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However, as the dark Hengyuan banners were raised over the conquered delta, Huang Zhong and Xun You made it incredibly clear through their subsequent political decrees that their Emperor did not have any intend to just simply destroy the kingdom or massacre its people. This rapid, brutal conquest was merely the first, highly calculated stage of a much larger, continent spanning political master plan.
The existing ruling house of Samatata was immediately subordinated, entirely stripped of its absolute sovereignty, and forcefully bound by unbreakable, humiliating treaties that dictated their economy and foreign policy. But they were kept alive, left on their thrones to manage the local populace, collect taxes, and maintain civil order.
The vast territory, the hundreds of thousands in population, the complex administration, and the remaining military resources were rapidly and meticulously reorganized into a heavily Chinese-protected Indian vassal kingdom.
Standing victorious on the high marble balconies of the Karmanta palace, Xun You folded his hands behind his back and looked toward the west, where the sun was setting over the Indian plains. The campaign had been flawless. Now, the true work began.
The eventual, grand goal was to secretly fund this new puppet state. They would feed the subjugated kings of Samatata with endless Hengyuan steel, boundless wealth, and the devastating secret of gunpowder. They would gradually force them to expand westward and northward, turning their proxy army against the rival kingdoms of Vanga and Pundravardhana.
They would orchestrate this endless war until this vassal state organically grew into a terrifyingly powerful, impenetrable buffer kingdom, a massive, bloody shield standing squarely between the Imperial Southeast Asian territories and the looming, massive sphere of influence of the Kushan Empire. The proxy war had begun, and the Hengyuan Dynasty held all the strings.
Meanwhile, the air deep inside the grand, opulent stone castle of Karmanta was suffocatingly thick, heavy with the cloying scent of burning jasmine incense, sandalwood, and the sharp, undeniable metallic stench of spilled blood that wafted in from the outer courtyards. The fallen capital of Samatata had been a jewel of the eastern delta, a sprawling monument to Brahmanical and Buddhist wealth, but today, its ancient stone corridors echoed with the terrifying, mechanized march of a conquering world power.
The massive, heavily gilded wooden doors to the grand throne room were violently thrown open. The heavy brass hinges shrieked in protest as they slammed against the marble walls, shattering the fearful, weeping silence of the royal court.
Through the archway strode the veteran Huang Zhong and the head strategist Xun You, moving with the unshakeable confidence of men who held the mandate of heaven in their hands. They were flanked by a terrifying entourage of battle hardened Hengyuan generals, men whose faces were scarred from decades of relentless continental warfare, and a dozen heavily armored elite soldiers of the imperial vanguard. Their iron shod boots struck the polished, mosaic marble floors with an ominous, rhythmic finality that sounded like a death knell to the native nobility.
Sitting on the raised, jewel encrusted throne at the far end of the sprawling chamber was the defeated King of Samatata, King Samudrasena. Draped in priceless, vibrant silks that now seemed entirely pathetic, the monarch was visibly trembling. Alongside him, crowded onto the dais, was his entire royal council, wealthy merchant lords clutching their prayer beads and Brahmanical priests whose arrogant faces were now entirely drained of color, cowering before the unfathomable, industrialized might of the Hengyuan conquerors.
To bridge the massive, insurmountable linguistic divide between the Hengyuan Chinese conquerors and the Indian delta kingdom, the Hengyuan forces had brought along several highly educated merchants and scholars from the vassal state of Funan. These men, clad in simple tropical robes, acted as crucial translators. They had spent their entire lives navigating the trade routes of the Bay of Bengal and could fluently speak both the refined Hengyuan tongue and the local Samatata language.
As the Hengyuan delegation halted in the center of the throne room, the Funan translators nervously stepped forward, sweating profusely under the terrifying, predatory gaze of the Black Dragon's generals. They knew that a single mistranslated word could result in the total massacre of the room.
Through these trembling scholars, a heavy, historically monumental exchange began.
Xun You, his pristine scholar's robes offering a stark contrast to the blood spattered armor of the generals surrounding him, stepped forward. He slowly, deliberately waved his signature crane-feather fan with absolute, cold authority. He did not bow. He did not offer any traditional greetings of respect.
"Tell them," Xun You commanded, his voice echoing like cracking ice in the silent hall, "exactly who stands before them."
