Reborn In The Three Kingdoms - Chapter 770

Chapter 770: 736. The Ma Clan Retreats From Tianshui
 

“And we are saving our skins,” Bao Luan spat, slamming his palm against the table. “You’ve seen the writing on the wall. We’re outnumbered, starving, and the people are turning on us. Do you want to die for Ma Teng’s pride? Or do you want to live, serve under Cao Cao, and keep your family fed and alive?”

Song Jing hesitated. “And what if we fail this attempt?”

Bao Luan smirked grimly. “Then we die. But we are dying anyway, the difference is that we are doing something or not to change that.”

Outside, the faint sound of boots on stone drifted through the cracked window. Patrols, moving wearily along the streets, trying to keep order. Already, the people whispered behind closed doors, already they hoarded food in dark corners and prepared for the worst.

Wei Ping’s jaw clenched. “We do it tonight.”

As dusk fell, a chill crept over the battered city. On the walls, Ma Teng stood in silence, his hands clasped behind his back as he surveyed the enemy campfires flickering across the plains like a sea of stars. Ma Chao strode beside him, his hair unbound, his brow furrowed with anger and frustration.

“Father,” Ma Chao murmured, “if we attack out, take the cavalry, strike toward the east of Cao Cao’s army—”

“There’s nowhere to strike,” Ma Teng interrupted softly, his voice weary but resolute. “We are surrounded like rats with one exit that it’s to Jincheng, my son. Cao Cao’s advisors have played their hand well.”

From below, soldiers trudged along the ramparts, hollow eyed and shivering. Some coughed raggedly into their sleeves, others stared vacantly into the distance. The smell of burned grain and unwashed bodies drifted up on the night air.

Ma Teng exhaled, his breath clouding faintly. “But we will stand and protect Tianshui. To the last. Lie Fam’s army will definitely take action at any moment. He should be gathering supplies since his army had just gone out to war, and he must have used his supplies to consolidate Jing and Jiaozhi provinces.”

And then, a sudden commotion from the southern gate, a burst of shouting, the flare of torches, the sharp ring of steel.

“Stay here, Father,” Ma Chao said at once, his eyes flashing. “I’ll handle it.”

“No—”

But the younger warrior was already gone, vanishing down the stone steps two at a time, his cloak billowing behind him.

On the walls, Ma Teng watched his son disappear into the dark. For a moment, a faint smile tugged at the corner of his lips, pride, sorrow, love all tangled into one, and then he turned back toward the quiet fields.

He never saw the figures rising from the shadows behind him.

In the common quarter, Wei Ping and the conspirators moved swiftly. While the south gate erupted into chaos, fires lit, screams echoing, soldiers scrambling to respond, they slipped through the narrow alleys toward the western wall.

On the ramparts, Ma Teng’s elite guards stood watch, but they were weary, their eyes sunken and their hands stiff with cold. The conspirators approached under the guise of relaying orders, moving in small clusters, silent and purposeful.

At the wall’s edge, Wei Ping gave a quiet signal.

The first guard fell with barely a sound, a dagger slipping between his ribs. The second staggered, wide eyed, before Hou Xuan’s blade cut him down. In moments, the wall was theirs.

Wei Ping advanced slowly toward Ma Teng’s figure, his breath tight in his chest.

Ma Teng turned at the faint sound of footsteps, his brow creasing. “What—”

Wei Ping’s face twisted. “Forgive me, my lord.”

The blade rose.

But just as it fell and slashed Ma Teng on the arm, a sudden roar split the air.

Ma Chao.

He came tearing up the stone steps, blood slicked spear in hand, his eyes blazing with fury. The conspirators froze for a heartbeat, just long enough.

Ma Teng ducked aside as the dagger slashed past his ear, and with surprising strength, drove his elbow into Wei Ping’s chest. The conspirator stumbled, gasping.

Ma Chao surged onto the wall, his spear a silver blur.

One. Two. Three men fell before they could even raise their swords.

Pang De, trailing behind, roared an oath and hurled himself into the fray, his halberd cleaving a path through the mutineers.

The night erupted into chaos, blades clashing, torches flaring, shouts echoing through the dark.

Wei Ping tried to run, but Ma Chao’s spear pinned him to the wall.

By dawn, Tianshui’s walls were slick with blood. The conspirators lay dead or dying, and Ma Chao stood at the parapet, chest heaving, as the first light spilled over the mountains.

Beside him, Ma Teng leaned heavily on the stone, his face pale, his shoulders sagging. Pang De knelt nearby, binding a gash on his arm, his jaw clenched against the pain.

The city was quiet now, but it was the hush of the hunted, the silence of men who knew the wolves were at the gate.

Ma Teng reached out, his hand trembling faintly, and rested it on Ma Chao’s arm.

“My son,” he murmured hoarsely, “you saved me.”

Ma Chao shook his head, his eyes hard. “We have no time for thanks, you are hurt, Father. And I think… we cannot hold Tianshui. Not anymore. Not after this attempt at mutiny.”

For a long moment, Ma Teng said nothing. Then, very softly, he nodded.

“Then we ride for Jincheng,” he whispered. “It looks like retreat is the only option we have.”

As the sun lifted over the battered walls, casting its pale light across the ruined city, the Ma Clan gathered its remaining strength. Horses were saddled. Weapons were strapped tightly. The banners of the Ma, though torn and scorched, were raised once more.

