Reborn In The Three Kingdoms - Chapter 771

Chapter 771: 737. Ma Teng Passed Away
 

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.

The old man worked quickly, brow furrowed in concentration as he peeled back the bandages and examined the ugly gash on Ma Teng’s arm. His expression darkened.

“This wound is poisoned, young lord,” the physician murmured, pressing gently on the swollen flesh. “The blade was coated with something foul, and it is a strong one.”

Ma Chao’s hands clenched into fists at his sides, his jaw working as he fought the urge to slam a fist into the wall. He had seen the traitors fall, seen their treacherous blades, but he had not realized this hidden cruelty.

“You can cure it, right? How long can my father last without the cure?” Ma Chao asked tightly.

The physician hesitated. “If the poison reaches his heart, no more than a few days. But if we can purge it, perhaps longer. I will need strong herbs, a constant watch, and ultimately heaven’s grace.”

Ma Chao exhaled through his teeth, his shoulders taut as a drawn bowstring. “Do whatever you must.”

Beside him, Ma Teng’s eyes fluttered open, hazy but aware. A faint smile curved his cracked lips. “My son,” he rasped, voice thin as parchment, “do not… waste strength on an old man.”

Ma Chao knelt beside his father, his usual fire dimmed into something far more dangerous, a quiet, smoldering rage.

“Quiet, Father.” Ma Chao gripped his hand fiercely. “Save your breath. The physicians will do their utmost best to cure you.”

But Ma Teng shook his head slowly. “Listen to me, Ma Chao. You must hold Jincheng. You must carry the Ma name… no matter what comes.”

Outside, the Ma Clan army gathered in the courtyards, weary yet defiant. Horses stamped restlessly, officers barked orders, and scouts reported Cao Cao’s vanguard advancing swiftly.

The crack inside their ranks, the fissure born in Tianshui, had left them vulnerable. And now, every man and woman in the city felt the weight of their dwindling time.

The physician worked deep into the night, the flickering light of oil lamps casting his hunched shadow across the canvas walls of the makeshift infirmary.

Herbs simmered in clay pots, their bitter scent mingling with the metallic tang of blood and sweat. Outside, the wind moaned through the narrow alleys of Jincheng, as if echoing the anxious murmurs of the soldiers standing vigil beyond the tent.

The cure was finally ready, a thick, bitter concoction of herbs ground with powder of rare roots and minerals, boiled and strained until only the essence remained. The physician approached Ma Teng with trembling hands, cradling the bowl like a sacred relic.

“Lord Ma Teng,” he said softly, helping Ma Teng to sit up, propping him with cushions, “you must drink this in full. It will be unpleasant, but it is our best hope.”

Ma Teng gave a shallow nod. His skin was waxen, his lips cracked and dry, but his eyes still held a flicker of awareness. With effort, he brought the bowl to his lips and drank.

For a brief moment, color returned to his cheeks. His breathing deepened. Even the lines of pain across his face relaxed. The physician exhaled in cautious relief until Ma Teng’s eyes widened.

A guttural cough burst from the old warlord’s chest. He convulsed, clutching his ribs, and then vomited violently over the side of the cot. Dark, almost black blood splattered onto the wooden floor.

The physician rushed to his side, his heart sinking.

“Lord Ma Teng?” he whispered, taking his wrist, feeling for the pulse. It was there, strong for a moment, but then it faltered, becoming thin and erratic, much weaker than before he drank the concoction.

“What’s… happening… to me?” Ma Teng gasped, his voice rough with pain. “It hurts… all over. Did the cure… fail?”

The physician paled. His hands trembled.

“It, it seems I have erred, my lord,” he stammered, falling to his knees. Cold sweat drenched his brow. “The poison… was more complex than I believed. It was not one, but several. The main poison I countered… but it suppressed the others. When the primary poison was removed, the remaining toxins surged forth, now unchecked. I, I beg for your forgiveness!”

Ma Teng’s breath came in shallow gasps. He leaned back against the cushions, closing his eyes briefly as pain wracked his body in waves.

His thoughts grew cloudy, as if a heavy fog were creeping into his mind. Yet amidst the torment, one clarity remained: he did not have long.

“Call my son,” he whispered. “And General Pang De. Now.”

The physician bowed low, then ran from the tent, his robes billowing behind him like a ghost fleeing judgment.

Ten agonizing minutes passed. The clamor of the outer courtyard could barely be heard within the tent, muffled by the thick canvas and the oppressive quiet of looming death.

When Ma Chao arrived, flanked by General Pang De and the wide eyed physician, his face blanched at the sight of his father.

