The Catastrophe at Minh Fortress
February, the Blood-Soaked Spring – Year 1705 of the Thuong Duong Calendar
For nine relentless days and nights, the Grand Army of Dai Lien advanced, traversing the white bamboo forests and crossing the Gui Coc Lake, drawing near to the Minh clan's fortress. Elite soldiers, brimming with fervor, banners fluttering, and rows of war chariots stretching beyond the horizon.
Atop his command steed, General Tran Uy—clad in the Mighty Dragon armor and wielding the Infinite Sword—stood like a bronze statue, his gaze fixed on the towering walls of the Minh fortress, looming coldly amidst the morning mist.
"Set up camp at the forest's edge! Prepare for an assault at dawn!" Tran Uy commanded, his voice resonating like metal striking stone.
Orders thundered through the ranks. Camps were swiftly erected, cavalry aligned, mages inscribed battle sigils, laborers transported munitions, and the gleaming weapons shone like falling stars. Rows of Imperial Magic Cannons stood ready, awaiting the command.
Yet, amidst the night, an unease settled. Tran Uy sensed it—his seasoned instincts, honed through countless battles, warned him. The Nam Luong forces remained eerily silent. No ambushes, no counterattacks, no arrows. Too quiet. Too unnatural.
At dawn on the tenth day, the army prepared to breach the southern gate of the Minh fortress.
Suddenly, as formations readied for assault, the gate swung open. Not for surrender. Not for reinforcements.
But to release... tens of thousands of warriors in Minh uniforms—bearing the imperial banners of Nam Luong.
"Minh Quy... has betrayed us!" a general shouted, only to be silenced by a dark arrow piercing his throat.
From behind the fortress walls, the Minh forces—now turned traitors—surged forth like a tidal wave. Simultaneously, Nam Luong troops, lying in wait within the forest behind, attacked like wild beasts.
Caught between two fronts, the Dai Lien army's formation shattered. The cacophony of shouts, clashing blades, soldiers' screams, and horses' cries composed a bloody symphony of treachery and despair.
Tran Uy swiftly ordered the "Iron Character Formation"—a defensive strategy with heavy infantry at its core, mages providing external support, and magic cannons covering the rear. But amidst the chaos, the formation couldn't be fully established.
Within three hours, over forty thousand soldiers fell on the battlefield, their blood staining the Hoang Phong plains red.
Survivors waded through the corpses of comrades, fallen horses, toppled flags, and shattered armor.
Tran Uy remained atop his steed, Ô Vân ( Black Cloud )—both man and horse drenched in blood. The Vô Lượng Sword broken in two, yet he continued to strike, as if his very soul had become a blade.
Realizing the army could no longer counterattack, he issued his final command:
"Generals, retreat northward immediately! Escort all the wounded and the logistics unit! I—Tran Uy—will stay with ten thousand elite soldiers to hold the rear! This order is absolute!"
"But General—you will..."
"This is an order!"
He then turned to Ly Tri, the second son of the Ly family.
"Master Ly, please deliver this hastily written letter to Lady Lien Nguyet."
It was a letter Tran Uy had always carried for unforeseen circumstances, never imagining he'd send it so soon.
Ly Tri, a young man in his twenties, recently enjoying the pleasures of garden life, now thrust into the horrors of war, trembled as he received the letter.
"General Tran, I, Ly Tri, will personally deliver it to Lady Lien!"
With that, Ly Tri spurred his horse, leading the troops in retreat.
The surviving soldiers could only obey, tears streaming down their faces. They knew their valiant general had chosen sacrifice for the greater good.
Tran Uy led the final ten thousand elite—seasoned warriors, the most loyal fighters, ready to die for the Emperor and Dai Lien.
They formed the "Returning Wind Lotus Formation"—a last-resort strategy when no retreat remained. Three counterattacks—each breaking the Nam Luong formations. But with each strike, blood loss increased, strength waned. For every enemy slain, five more took their place. The warriors seemed to battle an endless ocean wave, impossible to stem.
Even with a broken sword, Tran Uy used his body as a weapon. Despite armor pierced a hundred times, he shouted amidst a hail of arrows:
"For Dai Lien!"
A spear pierced his chest. An arrow struck his right eye. A massive axe blow landed on his shoulder.
The general—still stood firm on weary legs.
But then, Black Cloud was struck, collapsing. Tran Uy knelt on one knee, blood covering him. His hand still gripped the broken sword.
The handkerchief bearing his vow to Lien Nguyet—tied around his wrist—now soaked in his blood.
Another volley of arrows descended, ending him and his remaining warriors.
"Lien Nguyet, I am sorry."
In his final breath, he saw the beloved face of Tran Si, the cherished years with Lien Nguyet, and... his father, a general who had fallen in battle years ago, appearing on the battlefield.
He approached, gently placing a hand on the general's shoulder.
"Tran Uy, I have come to take you home."
In that moment, Tran Uy became a child again, weeping in his father's embrace.
And then, both vanished...
The Nam Luong forces incinerated all the bodies—no burials, no names preserved.
The heroes' remains were piled high, consumed by magical flames.
Yet, drifting in the wind, the blood-soaked handkerchief fluttered in the twilight breeze.
Ashes scattered in the wind. But in the hearts of those who escaped that day—a flame would burn eternally.
That flame—nothing else but the blood oath of Tran Uy and his ten thousand warriors who stood shoulder to shoulder until their last breath.
"I swear to return."
Tran Uy had returned to his family, though his flesh was gone, a legend would forever be remembered, of a hero who gave his life for his country, leaving behind deep sorrow among his loved ones, now and forevermore.