Chapter 1159 - 1100. The League of Northwestern Lords Defeated
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(A/N: Don’t forget to give those power stones to Skyrim everyone!)
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The plateau was surrounded. The front doors were being battered down by the God of War, the water was choked off, and the assassins were scaling the back walls. The three lords of the League fought with the desperate, thrashing fury of men who knew they were already dead, their blood freezing to the rocks as the Hengyuan Dynasty reached out to permanently close its iron grip around the roof of the world.
The relentless assault upon the Qinghai Plateau did not just test the physical endurance of the League’s defenders, it fundamentally shattered their psychological reality. The Hengyuan war machine, operating with a cold, industrialized efficiency that the northwestern warlords had never before encountered, pressed upward against the icy barricades with the unstoppable momentum of a rising tide.
Lu Kan, Mang Xing, and Yang Qiu had built their defenses to withstand the chaotic, disorganized skirmishes of rival desert tribes and ambitious local warlords. They had relied on the natural, freezing chokepoints of the plateau, believing the sheer cliffs and sub-zero temperatures would serve as their ultimate shield.
But they had not anticipated the sheer, terrifying discipline of Emperor Lie Fan’s armies. They had not anticipated the Black Dragon Cannons continuously raining explosive death upon their stone walls, reducing generations of masonry to lethal, flying shrapnel.
As Guan Yu and Zhang Fei pushed the frontal assault, hacking through the splintered barricades with monstrous, unrelenting force, the defensive lines began to buckle, tear, and finally disintegrate.
The slaughter was absolute. The loyalist soldiers of the three lords, starving and freezing in their ragged armor, found themselves being butchered left and right. There was no tactical brilliance to their defense anymore; it was merely a desperate, flailing struggle to survive the next descending halberd or the next volley of heavy crossbow bolts.
The freezing mountain air was choked with the metallic tang of blood, the thick, acrid smoke of black powder, and the horrific, echoing screams of men being crushed under the iron-shod boots of the Hengyuan heavy infantry.
Morale, already hanging by a frayed thread following the betrayals of Yan Xing and Cheng Li, plummeted into an abyssal void.