Chapter Thirty-Seven: Mustering Troops and Setting Out for Battle

On this day, the Prince of the South mobilized two hundred thousand troops in preparation for the campaign, and the Prince of Dongling personally accompanied him to the city gates to see him off. The Prince of the South was but thirty-five years old, in the prime of his life; clad in his armor, he seemed to have recaptured the youthful vigor he possessed more than a decade ago.

“God of War.”
“God of War.”
“God of War...”

The people called out his title with excitement, as if the memory of his triumphant return all those years ago had been rekindled. They hoped that this time, too, he would defeat Xiyuan and force them into submission.

Zhan Yan sat on the third floor of the Shu Yi Workshop, by the window of the room she herself had designed, gazing at that awe-inspiring figure. Yet she felt not the slightest sense of familiarity. By rights, blood runs thicker than water; even if he was distant, she should not have felt so estranged. But in the span of more than ten years, there had not been a single moment of closeness between them. At this moment, Zhan Yan did not yet know that the answer to this question would soon be revealed to her.

Two hundred thousand soldiers marched grandly out of the city, heading straight for Wangcheng. Wangcheng was a fortress at the border, the most heavily defended city of Dongling. To conquer Dongling, one had to take Wangcheng first; otherwise, the army could not advance. As long as Wangcheng held, Xiyuan would be unable to invade Dongling, and their dreams of conquest would be dashed. There were already two hundred thousand troops stationed in Wangcheng, and with the Prince of the South bringing another two hundred thousand, the total force reached four hundred thousand. Should battle break out, as long as the defenders held until the Prince of the South arrived, keeping Wangcheng secure would not be difficult.

The day after the Prince of the South departed, Yang Qi arrived at the gates of Wangcheng with three hundred thousand troops. He provoked the defenders in every way, hoping the Dongling soldiers would come out to fight.

Wangcheng was defended by an old general, Liang Ruhai. Calm and wise, General Liang ignored Yang Qi’s provocations and steadfastly refused to engage, determined to await the arrival of the Prince of the South.

Seeing that Liang Ruhai would not be lured out, Yang Qi showed no sign of impatience. He camped his three hundred thousand soldiers five miles from Wangcheng.

Upon hearing the news, both Zhan Yan and Zhongli Yu frowned. If Xiyuan truly intended war, they ought to attack Wangcheng before the Prince of the South could arrive. Why wait so calmly? Was Xiyuan expecting reinforcements? That seemed the only reasonable explanation; otherwise, who would foolishly wait for the enemy’s reinforcements before launching an attack?

Five days had passed since the Prince of the South’s departure. In three more days, he should reach the frontier; then, war might truly begin. News from the border confirmed Yang Qi still had not attacked, but another piece of information verified their suspicions—Xiyuan had dispatched another two hundred thousand troops as reinforcements. Five hundred thousand against four hundred thousand—one attacking, one defending—the odds were not greatly in Xiyuan’s favor. Did they possess some secret assurance of victory?

On this day, the Prince of the South finally arrived at Wangcheng. Seeing the God of War, General Liang Ruhai was visibly moved, his confidence in the coming battle renewed.

“Your Highness, I have long awaited your arrival. With you here to command, my heart is greatly eased,” Liang Ruhai said, personally leading several deputy generals out of the city to greet him, joy evident in his manner.

“You flatter me, General. You are a renowned commander of our time. To fight alongside you is my honor,” the Prince of the South replied with humility.

“There is no need for modesty, Your Highness. Who in all Dongling does not know that the Prince of the South is our God of War? Let this campaign be under your command; I am content to serve as your deputy, if you would permit it?” Liang Ruhai’s respect was sincere—for the prince who, sixteen years ago, had never known defeat. If he was so formidable then, how much more so must he be now?

“How could I accept, when this is your territory?” the Prince of the South protested, feigning modesty.

“Your Highness, such distinctions matter little. Victory is what counts, and I care nothing for precedence.”

“In that case, I must respectfully accept,” the Prince of the South finally agreed.

“Excellent. You have journeyed far; perhaps you should settle in first. Once you are rested, we can discuss our strategy at your convenience,” Liang Ruhai suggested, all deference and without a trace of arrogance.

“As you say, General. We shall rest tonight and convene at first light,” the Prince of the South agreed, knowing all had travelled wearily.

He entered the tent that General Liang had prepared for him, a cold smile flickering in his eyes. Sixteen years—he had waited for this moment. What would unfold was anyone’s guess, but it was something he anticipated. The thought made him chuckle softly, the derision in his eyes deepening.

The next morning, all the generals gathered in the council hall, awaiting the Prince of the South to join them in deliberation. He did not disappoint; scarcely half an hour passed before he appeared. The assembly regarded him with awe, none forgetting the vigor of his youth. Memories of the campaigns against Xiyuan still stirred their blood. Some deputy generals, mere foot soldiers back then, could still recall charging into battle under his command. Sixteen years on, to see their hero again was an overwhelming moment.

The Prince of the South noticed the reverence in their eyes. He lowered his head slightly, a subtle and almost imperceptible mockery crossing his gaze, the corners of his mouth lifting faintly.

“I thank you all for waiting,” he said graciously, his manner toward them unchanged from years past.

“Not at all, Your Highness. We have only just arrived,” they replied in unison, as if it were only right to wait for him.

“Your Highness, the enemy forces of Xiyuan are encamped five miles from us, ready to attack Wangcheng at any moment. It is said that another two hundred thousand reinforcements have arrived in recent days. They now command a force of half a million, clearly intent on crushing Wangcheng in a single blow,” General Liang reported gravely.

“Oh? It seems the King of Xiyuan is determined to invade Dongling. But Dongling is not so easily subdued. Though their numbers exceed ours by a hundred thousand, Wangcheng’s defenses are strong. We need not fear them,” the Prince of the South replied, analyzing the situation.

“Your Highness speaks truly. With you here, our victory is all but assured,” Liang Ruhai agreed, finding his own thoughts echoed in the Prince’s words and feeling more confident than ever.

“Let us now discuss our battle plan,” said the Prince of the South, surveying his officers. “If any of you have a proposal, do not hesitate to speak.”

At his invitation, the generals each offered their views, and the council hall buzzed with debate.

Once they had settled, the Prince of the South presented his strategies—offering several plans for their consideration. His proposals impressed everyone; compared to this God of War, their own suggestions seemed inadequate. Their admiration only deepened.

In the end, they unanimously agreed to adopt his approach. It was resolved that the gates of Wangcheng would be opened the following day, and they would meet the enemy head-on.