Dawn — North Wall, Beiguan Fortress
Dawn found Qin Feng standing upon the North Wall of Beiguan Fortress, arms folded in front of him, gaze fixed upon the sprawling enemy encampment across the plains.
He had not moved from this spot throughout the night.
The watch had changed shifts. Torches had burned low and been replaced. Frost had gathered in silver veins along the battlements.
But he had remained.
The Northern Khaganate's army—three hundred and fifty thousand strong—had begun their assault the previous evening.
Not with steel.
With sound.
All through the night, the plains had thundered with battle cries, blaring horns, coarse laughter, and shouted insults. It was an old tactic—wear down the spirit before ever testing the walls. Let fear seep into marrow. Let exhaustion dull resolve.
Qin Feng had taken his place atop the Wall not out of tactical necessity, but for presence.
To serve as an anchor for his troops.
A fortress did not stand on stone alone. It stood on the steadiness of the men defending it.
So he stood where they could see him—exposed to the cold wind, unmoving beneath the weight of the enemy's noise.
Calm. Unhurried. Unshaken.
Word spread quietly along the ramparts and into the barracks below.
"The Commander has not left the Wall."
The effect was subtle—but profound. Shoulders straightened. Hands steadied on spear and bow. Hearts that had begun to fray in the dark found something solid to brace against.
---
BOOM. BOOM. BOOM.
The drums began anew at daybreak.
Not the chaotic clamor of the night before—but something slower. Heavier. Deliberate.
Across the plains, a wedge of riders peeled away from the Northern Khaganate army's main host.
Five thousand cavalry.
They advanced at a measured trot, hooves striking frozen earth in perfect rhythm. Banners hung low. Armor glinted beneath the newborn sun.
When they reached a pre-measured distance—just beyond the effective range of the fortress's great crossbows—they halted as one.
Then they raised their voices.
And let loose beastly howls. Howls that sound like a blend of both man and beast.
The sound began with the riders but was swallowed and magnified by tens of thousands behind them. It rolled across the plains like a physical force, crashing against Beiguan's walls in a wave of sound and fury.
A few soldiers flinched.
Most did not.
Qin Feng's gaze remained fixed on the cavalry, cool and faintly contemptuous. Their constant provocations annoying him.
But he stayed his hand. Showing their cards right now won't do them any good.
So, he instead nodded at General Bai Xian, who then lifted a hand—a signal.
With that signal, Beiguan Fortress answered to the enemy's provocation.
From within the Fort, deep horns sounded—low, steady, controlled. Drums followed—not fast, not loud, but unwavering. A rhythm carved into every soldier since the first day of training.
The meaning?
We are here. We are not moving.
Archers raised their bows in unison.
Not to fire.
But to show they could. And they were not afraid to.
And the Northern Khaganate army understood this clearly.
Yet, the five thousand did not retreat.
Instead, they fanned outward across the plains like ink spreading through water. Small clusters surged forward, wheeled, withdrew—testing distance, angle, reaction.
"Range-finding."
Bai Xian indulged them. Archers loosed arrows in high arcs that fell deliberately short, thudding into frozen soil in measured defiance.
Then one rider pushed too far.
He broke formation and charged, reckless or bold—closing the distance beyond what doctrine allowed. Perhaps he sought glory. Perhaps he wished to test the truth of the rumors surrounding Beiguan's commander.
But, he did not get far.
"Preposterous."
Qin Feng did not raise his voice.
He simply reached for a spear.
The weapon left his hand like a thunderbolt.
It struck horse and rider mid-charge, piercing through both with overwhelming force and nailing them to the earth in a spray of frost and blood.
Silence rippled outward.
Then came a roar—from the Khaganate ranks—not of fear, but fury.
Beiguan answered in kind.
"Hu! Hu! Zhàn!" "Hu! Hu! Zhàn!" "Hu! Hu! Zhàn!"
(AN: Basically, "Tiger! Tiger! Fight!")
The cry rolled along the Wall like gathering thunder.
Yet the enemy did not attack.
Instead, they flowed outward—east and west—circling the fortress in widening arcs. Smoke began to rise in the distance as outlying watchposts and villages were put to the torch.
---
Sunset
Qin Feng stood upon the Wall as the sky turned amber and smoke bled into the evening light.
He watched as the hard work of his countrymen were reduced to cinders.
Most villages had been evacuated. That much he ensured.
But villages built in such perilous lands were born of poverty—Frontier settlements were tax-exempt for a reason. Those who lived there did so because they had little choice.
To lose even that little—
"At least they live," he murmured. "Where there is life, there is hope."
The words felt thin.
Through True Sight, the plains revealed themselves in cruel clarity.
He saw the few who had refused evacuation—whether from stubborn attachment, misplaced pride, or fear of becoming burdens to their family—cut down by Khaganate soldiers without hesitation.
He saw those same Khaganate soldiers feasting beside their burning homes, tearing into stolen grain and livestock as if celebrating a harvest.
His jaw tightened.
His fists clenched.
"Shadow," he whispered.
The word barely stirred the air.
"I want them all dead. Every man who leaves their main camp."
The wind answered.
Or so the guards believed.
None of them noticed the darkness at Qin Feng's feet ripple and slip away—one strand becoming many, flowing over stone and down the Wall, joined by more than a hundred silent companions.
That night, death moved without sound.
Some Khaganate soldiers were still drinking when shadow and steel flickered before their eyes, ending their revelry in a heartbeat.
Others fled on horseback, spurred by terror—but horses could not outrun what did not truly exist in flesh. Darkness caught them. Steel flashed. Silence followed.
By dawn, of the five thousand who had ridden out to pillage, map, and probe—
Only a thousand returned.
Not because they had survived the Shadows.
But because they had never encountered them at all.
...
Author's Note:
From what I've studied, steppe armies did not simply arrive and begin to siege immediately. They probed, intimidated, mapped, tested morale, and more. Turns out a siege is far more complex than most portrayals suggest—and I'm still learning these intricacies as I write.
As always, I welcome discussion—whether on strategy, historical nuance, or corrections.
Thank you sincerely for reading. If you're enjoying the story, please consider adding it to your collection, dropping power stones, and sharing your thoughts in the comments.
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