And as the north gates creaked open, the remaining army of the Ma Clan thundered forth, a desperate retreat into the north to Jincheng, proud, defiant, unbroken even in the face of defeat.

Meanwhile, on the cold, windswept plains outside Tianshui, the banners of Cao Cao’s army snapped crisply in the morning breeze. The siege was over. Smoke curled from the city’s rooftops as soldiers, engineers, and supply officers filed through the gates, restoring order to the battered town.

Horses neighed restlessly, wagons creaked, and the metallic clatter of armor and weapons filled the air. Inside Cao Cao’s command tent, the atmosphere was markedly different, tense yet charged with satisfaction.

Guo Jia leaned over the large wooden table, eyes flicking between the wax figurines placed meticulously across the map. His fingers tapped lightly on the rim of a wine cup, the ghost of a smile playing on his lips.

Beside him, Jia Kui stood tall and composed, arms folded across his chest, his keen eyes fixed on the southern routes.

They had spent the better part of the night debating strategy, sharpening every possible plan to break Ma Teng’s defense, but now, word had arrived that those preparations were no longer needed.

The tent flap rustled, and Xiahou Dun entered, his single eye sharp beneath the ridge of his brow. Li Dian followed, helmet tucked under one arm, dust and travel still clinging to his boots.

“They’ve retreated, masters,” Xiahou Dun said curtly. “North. Toward Jincheng.”

Guo Jia straightened slowly, exchanging a glance with Jia Kui. A glimmer of amusement sparked in their eyes.

“So,” Jia Kui murmured, “Ma Teng breaks after all. And here I thought we’d have to storm his walls and drag him out by his beard.”

Guo Jia chuckled softly, the sound dry as autumn leaves. “No man is unbreakable, Jia Kui. Even Ma Teng. Especially when surrounded and starved.”

Li Dian stepped forward, setting down a leather pouch filled with crude maps scavenged from the abandoned city. “Our scouts report something strange. Bodies inside Tianshui. Dozens of them. Looks like a mutiny or an assassination attempt last night.”

At that, Zhang He entered with his usual silent grace, inclining his head slightly. “The bodies were found near the western wall and on the parapets,” he confirmed, his voice smooth as silk. “Judging by their weapons and wounds, there was an uprising among Ma Teng’s ranks. But Ma Teng survived, he fled at dawn.”

Guo Jia’s eyes lit up, sharp as a blade unsheathed. “Ah. So that’s the hand that forced him. A crack in the wall from within.”

Jia Kui smirked. “No wonder his resistance crumbled so quickly today. His own men tore the foundation out from under him.”

With deft fingers, Guo Jia moved several figurines on the map, Ma Teng’s markers sliding toward Jincheng, while Cao Cao’s markers closed in like tightening jaws.

“This changes everything,” he murmured. “Now that we know the sickness in Ma Teng’s army, we won’t need to crush them outright. Just a little pressure here—” his fingertip nudged the eastern flank “—and here—” a tap at the northern pass “—and they will fall like wheat before the scythe.”

Xiahou Dun’s mouth curved into a rare grin. “Then let us ready the scythe.”

Back in Ma Teng’s fleeing column, the mood was grim. The clatter of hooves on rock, the creak of wagons, and the groan of wounded men filled the air as the Ma Clan’s forces pushed desperately toward Jincheng.

They moved with the determination of men who knew the noose was closing behind them. But amid this tense retreat, Ma Teng sat stiffly atop his horse, his cloak drawn tightly around his shoulders.

The morning had brought a strange heaviness in his limbs, a creeping numbness in his fingers, a faint tightness in his chest. He had shrugged it off. There was no time for weakness.

No time for illness. But now, as they neared Jincheng’s gates, his breath came shorter, his skin grew clammy, and a strange cold sweat trickled down his back.

Beside him, Ma Chao rode at an alert pace, scanning the horizon with sharp, restless eyes. His father’s pale face did not escape his notice.

“Father,” Ma Chao said quietly, leaning closer. “You’re wounded. We should see the physician at once.”

Ma Teng waved a hand dismissively. “Later, Mengqi. We have more pressing—”

The words died on his tongue as a deep cough rattled through his chest. He doubled over in the saddle, clutching at his side, and with a harsh, gut wrenching spasm, coughed up a dark spray of blood onto his sleeve.

Ma Chao’s face drained of color. “Father!”

Hastily, he signaled to the riders nearby. They surged forward, helping steady Ma Teng as he swayed in the saddle. The column’s pace quickened, urgency rippling through the ranks.

By the time they passed beneath Jincheng’s battered gates, Ma Teng was nearly unconscious, his breaths shallow, his skin waxen. Inside the city, the army’s camp was a frenzied hive of activity. Scouts rode in and out, soldiers pitched defensive barricades, and messengers darted between officers. But at the heart of it all, in a hastily prepared tent, Ma Teng lay on a cot, his armor stripped away, his arm laid bare for the physician.

______________________________

Name: Lie Fan

Title: Overlord Of The Central Plains

Age: 34 (201 AD)

Level: 16

Next Level: 462,000

Renown: 1325

Cultivation: Yin Yang Separation (level 9)

SP: 1,121,700

ATTRIBUTE POINTS

STR: 951 (+20)

VIT: 613 (+20)

AGI: 598 (+10)

INT: 617

CHR: 96

WIS: 519

WILL: 407

ATR Points: 0