The simple wood room in the southern military camp of Lao-Da Pass was a crude, hastily constructed structure, far beneath the dignity Siang felt he deserved. He wasn't merely a courier; he was the bearer of the King's Decree, the document that would activate Prince Dzhambul's masterstroke. Yet, the southern soldiers treated him with irritating indifference, forcing him to wait. As he sat on the old, dirty chair, his face darkened with offense.
All his life, Siang, cousin to Concubine Ehri and the Second Prince, had enjoyed the spoils of his proximity to power: the finest wines, the best food, the highest deference. Now, he was nursing a bowl of dirty mare-milk that not even his house dogs would drink. General Mönkhbat knows who I am, Siang thought bitterly. He should be rushing to receive the decree. Every moment he delays is a moment lost for the Prince's plan.
A young officer, whose uniform was dusty and unimpressive, finally appeared at the door. "The General will see you now, Master Siang."
Siang rose, smoothing the silks of his robe with an air of theatrical disdain. "Took him long enough," he muttered under his breath, but his heart beat faster. Now, he would deliver the false order, and the South would erupt in calculated chaos.
He followed the officer down a short, dimly lit corridor and walked into the simple council room. The room was sparse, dominated only by a heavy wooden table covered in maps. There, seated at the head of the table, was General Mönkhbat.
The moment Siang stepped across the threshold, the General's gaze locked onto him. Mönkhbat was staring straight at him, his expression fierce, unreadable, and utterly chilling.
The look sent a bolt of cold sweat down Siang's spine, causing him to shiver despite the room's warmth. The General's formidable presence alone was terrifying, but what truly struck fear into Siang was the realization: the southern General was the exact duplicate of King Batukhan.
Mönkhbat had the same granite jaw, the same deeply set, piercing eyes, and the same air of unquestionable, inherited authority. The man who sat before him was not just a general; he was the King's double, and Siang, the arrogant courtier, suddenly felt impossibly small and exposed, holding a decree written in treason.
Mönkhbat's voice boomed, sharp and demanding. "You are the courier from the capital, Siang? State your purpose and be quick about it."
Siang swallowed hard, the fear of the General's presence battling his ingrained arrogance. He brought the royal decree he held up to his chest. Although his heart was trembling, his voice was steady as he adopted the formal tone of a King's representative.
"General Mönkhbat, step forward and receive your order."
Mönkhbat acted instantly. He quickly stood up and knelt on one knee before Siang, head bowed in the posture of utter subservience, a sight that briefly fueled Siang's pride. Siang unrolled the royal golden decree in his hands. His voice was loud and clear as he spoke the treasonous words:
"I, King of Hmagol, order the Southern General, General Mönkhbat, to return to the capital with half of his soldiers to defend the capital from rebellion during this time, when the Eastern General and the Crown Prince are being tried for treason."
Mönkhbat raised both of his hands up. "I accept His Majesty's order." He grabbed the royal decree from Siang's hand and slowly rose from the ground.
"General," Siang pressed, eager to complete his task. "His Majesty asks that you are to depart the moment you receive the royal decree."
"Oh, then let me prepare my troops first," Mönkhbat said calmly.
"You have two days to prepare your troops for departure," Siang ordered, savoring the General's obedience.
"I will see to it right away," Mönkhbat said, turning to face his captains who were standing silently against the wall. His eyes met Taban's. Mönkhbat gave Taban a swift, gentle nod.
"General," Siang began, still eager to demand better accommodation. "As you can see, the journey down here is long, where—"
Before Siang could finish his sentence, Taban quickly sprang into motion. His sword flashed out, swiftly slicing across Siang's throat.
Outside, sensing danger from the sudden silence, the twenty Imperial Guards who had accompanied Siang rushed in, only to meet a prepared wall of Mönkhbat's captains and soldiers. Before Siang's body even had a chance to hit the ground, Mönkhbat's disciplined men had killed every one of the twenty Imperial Guards in a savage, lightning-fast skirmish.
Mönkhbat turned around and stared coldly back into Siang's eyes as the corner of his lip curved into a wicked, triumphant smile. He threw the royal decree back at Siang, the gold-threaded parchment hitting Siang's bloody chest before falling to the ground at his feet.
"Here is something that the Sumyaa or their associates never knew," Mönkhbat said, his voice now as cold as the ice on the northern peaks. "I was prohibited by King Batukhan himself to return to the capital under any circumstances, even to mourn for His Majesty. That order was never rescinded."
Siang gargled, blood dripping from the corner of his mouth where Taban's sword had found its mark. He dropped down to his knees, slumped to one side, and fell to the ground, dead, still clutching at his neck.
Mönkhbat straightened his robe, his face once again a mask of rigid military discipline. The floor was slick with blood, the air thick with the smell of fresh death.
"Captain Taban," Mönkhbat commanded, his eyes sweeping over his officers. "Clean this mess. Dispose of the bodies outside the camp—no one is to know what happened here."
Taban nodded, moving instantly to organize the clean-up crew.
