The rout began in an instant.
Cao Cao never even saw the arrow that struck him.
It came out of chaos—stray, merciless—piercing through the illusion of control he still clung to. His horse collapsed beneath him with a scream, its body crashing into the mud.
For a heartbeat, death stood over him.
Then—
"Cousin, mount!"
Cao Hong shoved the reins into his hands without hesitation.
There was no time to argue.
Cao Hong remained behind.
On foot.
Blade drawn.
Holding back the tide.
Only under the cover of night did Cao Cao tear himself free from the encirclement—alive, but stripped of everything else.
Elsewhere, Bao Xin fled like a broken man.
Armor shattered.
Body drenched in blood.
Behind him, the battlefield devoured the rest.
Wei Zi fell.
Bao Tao fell.
Men who had charged forward with courage… died nameless beneath iron hooves.
The Dong army did not pursue glory.
They pursued slaughter.
Cries for fathers.
Cries for mothers.
Cries that faded into silence as the sun sank.
Only when darkness swallowed the field did the killing stop.
From afar, Xu Rong watched the east.
Cold.
Calculating.
Then he turned his horse.
"Withdraw."
His purpose had been a surprise strike on Suanzao.
But chance had given him something better.
Cao Cao.
Now broken.
The element of surprise was gone. His men were exhausted. There was no value in pressing further.
But today's harvest…
was enough.
More than enough.
By dawn, Cao Cao and Bao Xin gathered what remained.
A thousand.
Barely.
From an army that had once approached thirty thousand.
The rest?
Dead.
Or worse—
Gone.
Men who had thrown down their weapons and fled for their lives, scattering back to their homes like frightened animals.
No loyalty.
No discipline.
No army.
Only survivors.
There was nothing left to do but return.
When they arrived at Suanzao, silence greeted them.
Then fear.
The other lords saw it clearly—
Thirty thousand sent out.
A thousand returned.
And in just days.
If this was the strength of Dong Zhuo's forces…
then what were they?
The answer was simple.
Prey.
From that moment on, the alliance rotted.
No more talk of campaigns.
No more vows of righteousness.
Only wine.
Music.
And denial.
At first, Cao Cao felt shame.
It clung to him like blood.
But as days passed… shame turned into something else.
Disgust.
One night, drunk beyond restraint, he finally exploded.
"Zhang Xin already has a plan!" he roared, swaying as he spoke.
"Strike Mengjin! Reinforce from Henan! Cut off their passes, seize their grain—trap them!"
His voice rose, sharp with fury.
"Yuan Shu strikes from the south! The empire can be settled in one blow!"
He slammed his cup down.
"And yet you sit here—eating, drinking, waiting!"
"I am ashamed for you!"
The hall fell quiet.
Then came the murmurs.
"We did advance…"
"We gave you thirty thousand men…"
"And you lost them in two days."
"They are monsters—those Dong troops."
"How dare he…"
But no one argued openly.
He was drunk.
It was easier to laugh.
Easier to ignore him.
The next morning, Cao Cao woke with clarity.
And truth.
He replayed the battle again and again.
The conclusion was unavoidable.
His men had never stood a chance.
Farmers.
Laborers.
Men who had never seen war—
thrown against hardened veterans of the frontier.
They broke before the first clash.
Not from cowardice.
From inevitability.
Cao Cao exhaled slowly.
"If I want to win…"
"I need real soldiers."
His decision came instantly.
Yangzhou.
Danyang.
A land of hardened men, raised among mountains and steel.
There was a saying—
The finest soldiers under heaven come from Danyang.
And Cao Cao would take them.
Without hesitation, he left.
The lords did not care.
Why would they?
One less voice.
One less reminder of their failure.
The music continued.
The wine flowed.
But fear spreads.
And it does not choose its victims.
In nearby Yingchuan, Kong Zhou heard the news—
Cao Cao defeated.
Army annihilated.
He collapsed into illness almost immediately.
Terror consumed him.
Yuan Shu, however, saw opportunity.
Sun Jian.
A blade waiting to be sharpened.
He appointed him Governor of Yu Province—
and ordered him to take control of Kong Zhou's troops.
At the same time, he stripped Bao Xin's title and handed it to Sun Jian as well.
Power, consolidated.
Sun Jian accepted without hesitation.
By the time he arrived—
Kong Zhou was already dead.
No resistance.
No struggle.
Only an empty command.
The Yu Province army fell into his hands.
His strength surged.
And with it—
his ambition.
He advanced.
Liang County.
Forty li from Guangcheng Pass.
A knife pressed against Dong Zhuo's throat.
Meanwhile—
In Luoyang—
Dong Zhuo laughed.
Dong Zhuo had gambled everything.
Burn the capital.
Break the court.
Drag the Emperor west.
To outsiders, it looked like madness.
But it was not.
It was design.
If you want to defeat me… come to Chang'an.
A thousand li.
An impossible distance for a fractured alliance.
Step one—
Break their will.
Step two—
Bleed them at the passes.
And now—
Step three.
Crush them.
Show them fear.
Among the alliance, two names stood above the rest—
The Yuans.
To break the alliance—
Break them.
As for Zhang Xin?
Dong Zhuo dismissed him entirely.
A "famous general"…
versus a noble with no real battlefield scars.
The choice of target was obvious.
Yu Province.
Flat land.
Perfect ground for cavalry.
Perfect ground for slaughter.
The order was given.
Xu Rong.
Li Meng.
Strike.
Fast.
Precise.
Ruthless.
The moment Xu Rong exited Guangcheng Pass—
fate delivered him a gift.
Sun Jian.
Right there.
Unprepared.
Sun Jian had just arrived at Liang County.
His men were scattered.
Cutting wood.
Building camp.
Relaxed.
Vulnerable.
Xu Rong's eyes lit up.
Perfect.
"All troops—charge!"
The Xiliang cavalry surged forward like a black tide.
No warning.
No mercy.
Sun Jian's army collapsed instantly.
Screams tore through the air.
"Form ranks! Form ranks!"
Sun Jian shouted desperately.
But it was too late.
And worse—
he had made himself visible.
Too visible.
A red turban wrapped around his head.
No helmet.
No disguise.
On a battlefield drowning in steel—
he stood out like a banner.
Xu Rong saw him.
And smiled.
"There."
He led a detachment straight toward him.
"Kill!"
The cavalry closed in.
Death, inevitable.
And in that moment—
Sun Jian chose.
Not glory.
Not command.
Survival.
He abandoned the field.
Abandoned the army.
With only a handful of guards, he broke through and fled into the chaos.
Behind him—
his army was left to be crushed.
Two victories.
One after another.
Cao Cao broken.
Sun Jian routed.
Xu Rong rode through the aftermath of ruin, his expression unchanged.
Cold.
Efficient.
Unstoppable.
The alliance…
was already bleeding out.