tent.
The captains, sensing weakness, pounced.
"Listen to him, general," one sneered. "He quivers like a boy before his first battle. He speaks of doom, of despair. He would have us believe Champa is weak! Are we not the strongest kingdom in these lands? Stronger than those weak small tribes? Stronger than those small kingdoms? Only Funan rivals us, and even they tread carefully in our shadow. And yet he would have us tremble before these foreigners?"
Another added, his voice hot with disdain, "Do you not see, general? He is afraid. That is all. He hides behind words of caution, but it is fear that guides his tongue. And fear has no place in the heart of a Champa commander."
The lieutenant's eyes narrowed to slits, his knuckles white as he gripped the edge of the table. His voice, when it came, was low and cold.
"You call it fear? Call it what you will. I call it truth. Open your eyes. We have nearly lost our entire navy because of these foreigners. Do you understand? Many years of pride, of power on the sea, gone! Swept away in just a day! And you would still dare to boast? You strut like roosters while the fox waits at the door."
His words echoed, bitter and raw. But the captains only scoffed, waving their hands dismissively. They just continue saying that the lieutenant was weak willed and cowardly.
The lieutenant's shoulders sagged. He knew then his words would fall on deaf ears. Slowly, he turned back to the general, his voice weary now, tinged with resignation.
"General. I have said my piece. If you believe in their pride, then so be it. What are your orders for us here?"
The general closed his eyes for a moment, the silence stretching. His hand trembled slightly as it rested on the map, hovering over the mark of the fort. His heart warred with his mind, but in the end, pride and the weight of history pressed down harder than reason.
His eyes snapped open. His voice rang with grim finality.
"At dawn, we attack again. We will break these foreigners. We will storm that fort and cast them into the earth, by any means necessary."
A chorus of approval erupted from the captains, their voices ringing with zeal, their fists pounding on the table. "For Champa! For victory!"
Only the lieutenant did not join. His face was pale, his eyes dark with disbelief, with disappointment. He shook his head slowly, the weight of foreboding settling like iron upon his shoulders.
The meeting dissolved, captains rushing to prepare their men for the morning assault, voices rising with boasts of glory and vengeance.
The lieutenant lingered a moment longer, his gaze fixed on the general. Quietly, bitterly, he whispered, "Glory will not save us, old friend."
But the general did not hear. Or perhaps he chose not to.
When dawn came, the sky was a pale gold, streaked with the faint blush of crimson. The sun climbed slowly, casting its light upon a battlefield still stained with yesterday's slaughter.
The Champa army assembled once more, their ranks thinner than before, their faces set in grim determination.
The general sat atop his horse, surveying the fort. The gates had been cleared, no bodies, no barricades. Almost as if inviting them in.
'Too easy.'
But his captains were already moving, rallying the men, their voices loud with bravado.
"Today, we take back what is ours!"
"Death to the invaders!"
The general clenched his jaw. He could feel it, the wrongness of this. But it was too late to turn back now.
"Advance!"
The Champa army surged forward once more, a tide of steel and fury, drums pounding like the heartbeat of the earth, banners unfurling in the morning breeze. Ladders were raised, rams pushed forward, soldiers shouted their war cries, filling the air with thunder.
And on the walls of the fort, the Shi Clan waited. Calm. Silent. Ready.
Shi Xin stood at the center, his gaze fixed on the approaching tide. His voice carried clear and strong as he raised his hand.
"Steady, men. Let them come."
The second siege battle had begun.
The second siege battle raged with a ferocity that eclipsed the first. Where before cunning traps and hidden snares had broken the Champa advance, now the struggle turned into a test of raw endurance and will.
From the moment dawn had broken and the Champa army surged forward, the air was alive with a storm of arrows. The Shi Clan archers atop the walls moved with mechanical precision, their bowstrings singing in a deadly rhythm.
Each shaft loosed found flesh, some struck shields, but most pierced armor or found unguarded throats and chests. Below, the Champa soldiers screamed, stumbled, and pressed on, their cries blending with the thunder of drums that urged them forward.
