The Empire, freshly crowned in Guangling, seemed for a fleeting moment to draw a breath of relief. The blackened walls were being patched and reinforced, new garrisons patrolled the districts with unyielding vigilance, and Luo Wen's decrees spread like iron chains through every street. Yet this image of order was only a thin mask draped over a simmering volcano. Beneath it, three violent currents surged restlessly: the peasant rebellion of Xu Ping, the exiled fleet of Wei Lian, and the Empire itself, worn down to its very bones after years of ceaseless campaigning.
In the makeshift throne hall of Guangling, Luo Wen sat listening as reports poured in like a relentless tide. Letters described burned-out villages, supply convoys ambushed in narrow valleys, isolated garrisons vanishing without a trace. And in each tale, one name appeared again and again—Xu Ping—like poison spreading through the veins of the land.
Han Qiu, his oldest and most battle-hardened general, broke the silence with blunt honesty:"Your Majesty, if we delay, those scattered bands will become armies. Xu Ping is no longer a brigand. He is a warlord in the making."
Luo Wen's fist clenched against the charred armrest of the throne. He had risen above corpses and ruins, claimed a crown in fire, shattered Wei Lian's resistance in the greatest city of the west, and yet now he was forced to acknowledge a mere peasant as a threat. The thought gnawed at him like a bitter insult.
"Then we will crush him," he growled, his voice cutting like steel. "Summon one hundred thousand soldiers. More, if it can be done."
The hall rippled with uneasy murmurs. One hundred thousand was vast, but for the Empire it was only a shadow of what could once be raised in its glory days. Gao Ren, ever the pragmatist, bowed his head."No more, Majesty. The endless campaigns have hollowed out our strength. Forced levies already spark unrest in the villages. The treasury strains to provide even bread and iron."
Luo Wen nodded coldly, without hesitation."One hundred thousand will suffice. I do not want bloated hosts devouring what little we possess. I want a disciplined blade—veterans and fresh recruits alike—capable of grinding down every village that dares rise. They will advance like a storm. They will punish, hang, and burn wherever it is required. Let the people learn once and for all that the Empire does not tolerate rebellion."
The decree was carved into tablets and carried to every loyal province. Within weeks, imperial camps throbbed with preparation. Forges roared day and night, columns of wagons hauled grain under heavy guard, and peasants pressed unwillingly into ranks stumbled through their first clumsy drills with pikes.
Far to the west, upon the rolling deck of her flagship, Wei Lian watched the restless waves crash against the shore. She had spent long months stitching together what fragments of her power remained. On land, she could not yet challenge Luo Wen—her forces were too depleted, Guangling too secure, its walls remade into an impregnable bastion.
So she turned her gaze to the sea.
In the naval council convened at the main harbor, Wei Lian unrolled a vast coastal chart across a wooden table. Her voice rang clear, sharp as a blade drawn in the night."The Chancellor needs to rebuild," she said. "His cities still smolder, his people starve. The only way to wear him down is to bleed him where he is weakest: force him to waste men and coin defending what cannot be defended."
Her hand traced a line along the coastline, pointing out harbors, villages, and trade posts."We will expand the fleet. Fishermen already lend us small craft, but we will build swift galleys—light, fast, and deadly. We do not need to face his navy head-on. What we need is to raid, to plunder, to set the coasts aflame until fear itself becomes our ally."
One captain frowned."Majesty, will this not turn the coastal people against us?"
Wei Lian's gaze hardened like steel."The coastal folk already pay tribute to the usurper. We do not seek their love. We seek to shatter the Empire's strength. And if some peasants die in the flames, the blame rests not on us but on Luo Wen, who starves them for the sake of his endless armies."
The decision was final. The Western Fleet swelled like a storm tide. Improvised shipyards hammered through day and night. Carpenters transformed weathered fishing boats into warcraft. Veterans of the sea drilled new recruits in ambush tactics. Within months, dozens of vessels would prowl like wolves along the imperial coasts, raiding granaries, torching villages, and striking terror into the shoreline.
Meanwhile, deep in the forests and rugged highlands of the interior, Xu Ping convened his captains. The council was crude—tables hewn from rough logs, maps painted onto animal hides—but the gravity of the moment outshone the setting.
For weeks, his messengers had scoured villages and hideouts, tallying every man and woman willing to fight. The tally stunned even Xu Ping himself.
"Eighty thousand," he declared, his voice echoing in the stillness.
A hush fell. Eighty thousand souls: peasants, deserters, former soldiers, and bandits reshaped into fighters. They were scattered, hidden in valleys and forests, but the number was undeniable.
Xu Ping swept the council with his gaze."Eighty thousand who swore never to rob the people. Eighty thousand who rose against the lash of nobles. Eighty thousand who fight not for bloodlines, not for crowns, but for justice."
One lieutenant, once a soldier under Wei Lian, chuckled in disbelief."With that many, we could face the imperial host itself."
Xu Ping shook his head."Not yet. They are scattered, untrained, and many can barely hold a spear. If we march now, we will be slaughtered. But the number gives us strength. It is time to gather. Time to show the Empire that the people are no longer ash scattered to the wind."
His finger stabbed the map, marking the mountainous region of Anyi."Each band will leave its hiding place and march to Anyi. There we will build a great camp—a true army. No longer lone wolves. One swarm."
The proposal ignited a fire in the captains' eyes. For the first time, the peasant movement would not be a scattering of sparks, but a blaze that could challenge Luo Wen himself.
Weeks rolled on, and the world shifted.
The Empire unleashed its hundred thousand, descending on rebellious provinces like a plague of locusts. Villages suspected of aiding Xu Ping were burned to ash. Roads were lined with corpses on stakes, grim warnings hammered into the soil.
On the seas, Wei Lian's galleys became phantoms of terror. They struck at dawn, vanished by dusk, and returned laden with spoils—grain wagons, silver from noble estates, captives ransomed for coin. Imperial harbors burned under night skies, and Luo Wen was forced to scatter troops and ships along hundreds of miles of coastline, chasing shadows.
And in the interior, Xu Ping's forces converged. From every direction, ragged columns of peasants poured forth, carrying red banners marked with a plow crossed with a spear. Villages abandoned their fields to march alongside him. For the first time, a peasant army gathered not in rumor but in flesh, its heartbeat thundering in the valleys of Anyi.
In Guangling, Luo Wen stood over the vast map of his realm, his brow furrowed. To the west, Wei Lian prowled the seas like a shark. To the east, Xu Ping assembled his so-called People's Army. In the heartlands, imperial soldiers still rooted out remnants of rebellious nobles—no longer a great threat, but a drain on blood and coin nonetheless.
"The Empire now fights on three fronts," muttered Gao Ren grimly. "Reconstruction halts. The treasury bleeds. The people grow to hate us more each day."
Luo Wen's jaw tightened. He could not falter. He had seized the throne in the ashes of Guangling, and the price of ambition was to fight all enemies at once.
Raising his gaze to his generals, he spoke with iron in his voice:"No matter how many rise, this Empire will not fall. I will drive the peasants to their knees with fire, break Xu Ping with steel, and when Wei Lian dares return, she will find only a wasteland."
The fires of war, far from dying out, roared higher than ever. Luo Wen, Wei Lian, and Xu Ping walked separate paths, but all knew those paths would one day converge. And when they did, the fate of the continent would be decided in a collision from which none would emerge unscarred.