The morning wore a grim shade of gray—not from clouds, but from the smoke still rising in lazy columns over the small fortress Luo Wen had seized only days before. The air was thick with the metallic tang of dried blood and the bitter scent of ash. In the battered streets of what had once been a proud bastion, imperial soldiers moved methodically—dragging away corpses, mending battered siege equipment, salvaging enemy arrows for reuse.
Perched atop a towering black warhorse, Luo Wen observed in silence. His gaze swept across the weary faces, the armor stained with mud and gore, the hasty bandages that told of wounds treated in the chaos of battle. The men who had survived wore the hollow-eyed look of those who had stared death in the face and walked away—but not unchanged.
This fortress had been a small point on the map, yet it had cost him dearly to take. The defenders had fought with a ferocity that turned every wall into a killing ground, every street into a trap. And this, Luo Wen knew, was only the first of many. Every other stronghold in Wei Lian's chain of defenses would be as costly—perhaps worse. A thin exhale escaped his lips, heavy with restrained frustration. The original plan—advancing as a single, unified mass to crush each fortress in turn—was already showing its flaws.
Inside his command tent, he unfurled a broad map over the central table. The enemy fortifications marked in deep red formed a jagged collar of thorns stretching across the countryside, each one positioned to shield the next. The terrain between them was unforgiving—rocky ridges, forested slopes, narrow passes—all designed to slow his advance and magnify the defenders' advantage.
"If we keep moving like this…" His voice broke the stillness, low but edged with steel. "It will take us years to break through this line."
Han Qiu, a grizzled veteran whose gray beard marked decades of campaigns, gave a slow nod."Every fortress drains us more than the last, Chancellor. Wei Lian knows she cannot defeat us in the open field. She is trading ground for blood—our blood—and making us pay for every step."
Luo Wen leaned forward over the map, his fingertips tapping a restless rhythm on the wood."Then we stop playing by her tempo."
The gathered officers glanced toward him. Luo Wen's eyes tracked across several points along the defensive chain."We will divide the army—not into token raiding parties, but into fully autonomous strike corps. Each will have its own siege engines, engineering teams, and supply trains. We will strike at multiple fortresses simultaneously."
"That will scatter our strength…" The objection came from Meng Kai, a young, sharp-eyed commander with more ambition than patience. "If one corps is cut off, it could be annihilated before help arrives."
Luo Wen's gaze locked onto him, calm but unyielding."Do you believe Wei Lian can mass enough troops to destroy one of our corps without leaving another wide open? No. Her numbers are limited. If she concentrates in one place, she will bleed somewhere else. We will force her to choose where she dies first."
Han Qiu bent over the map, tracing routes with a calloused finger."It could work… provided we have leaders capable of commanding independently."
"We already do," Luo Wen replied, his tone leaving no room for doubt. "Each corps will carry a month's worth of supplies. We will not sit and wait behind our siege lines—we will strike, undermine, launch night assaults, and grind them down without pause."
The discussion ran deep into the afternoon. Some feared the loss of centralized command, others warned of rapid counterattacks. Luo Wen listened to every word, weighing the risks with the cold precision of a gambler who knew the stakes. The truth was simple: numerical superiority and elite troops meant nothing if he remained trapped in a plodding, predictable advance.
Three days later, the great host began to shift. From the heart of the imperial camp, 200,000 soldiers flowed outward like rivers breaking into separate channels. Four massive corps took shape, each between 40,000 and 60,000 strong, each trailed by lines of catapults, collapsible siege towers, and heavy supply wagons creaking under their burdens. Luo Wen himself would lead the central thrust; his most trusted generals took the flanks and the far vanguard.
From a wind-swept ridge, Luo Wen watched the living tide spread across the land. Endless columns of men marched to the deep beat of war drums, banners snapping in the wind. Cavalry patrols thundered along the flanks, their destriers snorting clouds of white breath. Siege machines groaned under their own weight as oxen strained to pull them forward. The earth itself seemed to hum with the sheer force in motion.
The first reports arrived within a week. Han Qiu's corps had reached its target fortress and encircled it in two days. Meng Kai, true to his aggressive nature, had stormed straight into his objective, breaching the walls but paying heavily in lives.
Not all news was good. Messengers took days to move between the separated corps, making coordination sluggish. Some units found themselves burning through supplies faster than planned, especially where the defenders resisted with stubborn fury. Still, Luo Wen pressed on.
In the central front, his own corps closed in on a fortress perched atop a jagged bluff. The engineers mapped narrow approaches for the siege towers, while teams of sappers crawled forward under mantlets to work at the walls' foundations.
"This will be swift," Luo Wen murmured to himself. "I will not give them time to cry for aid."
That very night, his archers loosed wave after wave of fire-tipped arrows, their flames licking at the wooden defenses. By the third day, a section of the curtain wall thundered down in a haze of dust and shattered stone. Imperial infantry poured through the breach in tight formations, splitting the defenders and driving them into pockets of desperate resistance. By dawn, the imperial banner hung over the main gate.
Across the front, the pattern repeated. Some bastions fell in days; others—like the one resisting Han Qiu—held for weeks, draining men and material. Wei Lian, seeing the new approach, shifted her defense—abandoning weak points, reinforcing the strongest, gambling that her own attrition tactics could still slow the invaders.
In less than a month, more fortresses had fallen than would have in half a year under the old method. But the price was steep: casualties rose, supply lines stretched thin, and the margin for error narrowed dangerously. Luo Wen knew the gamble was paying off, but he could also feel the strain coiling tighter with each step forward.
That night, in the dim glow of an oil lamp, Luo Wen read the latest dispatches. Victory after victory, but each one bloodier than the last. The campaign was no less dangerous than before—only faster, sharper, and more relentless.
"Wei Lian…" His voice was a low promise as he doused the flame. "I will tear this chain of fortresses from the land, stone by stone, until your shield is nothing but rubble."
The war had shifted. The front was alive with movement, every fortress a duel of wills and steel. The enemy line was buckling. Yet every mile gained was a step deeper into the web Wei Lian had spun—and somewhere ahead, Luo Wen knew, the deadliest of her traps awaited.