The banners of war stirred beneath a cold wind as Zhang Xin led his civil and military retinue out of the encampment. Iron greaves struck the earth in steady rhythm, and the air itself seemed to tighten—as if sensing the approach of another force destined to shape the fate of the realm.
From the distant road, riders emerged like a gathering storm.
"LORD!"
The shout tore across the plain.
Even before the dust settled, the figure at the front had already leapt from his horse. Sun Jian strode forward with unrestrained fervor, his armor still bearing the scars of recent battles. Without hesitation, he dropped to one knee, bowing deeply.
"Advisory Official Sun Jian greets my Lord!"
Behind him, his officers and kin followed suit, kneeling in unison like a forest bending before a gale.
"We greet Marquis Xuanwei!"
Zhang Xin's expression shifted—surprise, then warmth. He stepped forward at once, grasping Sun Jian by the arms and pulling him up.
"Wentai, rise. There is no need for such formality."
His gaze swept across the kneeling men.
"All of you—rise. There is no court here, only comrades in war."
Steel and cloth rustled as they obeyed.
Sun Jian straightened, eyes blazing with a fire that had not dimmed despite hardship.
"How did you arrive so swiftly?" Zhang Xin asked, a faint smile on his lips.
Sun Jian laughed—a bold, unrestrained sound.
"How could I compare to you, my Lord? While my army was still trapped beyond Guangcheng Pass, you shattered Dong Zhuo's forces and reclaimed Luoyang! Divine—truly divine!"
At the name of Dong Zhuo, the wind seemed to grow colder.
Zhang Xin merely shook his head.
"The victory was not mine alone. It was won by the strength of many."
Sun Jian's gaze sharpened. Respect deepened.
"To achieve greatness and yet claim humility—such a man is worthy of admiration."
"And yet," Zhang Xin replied evenly, "when the coalition scattered like dry leaves, only Wentai dared to raise his blade again. That is no small courage."
For a moment, the two men stood in mutual acknowledgment—warriors who recognized the iron within each other.
Then Zhang Xin's attention shifted to those behind Sun Jian.
Among them stood familiar figures—Huang Gai, Cheng Pu, Han Dang—veterans of countless battles. But there were others, faces yet unknown.
"Wentai," Zhang Xin said, "introduce your companions."
Sun Jian nodded.
"This is my Chief Clerk, Gongqiu Cheng—a scholar of Changsha."
The man stepped forward, bowing with measured grace.
"Gongqiu Cheng greets Marquis Xuanwei."
Zhang Xin returned the gesture, his eyes lingering for a heartbeat. A strategist, perhaps. Another mind shaped by chaos.
One by one, Sun Jian named the rest.
"My younger brother, Sun Jing. My brother-in-law, Wu Jing. My nephew, Xu Kun…"
Each stepped forward in turn.
Zhang Xin observed them quietly.
Xu Kun, not yet twenty, bore himself like tempered steel—already a veteran of blood-soaked fields.
A flicker of something unspoken passed through Zhang Xin's heart.
Family.
A luxury he did not possess.
Other warlords rose with clans behind them—brothers, cousins, allies bound by blood. When they raised banners, they did not stand alone.
But Zhang Xin…
He had walked this road with no such foundation.
No brothers to rely on. No kin to trust.
Only himself—and the blade he carried.
Even Zhang Ning's family had been erased by the court long ago, leaving behind nothing but ghosts.
Before Guan Yu had joined him, there had been no one to share counsel, no one to shoulder the weight.
Every step forward had been carved from solitude.
And blood.
The thought vanished as quickly as it came.
Zhang Xin gestured in return, introducing Xu He, Yu Jin, and the others he had gathered along his path.
When Sun Jian heard that Xu Rong had surrendered, something fierce ignited in his eyes—a warrior's instinct, sharp and immediate, as if he longed to cross blades with the man even now.
Once the introductions ended, Sun Jian wasted no time.
"When do we march on Chang'an?"
Direct. Burning. Unyielding.
Zhang Xin smiled faintly.
"You've arrived at the perfect moment. We were just discussing this."
He turned, leading the way back into the central tent.
"Come. Let us speak within."
—
The command tent soon grew crowded, filled with the weight of commanders and ambition.
Zhang Xin took his seat at the center.
"How many troops have you brought?"
"Thirty thousand," Sun Jian answered without hesitation.
"And provisions?"
A pause.
"Ten thousand shi of grain."
The atmosphere shifted.
Zhang Xin's brow creased slightly.
Ten days.
That was all it would sustain.
Eighty thousand mouths now depended on dwindling stores.
Victory had expanded their strength—
—and their burden.
Sun Jian noticed.
"My Lord… is there difficulty?"
Zhang Xin exhaled quietly.
"You are aware of Yuan Shao's accusations."
Sun Jian nodded.
"Though Dong Zhuo's schemes fooled no one, Yuan Shao used them well. He severed my supply lines. Han Fu followed suit. My army survives now only on borrowed grain from the Black Mountain bandits."
His voice lowered.
"It will not last."
Sun Jian waved a hand dismissively.
"So that is all? Then there is no cause for concern!"
He stepped forward, confidence radiating from him like heat.
"Luoyang has been reclaimed. Grain from Nanyang and Yu Province can now flow freely through the passes."
He continued, voice firm.
"Yuan Shu leads the coalition. Dong Zhuo slaughtered his clan. Now that you have defeated Dong, you have avenged him."
A beat.
"Whether for duty or vengeance—he will support us."
Zhang Xin said nothing.
But inwardly, he scoffed.
Rely on Yuan Shu?
Better to trust a blade not to cut.
Still, he did not voice it.
Instead, plans formed silently.
Grain from Yang Feng. Supplies from Hedong. Preparations for a war that would not forgive hesitation.
If they could reach Huayin within two months—
Then the final clash with Dong Zhuo would decide everything.
The matter of provisions faded into strategy.
Once more, Sun Jian pressed forward.
"When do we march?"
Zhang Xin leaned back slightly, calm amidst the urgency.
"Your impatience remains unchanged."
A faint smile.
"Our soldiers are exhausted. The surrendered troops must be reorganized. Your army has marched hard to reach us."
His gaze sharpened.
"We rest. Then we strike."
Sun Jian held his gaze—then nodded.
"You are right."
But the fire within him did not dim.
He stepped forward once more, clasping his fists.
"My Lord has fought for months—Mengjin, Chenggao, Luoyang—victory upon victory. Yet I have gained no merit since the coalition began."
His voice deepened.
Steel beneath respect.
"Since your forces must regroup…"
A pause.
Then, like a blade drawn from its sheath—
"For this campaign against Dong Zhuo…"
His eyes burned like war itself.
"I request to lead the vanguard."
Silence fell.
Heavy.
Decisive.
The storm was coming.