Chapter 913: 870. The Champa’s Lieutenant Coup D’etat
If you want to read 20 Chapters ahead and more, be sure to check out my Patreon!!!
Go to Zhi nodded slowly. “The general must see it. He must know it’s over.” But in the heart of the crumbling Champa camp, it was clear that seeing and accepting were two very different things. The command tent was a pitiful sight. Once a symbol of authority, it was now patched and stained, its fabric reeking of defeat and damp. Inside, the atmosphere was even worse.
The captains sat in uneasy silence, their armor dented, their faces hollow with exhaustion. The general paced with restless energy, his eyes bloodshot, his hands trembling faintly as he leaned on the table for support.
He looked at the surviving captains and his trusted lieutenant, who sat rigid with visible frustration. His voice was raw from days of barking orders. “Well?” he demanded, his tone brittle, almost frantic. “What plans do you propose? How shall we continue the siege? We cannot falter now, not after so much blood has already been spilled!”
The captains shifted uncomfortably, exchanging glances but saying nothing. None dared to voice the truth, that there was no plan, no chance of victory, only despair.
At last, it was the lieutenant, the general’s right-hand man and closest companion in countless campaigns, who could no longer bear it. His fist slammed down on the battered table with a thunderous crack that silenced the tent.
“Enough!” he roared, his voice shaking with fury. “Enough is enough! Can you not see what is plain before your eyes? We are broken. The men are starving, exhausted, their spirits crushed. Our enemy is too strong, their numbers greater, their defenses unbreakable. Why…. why, General, are you so damned adamant to continue this madness after losing so many men?”
The captains inhaled sharply, eyes widening in shock. None had ever spoken to the general with such boldness. Yet the lieutenant’s words rang with the undeniable truth that every man in the tent felt deep in his bones.
The general froze, his expression blank for a moment. Then, slowly, his lips twisted into a bitter smile. He turned to face his old friend, his eyes shadowed with something that looked like despair masked by stubborn pride.
“Why must we stop now?” he countered, his voice almost pleading. “Think, old friend. The enemy has lost many men as well. Surely they are at their breaking point. If we push just a little further, if we endure just a little longer, they will surrender. Victory is within our grasp.”
The lieutenant’s rage only deepened. He rose to his feet, his voice rising in incredulous anger. “Do you hear yourself? You speak of victory as if it were a fruit ready to be plucked, but it is nothing but a mirage! They have more men than us, far more! They can afford losses we cannot. They are supplied, fortified, and united, while we bleed out in the mud! You are delusional, General. Completely blind to reality!”
The general’s smile faded, replaced by grim resignation. “So this is what you think, my old friend? That I am a fool?” His hand slowly moved toward the hilt of his sword. “Then what choice do you leave me? If you speak of surrender, you speak of betrayal. And betrayal cannot be tolerated.”
The lieutenant’s jaw tightened. He reached for his own blade, steel rasping as it left its scabbard. “If it is betrayal to save what remains of our men, then I will bear that name. But I will not watch you slaughter them all for your pride. You leave me no choice. From this moment, I take command.”
Gasps rippled through the captains. The general’s eyes widened, genuine shock flickering across his weary face. For a heartbeat, he seemed to search his friend’s gaze for some sign of hesitation, some chance to pull him back from this irrevocable path.
“Old friend,” the general said softly, almost mournfully, his own blade flashing free. “Do you understand what you are doing? This is not just defiance. This is treason. The consequences will be grave.”
The lieutenant did not flinch. His voice was steady, unwavering. “I understand. And I accept them. Better to be branded a traitor than to watch tens of thousands more die needlessly for your stubborn pride.”
The general’s face darkened. With a sharp command, he turned to the captains. “Seize him! Restrain this fool before he damns us all!”
The captains stirred, hesitating. Some rose half-heartedly, torn between their duty to the general and the truth in the lieutenant’s words.
But before they could act, the flap of the tent burst open. Dozens of soldiers stormed inside, their armor clanking, their faces grim. They moved with purpose, not confusion. They surrounded the captains and the general in an instant, blades drawn, their formation tight and disciplined.
The general’s eyes went wide with disbelief. “What is this? What is the meaning of this! Soldiers, stand down at once! That is a direct order!”
The soldiers did not move. Not one lowered his weapon.
Instead, the lieutenant stepped forward, his voice calm yet commanding. He raised his hand and pointed to the general and the captains. “Arrest them. All of them.”
The soldiers obeyed immediately. Rough hands seized the stunned captains, disarming them in a flurry of motion. The general fought back, his blade flashing, but he was old and weary, his strength no longer what it once was. He was overwhelmed within moments, his sword torn from his grip, his arms pinned tightly behind him.
The captains struggled and cursed, some calling the lieutenant a usurper, others begging him to reconsider. But their pleas fell on deaf ears.
