Chapter 825: The Black Iron Great Seal Stuns All, the Former Warlord Reveals His True Form

Chen Yan raised the Great Seal high above his head, the iron seal casting a heavy shadow in the lantern light that enveloped the trusted generals holding Horizontal Blades before him.

"Seeing this seal is like seeing Your Majesty!"

His voice crushed from the deepest part of his chest, bearing a force that could pierce armor.

"He Lanhu, how dare you rebel?!"

Those eight words struck in the command tent more deadly than a thousand crossbow bolts fired together.

Among the approaching trusted generals, three halted the instant they saw the Great Seal, their Horizontal Blades involuntarily dropping two inches.

He Lanhu's complexion finally changed.

Not pale, but red—a dark crimson, bloodied to the extreme, spreading from his neck up to his forehead.

"You!"

His finger trembled twice in the air, and his voice, squeezed from his throat, carried a shameful irritation as if someone had stepped on his tail.

"You, a junior, how can you use the seal to press an old man! When I followed Taizu to seize this land, you were still wearing split‑crotch pants!"

Chen Yan withdrew the Great Seal from above his head, holding it in his palm; his voice dropped half a step, to a temperature that chilled the spine more than his earlier roar.

"On what authority does this Duke claim?"

He turned the Great Seal in his palm, revealing the deeply engraved small characters on its back.

"By the Grand Preceptor's personally handwritten authorization."

He tilted the Great Seal sideways, letting the lantern light illuminate every character on the back.

"Grant the Zongguan Fu seal to Chen Yan, to command the Northern Border troops and horses, military and civil affairs Execute Before Reporting."

His gaze rose from the Great Seal, scanning every face inside the tent.

"Execute Before Reporting."

He repeated those four words, each enunciated with a pause.

"Did you hear clearly? Execute Before Reporting."

The air inside the tent solidified into a sheet of iron after those words landed.

Among the trusted generals, two more let their Horizontal Blades slip from their hands, striking the ground with two crisp clanging sounds.

The oldest veteran's lips twitched twice, his knees bent three degrees, and the Horizontal Blade he held hovered in midair, neither up nor down.

He Lanhu saw his subordinates wavering one after another, and a genuine panic flashed in his cruel eyes.

But that panic lasted only a breath before he forced it down.

"Good, good—Execute Before Reporting!"

He stepped forward, the Iron Armor on his body clanged loudly.

"The Duke acknowledges the Grand Preceptor's seal, but does the Grand Preceptor know why you came to my camp today?"

He pointed a finger at Chen Yan's nose, raising his voice another three degrees.

"You say I smuggle weapons, where is the evidence? A bandit's testimony? I have been stationed on this land for ten years, and no one has ever dared question my loyalty!"

Chen Yan's hand reached into his chest again and produced something.

The account book retrieved from the watchtower.

He spread the account book open, holding it up before He Lanhu.

"Do you recognize this handwriting?"

When He Lanhu's gaze fell on the account book, the dark crimson on his face faded three degrees.

Chen Yan turned the account book to the last page, his finger tapping beside a certain line of text.

"Negotiation Dushui He Lanhu, collected iron ore, divided into 1,800 taels of silver, seal and signature, dated this June 12 of the current year."

His finger slowly traced over that seal.

"This floral seal is yours, Dushui Helan."

He Lanhu's Adam's apple rolled, his mouth opened twice before forcing out a sentence.

"Forged, it must be forged."

Chen Yan closed the account book, slipped it back into his chest, his voice even as if commenting on pleasant weather.

"Whether forged or not, the Grand Preceptor will judge; the Duke is not here to debate with you."

He stepped forward, the distance shrinking to within three chi between him and He Lanhu.

"The Duke gives you two choices today."

He extended one finger.

"First, you strip off your armor yourself, and come with the Duke back to Zongguan Fu, awaiting the Grand Preceptor's verdict."

He extended a second finger.

"Second, you fight me here."

He withdrew the two fingers, spreading his palm before him.

"Weigh the consequences yourself; the hundred Private Soldiers outside your camp cannot stop what I am about to bring."

He Lanhu's eyes rolled twice in his sockets, his mouth forming a twisted curve.

"What you are about to bring? You only brought a maid girl; what could you possibly bring?"

Chen Yan's mouth twitched up half a point.

"You might as well listen to the sounds outside."

The command tent fell silent for three breaths.

Then everyone heard it.

From the east of the camp came a muffled thunderous sound, not horse hooves but something heavier, deeper, more oppressive than hooves.

It was the clatter of Iron Armor as Heavy Armor Infantry marched in step.