Shi Xin stood upon the central rampart, calm amid the chaos. His armor gleamed faintly in the morning sun, though dust and the scent of sweat already clung to him.
His sharp eyes missed nothing, the shifting formations of the enemy, the tremor of hesitation in their lines, the determination hardening in the faces of his own men. He did not shout with bluster like the Champa captains. His orders came steady, measured, like strokes of a brush painting a calculated picture.
"Loose in waves, conserve strength. Stones, aim for the ladders. Pikes, hold the breaches."
The Champa ladders clattered against the wooden walls, but just as swiftly, logs as thick as tree trunks came crashing down from above. With sickening cracks, ladders shattered like twigs, spilling screaming soldiers onto the ground. Massive stones were heaved over the battlements, smashing into clustered men below, breaking bones and scattering formations.
Still, the Champa would not relent. The general, driven by pride and the roar of his captains, pushed them on. Again and again, men surged to the walls, only to be cast down.
For three days the siege dragged on.
By the second day, the battlefield reeked of blood and decay. The corpses of Champa soldiers piled high against the fort's wooden walls, some used by their own desperate comrades as grisly cover against the rain of arrows.
The cries of the wounded rose in the night like a chorus of the damned, echoing under the moonlight, a haunting reminder to both sides of the cost of pride.
Inside the fort, the Shi soldiers were weary but unbroken. Shi Hui moved tirelessly, sometimes carrying messages, sometimes observing his elder brother's command with wide, hungry eyes.
When the men faltered, Shi Xin was there among them, not to scream or rage, but to steady. He placed a hand on a soldier's shoulder, gave a firm nod, or spoke a calm word. "Hold. You are not alone. We endure together."
To the Champa, the walls of the fort became a mountain, and Shi Xin its immovable spirit.
On the third day, their desperation showed. The Champa captains hurled every ounce of rage into their assault. They drove their men forward like cattle to slaughter, but the wooden fort still stood, battered yet defiant.
By dusk of that final day, the Champa fell back, beaten and bleeding. Their general sat slumped in his saddle, his face hollowed by exhaustion, his pride cracking beneath the truth he could no longer deny. His lieutenant said nothing, only gazed at him with sorrow and grim vindication.
Inside the fort, the Shi Clan soldiers raised no cheers. They were too tired, too bloodied. But they stood victorious, and their banner still flew proudly against the fading sky.
Far from the screams of the battlefield, the southern port of Gaya bustled with a different kind of tension.
Li Wei oversaw the loading of the last crates onto the ships, gifts for the Yamatai emissary and their queen, Himiko, alongside the supplies his men would need for an uncertain stay on foreign soil.
Fine silks folded neatly into lacquered chests, bronze mirrors gleaming in the sun, jars of wine and beers sealed with red wax, all carefully chosen to impress, yet not so extravagant as to suggest weakness.
He stood tall, his dark robes rustling in the sea breeze, eyes watchful as always. Every movement on the dock passed through his scrutiny, every word weighed in his mind. Around him, Oriole agents moved quietly, blending with sailors and attendants, invisible shadows that ensured no saboteur could disrupt the mission.
At his side stood Gongsun Gong, his hands clasped behind his back, flanked by his personal guards. Unlike the weary Shi soldiers far away, the man carried himself with quiet dignity. He watched the preparations with a solemn air before turning to Li Wei.
"Are you ready for this meeting?" he asked, his voice low, almost lost beneath the calls of dockhands and creak of timber.
Li Wei's eyes lingered on a chest being secured with rope before he answered. "I am. We have the information King Jinji have shared to us before, and the intelligence gathered from Gaya's capital. With that, and with the Oriole agents in the shadows, I am full ready for this meeting."
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Name: Lie Fan
Title: Founding Emperor Of Hengyuan Dynasty
Age: 35 (202 AD)
Level: 16
Next Level: 462,000
Renown: 2325
Cultivation: Yin Yang Separation (level 9)
SP: 1,121,700
ATTRIBUTE POINTS
STR: 966 (+20)
VIT: 623 (+20)
AGI: 623 (+10)
INT: 667
CHR: 98
WIS: 549
WILL: 432
ATR Points: 0