The Funan translators frantically bowed to the throne and spoke in rapid, shaking Prakrit. They formally introduced the brilliant strategist Xun You and the legendary, white haired tiger general Huang Zhong. But more importantly, they emphasized that these men were merely the hands of a much greater entity. They represented the absolute and unquestionable will of the Son of Heaven, Emperor Hongyi of the Hengyuan Dynasty, the undisputed master of the mainland and the conqueror of the northern plains, southeast jungles, and eastern oceans.
King Samudrasena swallowed hard, his hands gripping the golden armrests of his throne so tightly his knuckles turned white. He offered a weak, placating gesture, attempting to open a dialogue of diplomatic appeasement.
Xun You did not even let him speak. Without a single shred of diplomatic softening, Xun You coldly informed King Samudrasena that his sovereignty was entirely extinguished.
"From this exact moment forward," Xun You declared, his eyes locking onto the King's terrified face as the translators hastily converted his words, "your proud nation is officially a subjugated tributary to the mighty Hengyuan Dynasty. You are no longer a king in your own right, you are a vassal of the Dragon Throne. And you will remain so for all of eternity."
Before the sheer weight of that absolute subjugation could fully settle upon the weeping council, Xun You reached into his wide sleeve. He produced a long, heavy bamboo scroll, bound in black silk. He unfurled it with a sharp snap.
Xun You then ruthlessly proceeded to read the terms of their survival. It was not a negotiatiog, it was a dictation of crippling annual tributes they would be forced to give to Hengyuan to buy the continued existence of their people.
The exhaustive list of demands was staggering, designed to entirely drain the kingdom's offensive capacity while fueling Hengyuan's endless industrial revolution.
"You shall provide massive, reinforced wagons filled with raw gold and unminted silver from your treasuries," Xun You read, his voice an unfeeling drone. "Priceless valuables, temple jewels, and rare pearls harvested from your coasts. Vast amounts of your natural agricultural resources, thousands of tons of milled rice to feed our garrisons, and unlimited access to your timber. Intricate local handicrafts, fine cottons, and dyes for the imperial markets."
Xun You paused, lowering the scroll slightly to look directly at the surviving military officers in the room.
"And most importantly," Xun You finished, "you will surrender hundreds of the massive, heavily armored elephants that Samatata has specially trained for war. They belong to the Emperor now."
As the devastating list of demands was being announced and frantically translated, King Samudrasena became even paler. His royal pride was completely shattered. He realized in horrifying clarity that his kingdom's wealth would be entirely drained, leaving him as nothing more than a hollow, gilded tax collector for a foreign empire. The priests wailed softly, and the merchants buried their faces in their hands.
However, the complete humiliation of the kingdom was too much for one man to bear.
Standing near the base of the dais was one of the few surviving, highest ranking generals of the Samatata army, a fiercely proud, battle scarred Kshatriya warrior named General Kirtiman. He had commanded the inner defenses, and watching his divine king cower before invaders from the east boiled his blood into an uncontrollable frenzy. He could no longer stomach the humiliation of his homeland.
With a furious, guttural roar that startled the weeping council, General Kirtiman violently stepped forward. He shoved a Funan translator aside and boldly drew his heavy, curved iron sword. The wide, leaf shaped blade gleamed menacingly in the torchlight.
He pointed the curved tip of the blade directly at the broad chest of the white haired Huang Zhong.
Kirtiman loudly, aggressively shouted in his native tongue, his chest heaving with indignant rage. He challenged the Hengyuan supreme commander to a duel to the death right there on the marble floor. He foolishly, arrogantly demanded that if he managed to win the duel and slay the commander, the Hengyuan forces must agree to a massive reduction in the tribute demands and leave the capital immediately.
The throne room fell into a horrifying paralyzed silence. The King gasped, reaching a trembling hand out as if to stop his general, but it was too late. The challenge had been issued.
When Xun You, Huang Zhong, and the surrounding giant Hengyuan generals finally heard the terrified Funan translators stammer out the translation of the arrogant challenge, the reaction in the room was not one of fear, outrage, or even tension.
It was one of sheer, unadulterated amusement.
Xun You, possessing a mind that moved a hundred steps ahead of any physical confrontation, simply let out a tired, deeply exasperated sigh. He slowly shook his head in genuine pity at the barbarian's deep ignorance, gently closing his bamboo scroll.
