Battles From Hell

"Mingli!" Yin Changpu ran to the freckled young man.

Fan Mingli turned to him, brows wrinkled. "What?"

"Here. I want you to have this. You know, just while I fight off in battle." Yin Changpu pulled out something from his pocket and handed it to him.

Glancing down at his palms, Fan Mingli tilted his head, confused. In his hands was an old rusty silver coin, the edges jagged.

"What is this?" He couldn't understand why he would hand him such an old coin.

"It's my lucky coin. Well, my grandfathers. He gave it to me when I went to train in the army. He said it would give me good fortune and luck when I fought." Yin Changpu said with a smile, his eyes crinkled with reminiscences.

Fan Mingli was surprised. "Then why…Why are you giving this to me?"

Yin Changpu shrugged. "I think I wore it out already. Besides, it'll be in better if it's in the hands of someone hardworking like you."

Looking up, Fan Mingli pursed his lips. He looked down at the coin in his hand, rubbing his thumb along its carved lines. His mind dwelled on the warm feeling in his heart.

"Thank you. I will take good care of it." He smiled.

Grinning as well, Yin Changpu patted his shoulder. "I know you will."

At that moment, General Donghai's voice sounded from nearby, shouting for all the troops to gather. They were leaving for battle.

"Well, see you around." Yin Changpu adjusted the sword on his waist before turning around to leave.

"Be safe." Fan Mingli shouted, earning a shoulder glance form the man and a smile.

Then, he walked away, marching closer to a future of uncertainty.

…

Dawn broke that morning on the western center field, but the sun did not shine on the approaching crowds. Out of the west and out of the north came two armies, full of bloodthirsty raging men.

The sound of the horn shuddered through the field, faint and far, yet unmistakable. They could hear the army before they saw it; roaring, clattering weapons, blowing horns.

An Sun held his sword aloft as he galloped his horse across the earth. His golden shield was uncovered and low. It shone like the sun, and the grass flamed into green about the white feet of his steed. Bai Han came up beside him, his army behind him swelled like a tide.

Above, the morning clouds began to bleed red, reflecting its glow against the Tuhan army that was approaching from the west. They arched in the sky gracefully, seemingly slow because of the great distance.

Descending the hill, there they saw them; a bristling sea of men laid out in neat squares. Each was marked with a red symbol of the An Clan. A bright and scarlet hawk, its image like blood.

A horn blew, and practically every man's chest heaved. General Donghai waved his huge sword and bellowed a command, and a thousand other voices screamed back at him. In a clanking, clattering mass, they all lurched into a run.

Half the horses shied the last second, breaking their charge before the row of spears. The others died, sharp steel points ripping through their chests. An Sun saw a dozen men go down.

It was at that moment, explosions shook the ground. The traps they had lay had set off. Nearby screams rose to accompany the thunder of hoofbeats. The front lines collided in an explosion of sound, a burst of spraying splinters and bronze and blood. Still, men fought, charging and slashing forward with a roar.

An Sun leaped off his horse, the wind riffling through his black hair, both hands on his long sword. Running into the mass of men, his sword whirled in murderous arcs, a brutal black shadow that turned silver every time the lightning flashed. A crash sounded to his right—he saw General Guo using his giant shield like a club, smashing it into faces and bodies.

On his left, Bai Han was blood-splattered and breathless, his face flushed, his sword smeared red up to the grip. There was a large grin on his face. He was thrashing his sword left and right. Before the men drew another breath, he would cut him down. He fought like a feral, savage animal, leaping forward, teeth bared, in quick strikes that did not so much puncture flesh as tear it.

The ruthless reputation of the Bai family led up to its name.

Focusing his attention back to the front, An Sun was surrounded by three foes, but he lopped the head off the first spear that came at him and raked his blade across a second man's face on his backslash.

Ducking under the third man's wild slash, An Sun brought his own sword up in a vicious backhand cut. Blood spattered on his face as the blade caught in the middle of the man's face, and when he wrenched it loose, half his head came with it.

An Sun looked back up with blood at the corner of his mouth and determination in his eyes. They lit up madly, and he smiled, twisting his wrist to thrash his sword among the waves of men.

At the end of the morning, hours, and hours of chaos passed. The field was now covered with the dead and bloodied.

An Sun's armor was soaked with blood by the day's end. His lungs burned, eyes stung and blinded from the sun. Wiping the blood from his cheek, he plunged his sword into an incoming enemy.

At that moment, the sound of a falcon's cry rang high and low. It was faint, but everyone heard it. Looking up at the sky, An Sun's eyes narrowed. Two birds flew high among the clouds. Just like the men down below, they were fighting. Talons tearing into one another, feathers drifting down to where man stood.

It was a brief fight as one of them flew away from the battlefield, while the other drifted down below. Following the falcon's movements, An Sun watched as it landed gracefully on a raised arm.

From far off, glimpsed only quickly through the corridors of shifting men, he saw An Ruo. He was alone--no man able to step closer before he slaughtered them like wretched boar. He was capable, steady, and thoughtful, every movement considered.

For just a moment, their eyes locked, and An Ruo's eyes crinkled. He was smiling.

Finally, the An Clan's army retreated, ready to battle the next day. A day closer to conquering the Western Empire. An Sun drew in a deep breath as he gazed at the many corpses of fellow soldiers. His face tightened.

Tomorrow, the same hell would repeat.

…

Back at the Imperial Palace, the citizens rested inside, the streets empty of any living soul.

The library was quiet that evening. Inside a dozen, dim red candles burned like distant stars. Their soft light glimmered on the windows.

Rin sat at the desk with her face in her palm, small strands of hair draped over her cheeks as she wrote. The candlelight gleamed in her emerald eyes. Despite her seemingly calm expression, her heart and mind was warped with apprehension.

The long hours of waiting for their return. The uncertainty. All of it made her dizzy, out of breath, and helpless. Until their return, all she could do was complete her role.

Furthermore, An Sun's confession...

A light rattle of the door caused her ears to perk up. She glanced over her shoulder to see Fan Mingli by the door, a scroll in his hand.

"There's a letter for you." He rose it up, and her gaze lingered on the scroll for a moment, before reverting to the papers on her desk.

"Would you mind opening it?" She asked, scribbling something down in her notes.

He nodded, and his fingers ripped at the seal. Upon opening it, he sneezed, sniffling with wrinkled brows and clearing his throat before reading it aloud.

"As winter arrives, the flowers will fade. During the night and day, they shall fall."

At that moment, Rin's movements came to a pause.

"Let me see that." She stood up from her seat to glance at the letter in his hands.

Fan Mingli tilted the letter toward her, giving her a clear view of the written words. Seeing them, Rin's pupils contracted.

No signed name at the end.

Who could have sent it?

Pushing down the surge of emotions in her heart, Rin rushed to the door.

"Assemble a hundred men between the water's edge and the city walls." She ordered.

"Ah, all right." Fan Mingli nodded urgently.

However, just before he could carry out that order, a guard arrived at the entrance.

"Advisor Lan, the army…they've returned."