The dust of the northern plains still clung to his boots when Luo Wen crossed into the southern fields. His sword remained sheathed, yet the echoes of his campaign reverberated still — through the forests, across the villages, at every post where couriers had delivered the news: the Khan was dead, the tribes crushed, and the Empire... untouched.
They were waiting for him.
From the farmlands to the stone-built towns, people had gathered along the imperial roads. Not to pay tribute to some distant emperor, but to catch a glimpse of the man who had saved their homes. It was said that the barbarians ate horses alive, defiled women, burned entire cities to the ground. Fear had spread faster than the armies ever could. But Luo Wen had brought it all to an end.
As he passed, peasants fell to their knees — not out of obligation, but out of sheer relief. Mothers wept, not for sons lost, but because their sons still lived. Old men raised their fists high — veterans who had survived past wars. People threw flowers, waved flags, even tossed copper coins toward the road in gratitude.
Luo Wen did not speak. His black armor reflected the sunlight with a glint sharp as warning. Behind him marched a column of disciplined troops: blood-hardened veterans, cavalry bearing torn banners, wagons heavy with war trophies. The severed heads of the most feared barbarian horsemen hung sealed in iron boxes, silent proof of his victory.
By the time he reached the gates of the imperial capital, the crowds had spilled out into alleyways. From balconies, noblewomen tossed silk scarves. From rooftops, children screamed his name:
—"Luo Wen! The Unvanquished Chancellor!"
The Celestial Palace had been prepared for his return — not by the will of the emperor, who in his old age no longer left his garden retreats, but by ministers, nobles, and high generals. In private, many of them wondered whether they were witnessing the rise of a new sun.
At the grand banquet, the speeches rained down like blades disguised in laurels.
—"Chancellor Luo has shown us the strength of the Empire," declared one prince, raising his cup with a smile that never reached his eyes. "Where others failed, he brought order."
—"Eternal honor to the Unvanquished Chancellor!" shouted another, as the others nodded in agreement.
Yet amid the applause, the tension was unmistakable. Luo Wen was no longer just a soldier. He had returned with fame, with loyalty forged in blood, with entire peoples who saw him as a savior. And more dangerously still — the north was now under his shadow, secured through Shen Ruolin, the general who owed his very position to Luo Wen.
Seated at his place, Luo Wen observed in silence. He did not eat. He did not drink. He watched.
He could read the silence behind their praise.
He knew that behind every raised cup there was a hidden dagger. That behind every smile, someone was wondering whether he should die soon — or whether they could use him... before he slipped out of their control.
But he also knew this: they could not stop him.
—"My sword has already spoken," he said at last, raising his voice just enough for all to hear. "And if it speaks again... it will be for the Empire. Or against its enemies."
The nobles exchanged glances. Some laughed, as if it were a jest. Others lowered their eyes.
That night, the entire city burned with celebration. Torches were lit, courtesans danced, hymns were sung in temples. But high atop the Lion Tower, Luo Wen did not join in the festivities.
He met only with his closest circle.
—"The people already follow me," he said. "The nobles fear me. The emperor is blind. And the north... is under our control."
One of his advisers, an old diplomat with fox-like eyes, asked carefully:
—"And what of Shen Ruolin? Do you see him as ally... or as threat?"
Luo Wen did not answer right away. Then, in a voice cold as steel:
—"For now, he is useful. He's turned the Empire's enemies into soldiers. He divides, he rules, he crushes. As it should be."
—"And afterward?"
—"After... we'll see who remembers to whom they owe their power."
Meanwhile, in the frost-laced plains of the north, Shen Ruolin rode among the ranks of his new army. They wore imperial breastplates, but their voices carried the accents of the steppes. They called him "commander," but also "brother."
He knew they were not yet truly loyal.
Not yet.
But they would be.
Because he had given them purpose, a common enemy… and a shared victory still waiting to be built.
And while Luo Wen was hailed as the hero of the capital, Shen Ruolin raised his own banner in those forgotten lands, marking the beginning of something new.
An empire within the Empire.