Of Kings and Pawns

Chapter 21 - Shadows of the Rising Sun

Under the pale banner of peace, General Zhiang rode steadily toward the rebel-held city of Hanwei, where General Tao's forces had entrenched themselves against the advancing Nihonese armies. His horse moved slowly, and the rhythmic clopping of hooves was the only sound in the stillness of the early morning. The exhaustion clung to him like a second skin, the weight of defeat and failure evident in the deep bags under his eyes, eyes that had seen too much in too short a time.

Zhiang's once-proud demeanor had been diminished by weeks of unrelenting pressure and sleepless nights. The fall of Zhong's capital still haunted him, a bitter reminder of the failure that had nearly broken him. He had fought fiercely but lost, and now he was riding to parley with the very man who had rebelled against him—Tao.

As Zhiang approached the outskirts of Hanwei, he saw the rows of Tao's soldiers lined up for inspection. The sight made his stomach churn. They were disciplined, their uniforms ragged but their eyes sharp. What unnerved him most was the flintlock muskets slung over their shoulders—crude but deadly. While his own men still fought with swords, spears, and bows, Tao’s soldiers held the future in their hands.

Dismounting his horse, Zhiang handed the reins to a waiting soldier and made his way to the large tent at the heart of the camp. The wind carried whispers of the men, most casting dark glances in his direction, knowing full well that this man had failed to hold the heart of Zhong.

Inside the tent, General Tao stood over a large map, his back to the entrance. He did not look up as Zhiang entered, his focus unwavering on the markings of the battlefield. The room was dimly lit by lanterns, casting sharp shadows on the canvas walls. Zhiang paused, studying the man he once considered an enemy. Tao looked just as Zhiang remembered—stern, unyielding, but something had changed. He seemed more confident, more assured of the path ahead.

Tao's voice was cool, barely masking the bitterness within. "You’re late."

Zhiang stiffened but said nothing, his weariness threatening to show through his hardened expression.

Tao finally turned, his eyes scanning Zhiang from head to toe. "I heard about the capital," he said with a slight tilt of his head. "Tell me, General Zhiang... what did you learn from your defeat?"

It wasn’t a question—it was a taunt.

Zhiang clenched his fists. "I learned that guerilla tactics and sabotage are the tools of cowards. You could never face me directly in battle."

Tao chuckled, a sound that grated on Zhiang’s nerves. "And yet, here I stand, while the capital of Zhong lies in ruins." He stepped closer, his gaze locked on Zhiang’s. "You still cling to your old ways, your swords and honor. It’s admirable, I suppose. But this war... this world... has no place for such things. The world is changing, and you refuse to see it."

Zhiang’s jaw tightened. "You fight dishonorably. This... this gunpowder," he spat the word, "it’s a weapon of cowards. Real men fight with steel in their hands, not fire and smoke."

Tao’s expression hardened, and for a moment, silence filled the room. Then he laughed—a harsh, almost mocking sound. "Cheating?" Tao shook his head. "It’s not cheating, Zhiang. It’s adapting. Gunpowder was invented by our ancestors—by Zhong. It was meant to be the weapon of our empire, but your precious lords and scholars rejected it. Now look at us."

Tao gestured to his map, where the territories of Nihon were marked in bold strokes. "Look at Merrick in the New World. They took our invention, perfected it, and turned it into something that could rival entire kingdoms. Merrick uses gunpowder wisely because they understand what it means to be modern."

Zhiang’s gaze fell on the map. He hated it, but he couldn’t deny the truth in Tao’s words. His own forces had been massacred by Nihon’s disciplined armies. Swords and honor hadn’t been enough to hold the capital.

Tao stepped back, his voice cold and certain. "You speak of honor, but honor doesn’t win wars. Adapt or perish, Zhiang. That is the way of things now."

Zhiang glared at him, his pride still raw. "And how has that worked for you? You hide in the mountains, using flintlocks like barbarians. You ambush like a thief in the night. You’ve turned this war into a mockery of what it should be."

Tao shrugged, unmoved by the insult. "Maybe. But while you lost the capital, I still hold the line against Nihon. Tell me, which of us really understands war?"

The two men stared each other down, the tension between them thick as the air in the tent. Then, unexpectedly, Tao extended his hand. "But you didn’t come here for insults, did you? You came because we both know there’s a greater enemy on the horizon. Nihon is moving faster than we expected, and if we don’t work together, they will crush us both."

Zhiang hesitated, his pride warring with his survival instinct. Slowly, he reached out and grasped Tao’s hand. The truce was uneasy, but it was necessary.

Tao smiled grimly, pulling his hand back. "I thought you’d see reason. Now, let’s talk strategy."

Tao gestured toward the map again, his voice more serious now. "My scouts have confirmed it—Nihon is building a fleet, and they’ve begun training wyverns for aerial assaults. They’re preparing for something far larger than we anticipated."

Zhiang’s eyes widened. "Wyverns? I thought the dragons were gone."

Tao nodded. "They are. But wyverns remain, and though they don’t breathe fire, they’re still deadly in the sky. Nihon is preparing for a campaign unlike any we’ve seen. Their fleets will control the seas, their wyverns the skies. We’ll be overwhelmed if we don’t act."

Zhiang’s mind raced. "We’ll need anti-air machines, artillery capable of taking down their wyverns. Otherwise, we’ll be sitting ducks."

Tao shook his head, laughing quietly to himself. "You still think like a general fighting yesterday’s war."

Zhiang’s anger flared again, but Tao held up a hand. "Calm yourself, Zhiang. I don’t mock you. We need to think beyond the battlefield. Nihon won’t unleash their full might on us—not yet."

Tao pointed to the southern part of the map, where a series of islands and empires lay scattered like jewels across the sea. "They’re not preparing to hit Zhong. They’re preparing to strike the southern lands—Achen, Bharat, the Empire of Vieth. They want the resources and control of the trade routes."

Zhiang frowned. "They’ll divide their forces."

Tao nodded, his expression sharp. "Exactly. While Nihon stretches itself thin, we’ll unite. A single, powerful front against their scattered might. While they march south, we rebuild our forces, adapt to this new age of war, and strike when the time is right."

For the first time since entering the tent, Zhiang felt a sliver of hope. They had a plan—a chance to fight back against Nihon’s seemingly unstoppable momentum.

The two generals locked eyes again, but this time, there was no animosity. Only the quiet understanding of men who had been forced to put aside their differences for the sake of survival.

As they stood over the map of the East, the weight of their alliance settled over them like a storm cloud. The future of Zhong would be written by their hands, and together, they would face the rising sun of Nihon.

But war, Zhiang knew, was unpredictable. And while they had found common ground today, the shadows of betrayal and ambition still lurked in the corners of every battlefield.