Meanwhile, Huang Zhong and the blood soaked Hengyuan generals flanking him absolutely erupted. Booming, mocking laughter echoed like a physical force against the high stone ceilings of the throne room. The generals slapped their heavy iron breastplates, wiping tears of mirth from their scarred faces. To them, the sight of this local chieftain challenging the legendary tiger of Hengyuan was the most hilarious, suicidal act of foolishness they had ever witnessed.
Still chuckling, his broad shoulders shaking with amusement, Huang Zhong stepped forward. He waved off his personal guards, who had instinctively reached for their swords.
The laughter died down, and as Huang Zhong stepped into the center of the room, his demeanor shifted instantly. The jovial amusement vanished, entirely replaced by the terrifying, predatory spirit of a man who had killed thousands of men across a dozen provinces. His eyes burned with the lethal intensity of a tiger locking onto its prey.
Huang Zhong did not look at Kirtiman; he looked at the sweating translator.
"Tell this arrogant fool," Huang Zhong said, his voice a low, rumbling growl that vibrated in the chests of everyone present, "not to think that just because I am old, and just because my hair is white as winter snow, that I am easily defeated."
The translator frantically repeated the words. While the Samatata court looked on in utter confusion, wondering why the foreign invaders were not taking the challenge seriously, the Hengyuan generals simply crossed their thick, muscular arms and smiled maliciously.
They all knew perfectly well that this "old tiger" was still undisputedly ranked among the top five strongest, fastest, and most incredibly lethal martial generals in the entire, continent spanning Hengyuan Dynasty. Age had not withered his strength, it had only perfected his absolute mastery of death.
Hearing the translation and seeing the dismissive, mocking laughter of the enemy officers, the Samatata general felt his honor had been spat upon. He thought this was them arrogantly looking down on his martial prowess.
Blinded by absolute rage and a desperate need to save his kingdom's pride, Kirtiman let out a deafening battle cry. He gripped his heavy curved sword with both hands and aggressively charged across the marble floor, launching a devastating, overhead strike aimed directly at Huang Zhong's skull.
The fighting was brutal, lightning fast, and entirely one sided.
Huang Zhong didn't even bother to reach for the massive, legendary war bow slung across his back. He didn't step backward to create distance. He calmly, fluidly reached to his waist and drew his heavy, straight-edged Hengyuan steel Dao sword.
They engaged in just three incredibly fast, violent bouts.
CLANG.
The Samatata general swung with all of his formidable might, putting the entire weight of his body behind the curved blade. Huang Zhong effortlessly parried the heavy blow with absolute, terrifying precision, merely turning his wrist to deflect the kinetic energy harmlessly to the side. Kirtiman spun, utilizing the momentum to launch a vicious horizontal sweep aimed at the old man's ribs.
CLANG.
Huang Zhong blocked it again, his footing so perfectly rooted to the marble that he didn't slide a single inch.
Then, the tiger struck.
With a sudden, explosive burst of martial speed that utterly defied his advanced age, Huang Zhong went on the offensive. He twisted his blade under Kirtiman's guard in a blur of gray steel. With a sharp, upward flick of his wrist, Huang Zhong forcefully disarmed the general. The heavy curved sword was ripped from Kirtiman's grasp, spinning wildly through the air before clattering loudly across the marble floor, sliding to a halt at the feet of the terrified King.
Without missing a single, microscopic beat, Huang Zhong stepped smoothly inside the disarmed man's guard. Before Kirtiman could even register that his hands were empty, Huang Zhong ruthlessly slayed him.
He delivered a single, flawless, upward thrust. The razor sharp Hengyuan steel pierced effortlessly through the general's leather armor, sliding between his ribs, and driving directly into his heart.
Kirtiman's eyes went wide with shock. The battle cry died in his throat, replaced by a wet, choking gasp.
Huang Zhong placed his heavy boot against the dying man's chest and fluidly pulled his bloody sword free in one smooth motion. Kirtiman collapsed to the polished marble floor, his lifeblood quickly pooling into a massive, dark crimson halo around his body. The entire duel had lasted less than ten seconds.
Huang Zhong casually flicked his wrist, throwing the excess blood from his blade onto the stone. He did not sheathe his weapon. Instead, he turned his hardened, terrifying gaze and stared down the entire Samatata court. He did not say a single word, but he had just made a brutal, undeniable statement of Hengyuan's absolute martial supremacy. Their greatest warrior had been swatted down like a bothersome insect by an old man.
Due to this horrifying display of effortless lethality, the last, dying remnants of resistance in King Samudrasena's heart completely shattered. Any lingering thoughts of heroic defiance evaporated into the incense filled air.
