Zhang Xin's army pressed against the base of Bei Mang Mountain like a tightening noose.
Envoys climbed the slope slowly, deliberately—each step echoing in the uneasy silence. In their hands, they carried not just tokens of victory, but instruments of terror.
The severed heads of Hua Xiong and Hu Zhen swung slightly with each step, their dried blood dark against the cloth. Behind them dragged torn Xiliang banners, once proud, now reduced to filthy scraps.
Their voices rang out across the mountain like funeral bells.
"Marquis Xuanwei has slain Hua Xiong."
"Dian Wei has taken Hu Zhen's head."
"The Xiliang Army… has been wiped out."
The words spread like poison.
Dong Zhuo's soldiers stiffened. Some turned pale. Others lowered their weapons without realizing it. The mountain stronghold, once thought unbreakable, now felt like a grave waiting to be sealed.
Even the personal guards—men hardened by years of slaughter—fell silent.
One of them exhaled slowly. "Bring them to the Chancellor."
The envoys were led before Dong Zhuo.
The moment his eyes fell upon Hu Zhen's head, something inside him cracked.
"My ten thousand troops…" His voice was hoarse, almost unrecognizable.
"Gone," the envoy replied flatly.
No hesitation. No respect. Just a statement of fact.
"Annihilated."
The word struck like a hammer.
Dong Zhuo's legs gave out. He leaned heavily against a rock, his massive frame trembling as though hollowed from within. For a long time, he said nothing. The mountain wind howled softly, filling the silence he could not.
Finally, he spoke.
"…What does Zhang Xin want?"
The envoy didn't bow.
"My lord invites Governor Dong to meet him on the battlefield."
Governor Dong.
The title cut deeper than any blade.
Not Chancellor. Not master of the court. Just a provincial official—stripped bare of power, of legitimacy… of everything he had seized with blood.
Dong Zhuo's eyes darkened.
So this was how Zhang Xin chose to kill him—not just his body, but his name.
Yet strangely… he did not rage.
No overturned tables. No orders for execution.
Only a quiet, suffocating calm.
"I will not go," he said at last.
"Tell that brat… if he has courage, he may come and take this mountain."
He already knew what awaited him below—mockery, coercion, perhaps even a forced surrender before all under heaven.
He would not become a spectacle.
The envoy's lips curled faintly.
"My lord anticipated this."
He stepped closer, voice lowering, each word deliberate.
"Bing Province is a trapped beast. Struggle all you wish—it will die all the same."
"Lay down your arms. Surrender with dignity."
"My lord may yet speak for you before the Son of Heaven… in remembrance of your past merits."
A pause.
Then the blade twisted.
"Otherwise—"
"Even if you flee to Chang'an…"
"My lord will ride there himself… and take your head."
Silence.
In another time, such words would have been answered with screams and blood.
Now—
Dong Zhuo only closed his eyes briefly.
"I understand."
He waved a hand, dismissing them like drifting smoke.
"Go."
"Tell Zhang Xin… if he dares, he can come."
The envoys left.
No one stopped them.
Zhang Xin listened to the report with a faint smile—cold, measured.
"So," he murmured, "even his temper has rotted away."
The mountain loomed in the distance, dark against the dying light.
He had hoped to crack Dong Zhuo's will completely.
But fear alone was not always enough to make a man kneel.
No matter.
Time would finish what pressure had begun.
The army had fought all day. Exhaustion clung to them like damp cloth. And though the enemy was shaken, they still held the high ground.
To attack now…
…would be wasteful.
"Withdraw."
The order spread swiftly.
Torches lit the encampment as the army moved—orderly, silent, precise.
From the shadows, Dong Zhuo watched.
Every line held firm. Every movement clean.
No confusion. No panic.
Only discipline.
Only inevitability.
His breath grew heavy.
"Swift as the wind… steady as the forest… fierce as fire… immovable as the mountain…"
His voice trembled.
"…Huangfu Yizhen's teachings…"
"And Zhang Xin… has truly inherited them."
For the first time—
He felt it clearly.
Not fear of death.
But the certainty of defeat.
Back in the captured camp, Zhang Xin summoned Zang Ba and the others.
Zang Ba's hand was bound in bloodstained cloth. He knelt without hesitation.
"General."
Zhang Xin studied him briefly.
"I hear you were first to ascend."
Zang Ba's heartbeat quickened.
"Yes."
"Good."
The word fell lightly—but carried weight.
"You are now a Squad Leader."
The others were promoted as well.
Gratitude filled the tent—but beneath it lingered something else.
They all understood.
The reward for being first to climb… was often death.
To be first was not glory.
It was to stand closest to the edge.
A place bought with blood.
Sometimes your own.
Sometimes others'.
Zhang Xin knew this.
He had designed it that way.
Men would not throw their lives away for empty honor.
But for rank—
For silver—
For the chance to rise above the mud—
They would climb even if the wall was lined with blades.
This was the truth of war.
Not heroism.
Not righteousness.
But calculation.
After dismissing them, Zhang Xin immediately summoned Yu Jin.
"Strengthen the defenses."
Victory made men careless.
And carelessness… invited death.
Even a dying beast could still bite.
Only when every precaution was set did Zhang Xin finally sit back.
Outside, the night deepened.
Inside, the war had only just begun.