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"The people inside, the soldiers, they know the state of the walls. They know the character of their king. Their morale is a thread waiting to snap. After a heavy bombardment to show we are serious, I will ride forward. I will speak to the men on the walls. I will tell them of the choice I made. I will tell them of our Emperor's vision. I will offer them the same hope you offered me. I believe they will listen. I believe they will open the gates."
It was a plan that leveraged their greatest asset, the truth, delivered by a man they trusted. It was a plan that aligned perfectly with the broader strategy of assimilation.
The brothers listened in silence, then Shi Xin nodded with decisive weight. "It is a sound plan. We will strike as you suggest. Let Vijaya feel the noose tighten, and then we shall see who still clings to a tyrant."
He turned in his saddle, his voice rising to a commanding roar that carried down the ranks. "Army of the Hengyuan Dynasty! Champa Auxiliaries! The heart of the enemy lies before us! Make camp! Siege lines, forward! Let the siege of Vijaya begin!"
The drums thundered. Standards waved like rivers of flame. And the great host of the Hengyuan Dynasty spread out, encircling Vijaya like a tightening fist. For the people within, the long night of their king's misrule was about to end.
The drums of the Hengyuan Dynasty thundered across the plains outside Vijaya. Smoke from their campfires curled into the sky, a reminder to all within the walls that the storm had truly arrived. But inside Vijaya, behind its carved stone and timber walls, the mood was no less chaotic.
In the throne room of King Rudravarman IV, tension thickened like smoke. The king, a tall and broad man whose girth betrayed years of indulgence, sat heavily upon his throne. His once proud frame had softened into flesh, his eyes puffed from wine, his fingers glittering with rings bought by the sweat and blood of his people. Sweat beaded on his brow despite the breeze from the open windows, and his lips twisted into a scowl as he looked upon the gathering of generals and advisors before him.
The air was filled with whispers and the faint scrape of sandals on stone as the council shifted nervously.
King Rudravarman IV's voice, harsh and guttural, broke the quiet. "Look at them out there!" he bellowed, slamming his fat hand onto the armrest of his throne. The impact made the golden bangles on his wrist jingle. "Tens of thousands! No, hundreds of thousands! A tide of steel, right on my doorstep! A sea of men! I have barely twenty thousand soldiers to man the walls! Royal guards, militiamen, and volunteers… what are they against such a host? What is your brilliant counsel?!"
A profound, terrified silence was his only answer. The bootlickers, so adept at flattering his ego and enriching themselves, had no words for a crisis of this magnitude. Their minds, unused to actual strategy, were blank with fear.
Arrayed before him were his generals and advisors, which in truth was a collection of sycophants, hedonists, and petty tyrants who had prospered by reflecting the king's own worst qualities back at him. Others were simply cowards, hoping to ride out this storm in the shelter of their king's shadow.
The competent few remained silent because they knew any plan was futile. They had seen the state of the walls, they knew the morale of the men, and they understood that the city's greatest defense, the loyalty of its people, had long ago been squandered by the man now screaming at them. In their hearts, a treacherous thought began to whisper. "Perhaps it would be better. Perhaps these foreign invaders would be an improvement for their current livelihood. What suffering have we not already endured under this king?"
Silence hung heavy. The king's jowls quivered with rage. "Answer me!" he roared. "By the gods, why do I keep any of you if you cannot tell me how to win? I feed you, clothe you, line your purses with gold, and this is how you repay me? With silence? Answer me, you worthless dogs! Are you all mute?! Am I surrounded by statues?!"
His voice echoed off the pillars, and the courtiers shrank back. None dared meet his gaze.
Just as he seemed ready to draw his ceremonial dagger and start lunging, a voice rose, oily and sharp, like a dagger drawn in the dark. "My king," said General Darsaka, a man long known as the king's most loyal lickspittle. He was thin, ratlike in face and frame, but his eyes gleamed with cunning ambition. He stepped forward, bowing low, his forehead nearly brushing the stone floor. "There is a way. There is always a way when our god king commands it."
The king's scowl softened, just slightly. "Speak."
Darsaka straightened, puffing out his chest as though the words themselves would grant him stature. "If the soldiers we have are too few, then we must turn to the people. The commoners must rise. Every able bodied man, every strong woman, they must take up arms. Let them form a human wall around their king. For who are they, if not your children? Who are they, if not your worshipers? Is it not their sacred duty to bleed for their god king?"