Terrified, weeping openly, and trembling so violently he could barely stand, the King immediately crawled forward from his throne. He fell to his knees beside the bleeding corpse of his general. He frantically reached out, accepting the heavy bamboo decree from Xun You's outstretched hand. With a brush provided by a Funan scholar, the King desperately, hastily signed his name to the heavy tributary treaty, sealing the permanent enslavement of his kingdom.
After the ink dried and the treaty was formally accepted into Xun You's robes, the meticulous consolidation of the kingdom began. But it was not done with the blunt, arrogant brutality of standard conquests. It was done incredibly subtly, governed by Xun You's masterful geopolitical deception.
To control a puppet, one must not let the audience see the strings.
By Xun You's strict, brilliant design, the traditional green and gold banners of the Samatata kingdom were actually put back up on the high castle walls, the watchtowers, and the grand city gates. The crimson Hengyuan banners bearing the Black Dragon were indeed still proudly flown to signify their absolute dominance to the locals, but they were deliberately placed slightly below the Samatata flags, or kept largely within the interior military encampments.
Huang Zhong, observing this from the palace balconies, frowned slightly. "We conquered them. Why do we hide our colors beneath theirs?"
Xun You smiled, waving his fan gently. "Because, General, perception is reality in the theater of war. To the outside world, specifically the massive, highly suspicious neighboring kingdoms of Vanga and Pundravardhana, this visual arrangement tells a very specific lie. It is intentionally made to look like Samatata was the one who came out on top of a minor border skirmish against our southern frontier forces. It appears as though they repelled an invasion, successfully holding their capital, and have merely agreed to a trade pact with us."
Xun You pointed toward the northern horizon, where the massive Kushan Empire loomed in the distance.
"We are completely hiding the reality that Samatata is now an weaponized puppet of the Hengyuan Dynasty," Xun You continued. "If Vanga or Pundravardhana realized that an army of four hundred thousand mainland soldiers had seamlessly annexed their neighbor in a matter of weeks, they would instantly panic. Their fear would drive them to immediately form a desperate, massive military alliance with the Kushan Empire against us. This brilliant deception ensures the region remains fractured. They will continue to view Samatata as a local rival, not as the vanguard of the Black Dragon. And while they bicker, we will arm Samatata to the teeth."
Amidst this incredibly subtle, shadowy consolidation, the invisible machinery of the empire was aggressively spinning into motion.
In a highly secretive scene deep within the commandeered cellars of the palace, the shadow clad Oriole Agents went to work. They immediately dispatched their swiftest, most elite riders on fresh horses, and released specialized messenger hawks into the night sky, carrying the red sealed reports of the flawless, rapid victory from Samatata back to their Emperor.
While the couriers began their long journey east, the remaining agents did not rest. They immediately began to utilize the terrified Funan translators. Under the threat of death, the translators were forced to teach the Oriole Agents the complex nuances of the Samatata language.
The agents, men and women chosen for their absolute loyalty before then their eidetic memories and linguistic adaptability, spent sleepless nights meticulously mastering the local Prakrit dialects and memorizing the intricate Brahmi scripts. They learned the local customs, the religious hierarchies, and the regional accents.
They did this so that they could shed their mainland identities entirely. Within months, these agents would seamlessly blend into the local merchant caravans, the temples, and the royal courts of the neighboring kingdoms. They were rapidly expanding their invisible, deadly spy network deeper into the Indian subcontinent, preparing to map the very heart of the Kushan Empire.
Meanwhile, a grand, sweeping transition of time took place.
The news of this monumental victory traveled across treacherous mountain passes, sailed across the Bay of Bengal, and rode along the newly paved imperial highways of the southern provinces. It finally arrived at Lie Fan's hand more than a full month later. The seasons had dramatically turned since the army had marched. The stifling summer heat had given way to the crisp, cool winds of autumn, and the year had officially changed to 204 AD.
______________________________
Name: Lie Fan
Title: Founding Emperor Of Hengyuan Dynasty
Age: 36 (203 AD) ➔ 37 (204 AD)
Level: 16
Next Level: 462,000
Renown: 2325
Cultivation: Yin Yang Separation (level 11)
SP: 1,121,700
ATTRIBUTE POINTS
STR: 1,010 (+20)
VIT: 659 (+20)
AGI: 653 (+10)
INT: 691
CHR: 98
WIS: 569
WILL: 436
ATR Points: 0