The Khan did not look back.Not when the first banners fell, trampled into the mud.Not when cries of surrender began erupting like cracks in the dam of discipline.Not even when, from high ground, he witnessed his own people—those who had sworn to die for his cause—cast down their weapons and kneel, heads bowed, before the enemy.
All of that, he had foreseen.
What he had not expected… was the silence.
It followed him like a shadow with no shape, no face, no voice.It rode with him as his last two thousand warriors—the elite riders of his personal guard, men forged by the wind, born in the saddle, trained to die before setting foot on the ground—galloped northward in a column of grim resolve.The wind was sharp, almost slicing, but it was nothing compared to the emptiness lodged in his chest, a void colder than steel.
Beneath his boots, the ground still bore the scars of exile and return.Above his head, the sky loomed gray—not the gray of an oncoming storm, but the lifeless gray of something that no longer feels.Not hope.Not despair.Just the color of waiting for the end.
And then, the news arrived.
A voice, breathless and half-buried under the sound of hooves, rose behind him:
"They've taken prisoners! They're gathering them in the hundreds! The elders… the women… even the minor chieftains! They've all surrendered!"
The Khan gave no answer.
He had expected that too.
But when another messenger—this one with blood seeping from his chest where a broken arrow still hung half-buried—reached his side, pale-faced and gasping, and managed to choke out:
"Luo Wen… he has spoken. He's promised gold… and promotion… to the one who brings you down."
Only then did the Khan close his eyes.
Not out of fear.
But because he understood.Because he knew his enemy.Because he saw the truth—not in banners or swords, but in the hearts of men.
The real battle was never fought with steel.
It was fought in loyalty.
And that was the battlefield Luo Wen had mastered.
He hadn't come for victory.
He had come for the symbol.
He had come for him.
The pursuit was ruthless.
The imperial cavalry—light, lethal, relentless—descended upon the barbarian remnant like wolves who had tasted blood.Wherever stragglers fell behind, they were cut down without mercy.Some surrendered.Others flung themselves from cliffs before submitting.It didn't matter.
The imperial war engine surged forward, a spear thrust into the northern heartlands.
At the rear, Luo Wen watched, cold as ice, calculating.He did not ride into the fray.He did not draw his blade.He didn't have to.
He had already spoken the words that mattered.
A promise that burned like oil on fire in the hearts of the ambitious:
"Whoever brings me the Khan's head… shall have land, gold… and command of ten thousand men."
It spread like disease.An unspoken frenzy swept the ranks.This was no longer a pursuit driven by duty.It had become a hunt for glory.
And the Khan knew it.
He and his two thousand riders halted at the crest of a lonesome hill—the last formation before the marshes of the north, where even the wind howled with razor teeth.
There was nowhere else to go.
To the north: nothing but frozen swamps.To the south: a sea of spears, closing in.
They were surrounded.
"This is the place," the Khan said quietly, dismounting with the heavy calm of a man who had made peace with his fate.His horse, weary and caked in sweat, exhaled hard, as if it too understood.
One by one, his riders dismounted as well.There were no cries.No laments.Only the solemn act of preparing to die.
The imperial banners appeared at midday.
Not as a single, unified mass—but in scattered waves of squadrons, each group racing to be the first to reach the summit, to break the line, to claim the prize.The reward was worth it.The orders were clear: capture was unnecessary.
All that was required… was his death.Cut off the head.Bring it to Luo Wen.
From the summit, the Khan watched them come.They were so many, the earth itself trembled.
But he showed no fear.
He turned to his warriors, his voice made hoarse by dust and fury:
"No one mourns us. No one waits for us. So don't think of returning."
He paused.His hand ran slowly along the grip of his sword, the old blade etched with the runes of the desert.
"Today, we do not fight for victory. Not even for vengeance. Today… we fight so we will not kneel."
And when he spoke those last words, his eyes burned with a fire no storm could extinguish.
The imperial war drums sounded.
And the charge began.
The clash was savage.
The hill was encircled on all sides, assaulted, pressured, stormed.
But the Khan's guard stood like a living fortress—swift horses, deadly arrows, blades that struck with surgical precision.They knew they would not win.They fought not for triumph, but to slow the inevitable.
As the sun began its descent, so too fell the Khan's riders—one by one, in pairs, in clusters.With broken ribs, bloodied teeth, and silent defiance still burning in their eyes.
The Khan fought among them.His arm—wounded by a shattered spear—still swung his sword without hesitation.His orders were few, sharp, absolute.There was no room for chaos.Only wrath.
But the ring tightened.
No longer hundreds.Now thousands swarmed the slope, hungrier, nearer, each man praying to be the one to land the final blow.
And then, the moment came.
A spear pierced the Khan's leg.He collapsed to one knee.
Instantly, three men lunged at him.His sword rose one final time—and one of them dropped, his throat slashed open.
But the others grabbed him, pinned him.Another came.Then another.
These were not warriors.They were vultures.
—"Mine! He's mine!"
—"I wounded him first!"
—"I've got the head!"
They fought each other like wild dogs over warm flesh.Shoving.Screaming.Grasping.
The Khan, still breathing, spat blood into their faces.
—"None of you are worthy…!" he snarled, just before a dagger silenced his throat.
And even in death… they tore him apart.
When the news reached Luo Wen's camp, there was no celebration.
Only a nod.Cold. Final.
An officer stepped forward, holding a bloodied sack and several pieces of torn flesh, bearing the tattooed markings of royal blood.
—"They fought over him, my lord. He was… dismembered."
—"Who killed him?"
—"We don't know. They turned on each other. Maybe five, maybe ten. No one let go. They ripped him apart for the reward."
Luo Wen turned his gaze to the horizon, expression unreadable.
—"Then reward them all. If no one knows the killer, let all who touched him share the prize."
He turned back to his maps.
The war was over.
There was no more empire.No more tribe.Only bones.
And silence.