The words slithered into the chamber, and for a moment, King Rudravarman IV leaned back, considering. His piggish eyes narrowed, his fat fingers stroking his bejeweled chin.
But before he could speak, one of the competent generals, General Bhadrika, a man whose scars and weathered face bore witness to real battles fought, stepped forward, fists clenched. His voice rang clear and angry. "This is madness!"
The room fell still. All eyes turned to him.
Bhadrika continued, his tone sharp with conviction. "The common folk know nothing of war! They are farmers, craftsmen, fishermen! To throw them against seasoned soldiers is not only folly, it is cruelty. They will not form a wall, they will form a slaughterhouse. You will break what little loyalty remains to you, my king. You will shatter their faith forever."
Darsaka's lip curled, but before he could speak, another advisor, grey haired and weary eyed named Soriya, added his voice. "The people already despise the burdens laid upon them. Taxes so high they cannot feed their children, conscription of their sons, the endless excesses of this court… And now you would demand their lives, their wives, their daughters? This is not salvation, my king. It is the end."
But their logic was no match for the seductive poison of Darsaka's flattery. The other courtiers, seeing their chance, descended upon Bhadrika and Soriya like vultures.
"How dare you question the king's divine right?" one hissed.
"You speak as if the lives of peasants are equal to the life of a god!"spat another.
"This is treason! You do not want the king to be safe! You would rather see him fall than see the common folk fulfill their sacred duty!"
"They speak like dogs of the invaders already!"
The loyalists, few in number, found themselves drowned beneath the chorus of sycophants. Their words, heavy with truth, were twisted into accusations.
Rudravarman's face darkened again, and his voice thundered over them all. "Enough!" He rose from his throne, his bulk looming large. "I have heard enough of cowardice! Enough of excuses! You, Bhadrika, and you, old man, would see your king abandoned, see your land handed over to foreign dogs?"
"No, my king," Bhadrika said firmly, his voice steady even as the king's gaze bored into him. "I would see my people spared from needless death. If you still cared for Champa, you would see that too."
The words stung. They cut deeper than any blade, because they rang with truth. And for that very reason, Rudravarman could not abide them. His cheeks flushed red, and he pointed a trembling, jeweled finger.
"Silence him!"
Guards stepped forward at once, iron tipped spears lowered. Bhadrika did not resist. He simply shook his head, as if already mourning the kingdom he had once sworn to protect. He was dragged from the chamber, the heavy doors slamming shut behind him.
Soriya menahwile lowered his head in defeat. He knew better than to speak further. He knew that there's nothing more he could do.
The king's breathing was heavy, his chest rising and falling with exertion. But when he spoke again, his voice was steadier, filled with the confidence of a man who had convinced himself he was right.
"No more cowardice. No more talk of surrender. If soldiers alone are not enough, then we will use the people. Tens of thousands live within these walls. They will rise for their god king, or they will die for him. Issue the orders at once."
A stunned silence followed. Then, one by one, the sycophants bowed low, voices rising in false praise.
"Brilliant, my king! Truly, none but you could see so far!"
"Your wisdom is unmatched, O lord of Vijaya!"
"Yes, let the people serve their destiny, as they were born to do!"
Their words were like honey poured over rot, but Rudravarman basked in them, his chest swelling. "See? Even now, I guide this kingdom. Even now, I see the path."
But in the corner of the chamber, the remaining competent advisors exchanged weary glances. They did not need words to know what each other thought. This was no path forward. This was the cliff's edge. The end of Champa as they knew it.
By nightfall, the order spread through the city like wildfire.
"By order of His Divine Majesty, King Rudravarman IV! All able bodied men and women, from the age of fifteen to sixty, are hereby conscripted into the Divine Guard! You are to report to the mustering yards immediately! It is your sacred duty and highest honor to defend your god king! Bring any weapon you have! Scythes, cleavers, farming tools! For the glory of Champa and our Divine King!"
Heralds marched through the streets, shouting decrees. Drums beat in the plazas, summoning all able bodied men and women of the lower castes. From every neighborhood, cries of shock and disbelief echoed. Mothers clutched their children tighter. Old men muttered curses. Farmers stared at their calloused hands, hands that had tilled the soil, not gripped a spear.
"They want us to fight?" one man whispered bitterly as the decree was read aloud.
"Ay," another spat, "and die for the fat pig who taxes us to the bone." But refusal was not an option. Guards accompanied the heralds, spears gleaming, eyes cold. To resist was to invite death. And so, reluctantly, the people began to gather.
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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