The general, forced to his knees, glared up at his former friend. His voice was ragged with both fury and grief. “You… you dare betray me like this, after all we’ve fought through together? You, who I trusted more than anyone else?”
The lieutenant’s face was carved from stone. For a moment, his eyes flickered with sorrow, but his words were cold and resolute. “I did not betray you, old friend. You betrayed your men the moment you chose your pride over their lives. You would have dragged us all to the grave with you. I will not allow it.”
The general’s lips trembled, his eyes glistening. “Then… then you were never my friend at all.”
The lieutenant did not answer. He simply turned away, his command voice ringing out to the soldiers. “Take them to confinement. They will face judgment once the men have rested and the truth of our situation is laid bare.”
The soldiers obeyed, dragging the captives away into the dim, smoky night. The tent was left in silence, save for the heavy breathing of those who remained.
Outside, the camp stirred with whispers as word spread like wildfire, the general had been overthrown by his own lieutenant. The siege was over, and with it, perhaps the last desperate gamble of Champa’s resistance.
The silence in the command tent was heavier than the humid, smoke choked air outside. The Lieutenant stood alone amidst the disarray, the ghost of his General’s betrayed stare still burning against his skin.
The table where they had once shared wine and strategy was scarred by the impact of his fist. The maps were now meaningless scribbles on parchment.
For a long moment, he simply breathed, listening to the distant, familiar sounds of the camp, the moans of the wounded, the crackle of dying fires, sounds that had been the backdrop to their catastrophic failure.
Then, the soldier in him reasserted itself. Grief and regret were luxuries for later. Now, there was an army to save.
He strode out of the tent, his posture rigid, his face a mask of grim authority. The guards outside, who had followed his orders to storm the tent, snapped to attention. Their eyes were wide, a mixture of fear, confusion, and a dawning hope. They had just participated in a mutiny; their fates were now inextricably tied to his.
“Sound the assembly,” the Lieutenant commanded, his voice hoarse but carrying unmistakable force. “All units. Now.”
The strange, urgent call of the horns echoed through the camp, a sound not of attack or defense, but of summons. It cut through the lethargy of despair. From ragged tents and makeshift shelters, the remnants of the Champa army emerged.
They were a pitiful sight, men haggard with exhaustion, many bearing bloody bandages, their eyes hollow with the things they had seen and the friends they had lost. They gathered in the central clearing, a sea of confused and weary faces, looking to the Lieutenant who stood atop an overturned supply crate.
He waited until the murmuring died down, until every pair of eyes was fixed on him. He saw the question in them: Where is the General?
“Brothers!” he began, his voice booming across the compound, stripped of all pretense and officer’s polish. He spoke to them as soldiers, as men who had endured hell together. “The siege of this fort is over!”
A wave of stunned silence washed over the crowd. It was so absolute he could hear the flutter of a tattered banner on a nearby tent.
“It is over,” he repeated, letting the words sink in. “We have fought with courage that will be sung of for generations. We have given more than any army should ever be asked to give. But the cost… the cost is too high.” He swept his arm, indicating the depleted, broken men before him. “Our strength is gone. To continue would not be bravery. It would be folly. It would be a waste of your lives, and I will not be the man who wastes you!”
He paused, letting the truth of their situation settle upon them. Then he gave the order they had all been praying for. “We are breaking camp! Gather every scrap of supplies, every piece of equipment, every horse that remains. Bring it all here, to the center. We will take stock of what we have left, and then we will begin our march. We are going home. We are returning to Vijaya to regroup, to reinforce, and to see our families again!”
For a heartbeat, there was nothing. Then, a single cheer erupted from a young soldier near the front. It was raw, disbelieving. It was followed by another, and then another, until the entire clearing erupted in a thunderous, cathartic roar of relief. It was a sound that had been absent for eight long daysz the sound of hope. Men embraced each other, some laughing, others weeping openly, the tension of certain death finally shattering.
Amidst the celebration, an older sergeant, his face lined with scars and soot, stepped forward. He bowed respectfully. “Lieutenant! We thank you! But… where is the General? And the captains? Should they not be giving these orders?” The Lieutenant’s expression hardened. This was the moment. He had to unite them, not divide them further.
______________________________
Name: Lie Fan
Title: Founding Emperor Of Hengyuan Dynasty
Age: 35 (202 AD)
Level: 16
Next Level: 462,000
Renown: 2325
Cultivation: Yin Yang Separation (level 9)
SP: 1,121,700
ATTRIBUTE POINTS
STR: 966 (+20)
VIT: 623 (+20)
AGI: 623 (+10)
INT: 667
CHR: 98
WIS: 549
WILL: 432
ATR Points: 0
Creation is hard, cheer me up! VOTE for me!
Like it ? Add to library!
I tagged this book, come and support me with a thumbs up!
Have some idea about my story? Comment it and let me know.