Mönkhbat had already assessed the immediate danger, but his Captain, Chuluun, voiced the political necessity. "General," said Captain Chuluun, stepping forward. "What about the decree? Although we know for sure that it's a forgery, if we don't follow it, this will give the Second Royal Prince Dzhambul an excuse to attack us openly."
Mönkhbat held up a hand, silencing him. "The 'King's decree' is a forgery meant to draw half our strength away and expose our flanks to Tanggolia aggression. The moment we move our troops, Xin Jianping and Xin Xiyan will attack us. If Lao-Da Pass falls, the entire southern border of Hmagol will fall. So, we stay put."
He walked to the large campaign map covering the table, his finger tracing the network of roads heading east towards Umusa Kingdom. "Our priority is to have Umusa shift all their soldiers to the border of Tanggolia and Zarsa. I predict that the Tanggolian and the Rasaasia will seek this opportunity to attack us. Chinua is the princess of the people, and there will be many who protest this so-called treason charge against her. If Chinua is being held captive, then it means she chose to do so, likely to draw the conspirators out."
Just as Mönkhbat began outlining the quickest road to Hosha City to send Prince Mandla the intelligence, a junior courier burst into the room, panting heavily.
"General! General! An emergency dispatch from Lao-Da Village! Captain Ochir found—an Alhu, General Chinua's man—bleeding out on the training ground two days ago! The Alhu just woke up last night and came with a message that no matter what happens in Ntsua-Ntu, you are not to move your troops!"
Mönkhbat looked up at the junior courier, his expression turning from cold calculation to stunned confirmation.
The junior courier exhaled deeply, catching his breath. "The Alhu said, 'Prince Dzhambul has made his move and the Sumyaa are going to overthrow the King, but Strategist Hye has already had a plan, so no matter what happens, the General and his troops must stay in the south.'"
Mönkhbat slammed back into his seat, the wooden chair creaking under his weight. The information, delivered by a half-dead courier and coinciding with Siang's assassination attempt, was undeniable. The General knew that Dzhambul had never liked Crown Prince Bastsaikhan or Princess Chinua, and he had tried to have Bastsaikhan removed as Crown Prince at every opportunity. But for a royal blood himself, Mönkhbat couldn't understand why Dzhambul would choose to side with his maternal family's side—the powerful Sumyaa clan—to harm the kingdom that was built on blood and sacrifice by his own ancestors.
The fear he had nursed and tried to dismiss for years had now twisted into a terrifying reality. He thought back to the secret letter he had received from King Batukhan years ago—a truly treasonous document. Batukhan had written that if Crown Prince Bastsaikhan did not live up to the King's expectations, Mönkhbat was ordered to remove Bastsaikhan from the line of succession and take the throne of Hmagol himself. It was the ultimate, horrifying secret—the King, preparing a contingency against his own son. Mönkhbat had burned the letter, not because he lacked the ambition, but because he feared the devastation of civil war—fearing that the brothers would kill each other for the throne, or worse, that he himself would have to execute the Crown Prince.
But it seemed that this very fear was now knocking on his doorstep, drenched in the blood of Siang and Drystan. He knew that sooner or later, he would have to pick up his spear and aim it at the brother who shared the same blood as him and the King. The defense of Hmagol now meant fratricide.
Mönkhbat stood up, his towering figure casting a long shadow over the maps of the southern border. The time for internal conflict was over.
"Captain Bair," Mönkhbat said, his voice firm. "Send a message to Prince Mandla in Hosha City, that a civil war is about to break in Ntsua-Ntu, and for him to prepare to move all his troops to the borders. Only doing so will prevent the Tanggolian and the Razaasia forces from launching a full-scale attack on our southern border."
"I will leave right away," Bair said, rushing out of the room to prepare the coded dispatch to the Umusa Kingdom.
Mönkhbat began tapping his fingers rhythmically on the table, his eyes fixed on the detailed map of Hmagol's southern border, particularly the vulnerable passes and crossings.
"What are you thinking, General?" Taban asked, noticing the deep furrow in Mönkhbat's brow.
"Taban... I fear that something greater than Chinua's treason charge is unfolding in Ntsua-Ntu," Mönkhbat said gravely. "Hye's message, the forced departure of our troops in the decree... it suggests a complete military takeover is imminent. We need to know the full truth, but I cannot leave this Pass undefended."
"Do you wish to go and see it for yourself?" Taban asked, understanding the depth of the General's loyalty to the King and his need for clarity.
"I do, but..." Mönkhbat trailed off, gesturing to the map. "Leaving Lao-Da Pass now is inviting disaster. If I am not here, the enemy knows our strongest point is weak."
"Hye once told me that deception, sometimes, is the greatest weapon," Taban said, a knowing light in his eyes.
"What exactly are you suggesting, Captain?" Mönkhbat asked, his brow raised as he looked at Taban.
Taban smiled, a sharp, cunning expression. "If you don't mind, have Heng—my beloved—wear your armor and stay within the command center with your Madame. Give him your cloak, and let the sentries see him giving orders now and then. Your presence will be maintained, but you will not actually be here. You can ride to Lao-Da Village immediately, meet Drystan, and secure the full details of Hye's plan, and head to Ntsua-Ntu without compromising the security of the Pass, as long as it's no more than thirty days."