The dawn light illuminated a scene of utter devastation, the pungent stench of blood rising to the very heavens. The siege of Thang Long had ended in an overwhelming and unimaginable victory for the imperial army. Yet, there were no cheers. There was only the heavy silence of soldiers collecting the remains of comrades and foes, and the solemnity of commanders who knew that the true war had only just begun.
Tao Chinh, utilizing the terrifying efficiency of the Six-Feathered Gate, rapidly took control of the rebel encampment. Squads of constables and hidden guards scoured every corner, capturing hiding remnants and sealing all evidence. The entire southern outskirts of the capital were placed under absolute martial law.
Within the former central command tent of the rebels—now a temporary meeting hall for the victors—the atmosphere was incredibly grave. Duke Dinh Quoc sat in the head seat. He had removed his blood-stained golden armor and wore only simple martial robes, yet his majesty was undiminished. Beside him sat Tao Chinh, his face a cold mask of indifference, and Shangguan Van, the "Little Sword God," whose complexion was somewhat pale after a night of fierce combat.
Tran Kien, in his guise as Ve Nhan, entered silently. "What is the situation?" Duke Dinh Quoc asked in a deep, resonant voice.
"Reporting to the Duke and the Lord," Tao Chinh spoke. "The rebel remnants have been swept clean; over thirty thousand have been captured alive. However, the mastermind, Marquis Vinh An, has bolted his manor doors. He has proclaimed to the world that he was framed—claiming his commander's banner and military seals were stolen by villains to mobilize the army. He is currently utilizing his entire network within the court to sow confusion, attempting to turn black into white."
"That old thief!" Duke Dinh Quoc slammed his fist onto the table. "Framed?! I will lead my troops this instant and raze his manor to the ground!"
"You cannot, Duke," Tao Chinh shook his head. "Vinh An is, after all, a high-ranking official of the court. Without an imperial edict, we cannot act recklessly. To do so would make us no different from rebels ourselves."
The tent fell into a stalemate. Though they had won the military engagement, they were now trapped in a political chessboard far more treacherous.
It was then that Tran Kien spoke up. "My Lords," he said, his voice calm. "Marquis Vinh An is not our only enemy."
He briefly recounted what he had learned of the "Sacred Dynasty"—of their plot for possession and rebirth, and how Marquis Vinh An was merely a puppet on their strings. As he spoke, the complexions of Duke Dinh Quoc and Tao Chinh grew increasingly unsightly. They were old foxes of the political arena, yet this millennium-old conspiracy transcended the boundaries of their understanding.
"If what you say is true," Tao Chinh said, his gaze as sharp as a scalpel, "then this game is far more complex than we imagined."
"Indeed," Tran Kien nodded. "Therefore, we can no longer rely on conventional methods. Marquis Vinh An is now like a tiger cornered. He will resort to the most desperate of measures."
"Then what is your strategy?" Duke Dinh Quoc asked.
"Corner the tiger to make him jump the wall," Tran Kien replied with four simple words. "We will not attack his manor. We will pressure him, leaving him no path of retreat, forcing him to leap out on his own." He looked toward the imperial palace. "Our true enemy is not Vinh An. It is the 'Sacred Dynasty.' Their ultimate goal undoubtedly involves the Dragon Veins and the royal bloodline. And..." He paused. "Mistress Lam Vy."
"They will strike at her!" Duke Dinh Quoc bolted upright, his killing intent skyrocketing.
"Yes," Tran Kien said. "That will be the final move, and Marquis Vinh An's most desperate gamble. Attacking the imperial palace and seizing the Mistress is an undeniable crime warranting the extermination of nine generations. And that is the very trap we shall lay for him."
It was an incredibly audacious plan—using his own kin as bait. Duke Dinh Quoc remained silent, his hands clenched tight. After a long while, he finally nodded. "Very well! We shall do as you say!"
Tran Kien said no more. He turned and silently exited the tent. He knew the final game of life and death was about to begin. He needed to meet a certain person—the only one capable of protecting Lam Vy within the depths of the palace.
Uncle Sword.
"The net is cast," he murmured, gazing toward the distant imperial palace. "Now, we wait to see how the final fish will thrash."