Night had not yet lifted.
But war had already arrived.
Dong Zhuo staggered back a step.
"Fifty li…?"
His voice cracked.
The scout knelt before him, trembling.
"The eastern bank of the Luo River is filled with fire. Torches without end… no fewer than twenty thousand!"
A pause.
Then—
"They are crossing."
For a moment—
Dong Zhuo could not breathe.
"Twenty thousand…?"
His mind raced.
Zhang Xin had been at Mengjin.
Then at Chenggao.
Now—
Here?
Three hundred li.
In three days.
Not marching—
But hunting.
"Chancellor!"
Jia Xu's voice cut through the panic.
"This is not the time to question. Wake the army. Form ranks. Now."
That snapped him back.
Orders flew.
Messengers ran.
Drums sounded through the night.
But even as the camp stirred—
Fear had already spread.
"Where do we defend?" Dong Zhuo demanded.
Jia Xu answered without hesitation.
"The Imperial Tombs."
Flat land surrounded Luoyang.
No walls.
No choke points.
Only the resting places of the dead—
Where trees and earth could slow the living.
Dong Zhuo nodded.
Because there was nothing else to choose.
Yet as he moved—
His mind began to steady.
Zhang Xin had forced the march.
Day and night.
Lightly equipped.
Such speed came at a cost.
Fatigue.
Hunger.
Disorder.
Hold them.
Just hold them.
Xu Rong would come.
From Beimang.
Reinforcements.
A pincer.
A reversal.
Hope—
Thin.
Fragile.
But enough.
"Recall all forces!"
Orders spread again.
Generals summoned.
Every available soldier drawn inward.
This—
Would be the battle.
The one that decided everything.
Dong Zhuo stepped into the chaos of West Garden.
Soldiers stumbled in the dark.
Some barefoot.
Some half-armored.
Some clutching weapons they could barely grip.
Command had not yet formed.
But the enemy—
Was already moving.
He found Li Meng.
Wang Fang.
His last cavalry commanders.
"Take the riders. Move east."
His voice was iron.
"Delay them. Whatever the cost."
They understood immediately.
Not victory.
Not survival.
Delay.
Three thousand cavalry.
Against what approached.
They did not hesitate.
Because in that moment—
There was no space left for hesitation.
Dong Zhuo watched them ride out.
And knew—
Most would not return.
By dawn—
He reached the Imperial Tombs.
The dead would shelter the living.
For a while.
Defenses began.
Hastily.
Desperately.
Earth turned.
Lines formed.
Breath steadied—
Barely.
Then—
They came back.
A hundred riders.
No formation.
No order.
Blood-soaked.
Broken.
Dong Zhuo's heart sank.
He already knew.
He seized one by the arm.
"Speak!"
The man's eyes were empty.
Voice shaking.
"Zhao Yun… Zhang Liao…"
He swallowed.
"They are… unstoppable…"
The story came in fragments.
But it was enough.
Li Meng rode first.
He died first.
One spear.
Clean.
Final.
Wang Fang followed.
One stroke.
No second chance.
Two commanders.
Gone.
In moments.
And then—
The charge.
Zhao Yun.
Zhang Liao.
At the front.
Like something beyond men.
Cutting.
Driving.
Breaking.
The Western Liang cavalry—
Veterans of countless battles—
Collapsed.
Not slowly.
Not stubbornly.
But instantly.
Because they had seen something they could not overcome.
Dong Zhuo let go.
His hands trembled.
"Where… did he find such men…?"
No answer came.
Then—
The earth began to shake.
A sound he knew well.
Too well.
Cavalry.
"Form ranks!"
His voice roared.
The infantry locked together, shields rising, spears bracing.
Within the tombs—
The trees would break the charge.
Here—
They could hold.
They had to hold.
Just hold.
Until Xu Rong arrives.
Then—
The horizon moved.
Wuhuan cavalry.
Their whistles cutting through the air like hunting cries.
They came fast.
Faster than expected.
Dong Zhuo's eyes narrowed.
"Good… let them come—"
But they did not.
They did not slow.
Did not turn.
Did not even look.
They passed.
Straight past the Imperial Tombs.
Racing north.
Toward Beimang.
For a heartbeat—
Dong Zhuo did not understand.
Then—
It struck him.
"Xu Rong…"
His voice dropped.
Cold.
"They're cutting him off."
The realization hit like a blade to the spine.
This was not an attack.
Not merely.
It was a net.
Zhang Xin had not come to fight a battle.
He had come—
To end one.
"Wenhe!"
Dong Zhuo turned sharply.
"Where is Jia Xu?!"
No answer.
Then—
A hesitant voice.
"Chancellor… Military Clerk Jia has already departed."
Silence.
"He said… he would secure the retreat at Hangu Pass."
For a long moment—
Dong Zhuo stood motionless.
Then slowly—
Very slowly—
He understood.
Even Jia Xu—
Had chosen survival.
The battlefield had not yet begun.
But already—
Pieces were leaving the board.
And for the first time—
Dong Zhuo felt it clearly.
Not fear.
Not anger.
But isolation.