The war drums had ceased. The roars and the sounds of slaughter had vanished into the cold north wind. Tran Bac City, after a long, blood-soaked night, returned to a deathly silence. But this time, it was not the silence before a storm; it was the heavy, oppressive stillness of a graveyard.
The main thoroughfare leading into the city, once a meat grinder, was now submerged in a sea of blood. The corpses of the Blood Wolf Tribe were piled atop one another; shattered weapons lay scattered everywhere. The pungent stench of blood was so thick it made even the Tran Bac soldiers, long accustomed to war, feel a wave of nausea.
At the Tiger Howl Valley, the encirclement and slaughter had also concluded. Mong Phong, the veteran general, drenched in the blood of his enemies, stood amidst the corpses like a God of Devils. His elite cavalry, under the command of a true fierce tiger, had completely severed the retreat of the Blood Wolf remnants. Their chieftain, the giant over two zhang tall, was finally decapitated by Mong Phong's Army-Breaker Saber after a final, frantic struggle.
The Battle of Tran Bac City was over. An overwhelming victory. An unimaginable triumph. Thirty thousand Tran Bac soldiers, relying on a single citadel and the stratagems of a young Army Inspector, had crushed fifty thousand barbarian warriors—slaying over thirty thousand and capturing nearly ten thousand. The losses of the Tran Bac Army, however, were fewer than two thousand.
This was no longer a mere victory. It was a miracle! A miracle that would be etched into the annals of Dai Viet's history.
As the first rays of dawn illuminated the blood-stained city walls, Mong Phong, exhausted yet with eyes burning bright, strode back to the central command tent. He did not seek out his subordinates. The first person he wished to see was the Army Inspector who had directed the entire play.
Within the grand tent, Tran Kien still stood before the military sandbox. He showed no joy typical of a victor. His face remained calm, but within his profound eyes, there was a visible weariness and a sorrow he did not conceal. He was looking at the black flags representing the nearly two thousand fallen Tran Bac soldiers.
To generals, those were merely numbers. To him, they were two thousand lives.
"We... have won," Mong Phong said, his voice raspy.
"Indeed," Tran Kien nodded, without turning his head. "But the price paid was still too high."
This single sentence caused the exhilaration of victory in Mong Phong's heart to cool instantly. He stared in stunned silence at the youth before him. He saw that within this person was not just ruthless strategy, but also a heart of benevolence toward his soldiers and the common people. This was the true quality of a Supreme Commander.
He said nothing more. He simply stepped forward, placed his heavy Army-Breaker Saber on the table, and pushed it toward Tran Kien.
This time, Tran Kien did not refuse. He knew this was not a surrender of military power; it was a recognition, an absolute entrustment of faith.
He gripped the saber. The sensation of cold, heavy metal surged into him. He could sense that within this blade lay not just killing intent, but also the souls of thirty thousand Tran Bac soldiers and the indomitable will to defend the border that had persisted for centuries.
"From now on," he said, "it shall not only be used to slay enemies."
"It shall also be used to protect."
The aftermath was cleared. News of the earth-shattering victory was transmitted to the capital. The entire court was shaken. The Emperor was overjoyed and immediately issued an imperial edict to reward the army. Mong Phong was titled the "Great General of the Northern Pacification."
As for the Army Inspector Tran Kien, the one who held the greatest merit, he was given only symbolic rewards: gold, silver, silks, and the title of "Junior Minister of the Court of Imperial Entertainments," a leisurely civil official post.
Everyone felt the injustice on his behalf. Yet, only Tran Kien and Mong Phong understood. This was the "protection" offered by the suspicious Emperor. He did not want someone with such terrifying talent to hold too much military power. Simultaneously, he wished to use this method to lower the attention the Marquis of Vinh An paid to the youth.
But would the old fox, Marquis Vinh An, truly be deceived?
Within the study of the Marquis's Estate, the atmosphere was terrifyingly gloomy. The messenger who had "luckily" escaped was kneeling on the ground, tremblingly recounting Tran Kien's incredible stratagems.
Marquis Vinh An showed no anger. He merely listened in silence. Only after the messenger finished did he wave his hand. "Begone."
Once he was alone, he slowly walked to a bookshelf and tapped a mechanism. The shelf slid away, revealing a pitch-black secret passage. He stepped inside.
At the end of the passage was another secret chamber. Inside was no gold or jewels, only a small altar. Atop the altar, a melancholy emerald-green flame flickered.
Marquis Vinh An knelt before the flame, his voice incredibly respectful—entirely unlike his usual authoritative self.
"Master," he said. "The plan has failed. Not only has the Tran Bac Army not been weakened, but they have gained an incredibly terrifying Strategist. That person is the inheritor of the Lac Viet legacy, Tran Kien."
From within the emerald flame, an old, raspy voice—one that did not sound human—slowly rang out.
"Tran Kien... Lac Viet legacy... Lac Viet Heavenly Cycle Array..."
"Excellent. Most excellent. It seems the object we have sought for a thousand years has finally revealed a clue."
"Then... do we need to..."
"No need," the voice within the flame replied. "The border is merely a minor chessboard. Let that brat enjoy his moment for a while. The true game lies within the capital. Tell our puppet on the throne... it is time to draw in the net."
"I also wish to see," the voice chuckled eerily, "the inheritor of Lac Viet versus the inheritor of the 'Sacred Dynasty'—in the end, who is truly the stronger?"
The game at the border appeared to have ended.
But no one knew that it was merely the prelude to a game that was grander, more ancient, and infinitely more brutal. A game that had spanned an entire millennium.