Thousands of iron armors collided in the same rhythm, gathering into a metallic wave that rolled in from the Wilderness outside the camp.

He Lanhu's complexion turned a bluish‑gray the instant he heard that sound.

The curtain of the command tent was lifted at one corner by the wind, and the sight outside made everyone's pupils shrink to the size of a needle tip.

On the eastern horizon of the camp, a black iron line was advancing at an unstoppable speed, composed of thousands of black armors, each armor sheltering an infantryman wielding a Chang Qiang; the Spear Tip reflected a dense cold glint in the sunset.

Lu Ming's tower‑like figure rode a black Horse, holding a steel spear longer than his own body, with a small flag bearing the character "Lu" tied to the spearhead.

Five thousand Heavy Armor Infantry.

He Lanhu's Three Thousand Provincial Soldiers could not raise even a single wave before the five‑thousand steel torrent.

Among the trusted commanders still holding Horizontal Blades inside the tent, the weapons of the last few also fell.

The clatter of Horizontal Blades hitting the ground rang in succession, like a dirge played for He Lanhu's warlord career.

He Lanhu's body stood for five breaths in front of the tiger‑skin chair, then his knees bent.

It wasn't a kneel; it was a collapse.

He collapsed from standing to sitting, falling heavily back into the tiger‑skin chair, his arms hanging on the armrest, his flesh slackening like a meat wall stripped of its steel ribs.

"You win."

His voice squeezed out from the bottom of his throat, carrying an age that even he could not suppress.

Chen Yan stepped to the very front of the tiger‑skin chair and looked down at him.

"This Duke has never compared victory or defeat with you."

His finger brushed the hilt of the Horizontal Blade at his waist, without drawing it.

"You chose a dead end yourself; no wonder you blame others."

Chen Yan turned and raised his hand toward the outside of the tent.

"Lu Ming! Enter the tent!"

The command tent's curtain was ripped open by an absurdly massive hand; Lu Ming's frame, two inches wider than the doorway, forced its way in, and since his spear could not be held level inside, he hoisted it vertically on his shoulder.

His broad, honest face was filled with urgency.

"Minister of the Pillars, are you all right? Subordinate General is late!"

Chen Yan tossed the Great Seal to him.

"Secure it, go strip He Lanhu's armor and bind him with iron chains."

Lu Ming caught the Great Seal with a hand as steady as a mountain; he turned, his gaze landing on the deflated old general seated in the tiger‑skin chair.

He strode forward, one hand seizing the clasp on He Lanhu's shoulder armor, the other laying his spear across He Lanhu's neck.

"Dushui Helan, I have offended."

He Lanhu's armor was stripped piece by piece, each piece hitting the ground with a heavy metallic clang, each sound like a nail driven into his coffin board.

Iron chains coiled around his wrists and ankles, the clank of the buckles grinding sharply in the command tent.

The dozen or so trusted commanders who had laid down their Horizontal Blades now knelt on the ground, none daring to lift their heads to meet Chen Yan's eyes.

Chen Yan's gaze swept over their backs, and the curve of his mouth gradually tightened.

As Lu Ming was about to drag He Lanhu from the tiger‑skin chair, a subordinate general kneeling in the far corner moved.

His movement was extremely covert; his left hand slipped into a hidden pocket inside his Chest Armor, fingertips touching a palm‑sized copper horn.

He sprang to his feet, bringing the horn to his mouth.

A piercing, mournful horn blast erupted, shaking the lanterns atop the tent violently.

That was no ordinary command.

It was He Lanhu's privately devised emergency signal, meaning only one thing.

Camp Riot.

The horn's sound echoed out of the command tent, across the Central Army Avenue, reaching the provincial soldiers' camps on the outer perimeter who knew nothing of the situation.

Thousands of provincial soldiers, after hearing the horn, surged from their tents, weapons still unsteady in their hands, already shouting a word that tightened everyone's nerves.

"Rebellion! Someone is trying to kill the Dushui, rebellion!"

The torches in the camp flickered in the night wind, shadows interlaced, shouts rose, and a chaos on the brink of losing control spread rapidly outward from the horn's center.

Chen Yan stood at the command tent's doorway, watching the increasingly chaotic camp outside, his mouth's curve unchanged.

He slowly ran his finger over the hilt of the Horizontal Blade at his waist, his voice low as if speaking to himself.

"Good, just missing this tremor."

He turned his head, looking at the moon‑white shadow beside him.

"Hongye, walk out with this Duke."

His boot soles crossed the command tent's threshold, and he strode into the blaze and chaos.