Ma Chao stood frozen, his chest rising and falling in sharp, uneven breaths. His father, his indomitable, unbreakable father, lay on the cot, his skin was nearly translucent, his chest rising with ragged effort, and his lips tinged with blue. The cot beneath him was stained with blood and sweat. The sight struck him like a blade to the gut.

Ma Teng looked so much worse.

Ma Chao’s voice came low and cold. “He drank it, didn’t he?” His voice was a low, dangerous growl. His hand twitched toward his sword. “Your concoction doesn’t cure him, but poisons him further?”

The physician dropped to his knees. “Please, young lord, forgive me, I was wrong. I, I did not know! The poison was layered, like a serpent’s fang wrapped in venom. The moment the first was cured, the others that had been suppressed by the first attacked and spread unchecked. I tried… I—”

Ma Chao’s eyes burned with fury. He stepped forward as if to strike him, but Pang De raised a hand.

“Young Lord,” Pang De said, his voice grave. “Your father had called for you, he needs you now more than ever.”

Ma Chao swallowed hard, his throat tight as he looked down, trembling. For a moment, he looked like the boy he had once been, fierce, yes, but uncertain. Then he exhaled sharply and strode to his father’s side.

Ma Teng’s eyes fluttered open, his breathing shallow, at the sound of his son’s footsteps. He gave a weak smile, one that cut Ma Chao to the heart.

“You’ve always been strong,” Ma Teng rasped. “Too strong for your own good.”

Ma Chao knelt beside the cot, taking his father’s frail hand in both of his. “Don’t speak, Father. Save your strength. Hold on. We’ll find another physician—”

Ma Teng gave a small, pained laugh. “No strength left to save, Mengqi. I know the end when I feel it. Listen to me. Time… is short.”

A shudder ran through Ma Chao’s frame. He wanted to roar, to scream, to tear apart the heavens for this injustice. But his father’s gaze held him still.

On the other hand, Ma Teng’s eyes shifted to Pang De, who stood silently at attention.

“Pang De,” he said, “you have been my sword and shield. My most trusted man.”

Pang De bowed his head. “You honor me, Lord Ma Teng.”

“Then promise me,” Ma Teng continued, his voice growing thinner, “that when I am gone… you will protect Ma Chao. Not just as your young lord… but as your new lord. Treat him like how you treat me.”

“On my life,” Pang De swore as his face was stone, but his eyes burned. “I will follow him into fire, into hell itself.”

Ma Teng nodded slowly. A tear slipped from the corner of his eye.

“Mengqi,” he whispered, turning to his son, “you are the leader of our clan now. Lead them. Hold Jincheng, not with pride… but with wisdom. I have known too many years of war. If peace can be earned, do not throw it away. But if Jincheng falls… do not throw your life away. Retreat. Survive. The Ma Clan… must endure.’

Ma Chao’s vision blurred. “I will not run, Father.”

“Not run.” Ma Teng’s voice was firmer now, a last surge of will. “Retreat. To fight another day. Promise me.”

The words lodged in Ma Chao’s throat. But his father’s grip was weakening, his breaths growing further apart.

“Promise me!”

Ma Chao swallowed hard. The warlord’s armor on his broad shoulders felt ten times heavier in that moment.

“I promise you, Father,” he said, voice hoarse. “I swear it.”

Ma Teng exhaled, his body sagging into the cot. “Good… good.” Fighting the feeling of his heavy eyes. “Avenge me… but do not let vengeance… consume you.”

Ma Teng let out a smile, soft, sad, proud. Then his body shuddered, and his eyes slipped shut.

A long silence followed.

The physician moved to check the pulse once more. There was nothing. Ma Teng, Leader of the Ma Clan, has passed away.

For a long moment, no one moved. No one breathed.

Ma Chao let out a sound, raw, guttural, half snarl, half sob, and slammed his fist into the ground. The earth trembled beneath the force of his grief.

Pang De bowed his head, his massive frame rigid with suppressed fury.

Then Ma Chao rose slowly to his feet. He stared down at his father’s still form, the weight of expectation and legacy his father had put on him, settling over him like a mountain.

Pang De stepped forward and knelt, bowing his head. “My lord.”

The tent flap suddenly opened as one of the junior officers stepped in. “General, the scouts report Cao Cao’s vanguard is less than a day away.”

Ma Chao turned, his eyes had turned into hard as iron. “Then we begin preparations. Gather the officers. Strengthen the gates. I want archers on every wall and reserves ready behind the second line.”

The officer nodded and ran. Ma Chao lingered a moment more beside his father, then drew the blanket gently over Ma Teng’s face. “Rest now, father,” he whispered. “I’ll carry this burden.” Outside the tent, the city of Jincheng stirred beneath the weight of war, and a new lord rose to meet it.

______________________________

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