Chapter 362: The Price of a Tragic Victory

The disturbance in the False Song's central army spread like ripples, quickly reaching the entire front line.

The tilting of the dragon banner, the news of the emperor vomiting blood and falling unconscious, could not be concealed in the end.

Panic, like a plague, spread through the originally vigorous siege army.

Especially when the walls of Heroic Prefecture again echoed with a sparse yet still precise and deadly volley of crossbow bolts, this panic reached its peak.

That was the defending troops clearing the battlefield, sniping at enemy soldiers who lingered beneath the walls, trying to rescue comrades or make a last stand.

Having lost unified and strong Commander, and after suffering the blow of that previous devastating arrow barrage, the morale of the False Song army finally collapsed.

First, part of the right wing's troops began to retreat involuntarily.

Immediately, like an avalanche, this retreat rapidly turned into a full-scale rout.

Soldiers threw down their shields, discarded their siege ladders, even shoved aside comrades blocking the way, just to get farther from that city wall of Heroic Prefecture that had swallowed countless lives.

The 'Divine Martial Army' and the surviving 'Netherbone' tried to suppress the rout, even beheading a few deserters, but before the overwhelming tide of total defeat, this effort appeared utterly feeble.

In the end, they could only, under the officers' orders, cover the central army and begin an orderly retreat.

Merely that silent, stiff pace also seemed to carry a hint of indescribable embarrassment.

On the city wall, the surviving defenders stared blankly at the enemy retreating like a tide.

For a moment, some could hardly believe their own eyes.

Only after confirming that the enemy was truly withdrawing did a deafening cheer, mixed with endless exhaustion and wild joy, erupt from the walls of Heroic Prefecture!

"We won!"

"We held them off!"

"Ten Thousand Victories! Great Chen Ten Thousand Victories!"

The surviving soldiers embraced each other, waving their broken weapons; many laughed until tears flowed, or collapsed helplessly to the ground, gazing at the sky and gasping for breath.

Shi Dun leaned on his notched great axe, gazing at the retreating enemy, yet his face showed little joy.

His iron armor was damaged in many places, blood soaking the lining of his battle robe.

He turned his head, looking toward the main city tower, his brows furrowed.

The price of victory was too great.

"Quick! Treat the wounded!"

"Count the losses!"

"Repair the walls! Guard against the enemy's return!"

He forced his weary body to stand, issuing orders in a hoarse voice.

The cruelty of war only revealed itself in another grueling way after victory.

On the wall, severed limbs and broken bodies littered the place, the corpses of fallen defenders mingling with enemy dead, leaving almost nowhere to step.

Blood pooled into streams, flowing along the cracks in the walls, the air thick with a nauseating stench of blood.

The groans and wails of the wounded, after the cheers, sounded especially grating.

Medical officers and auxiliary soldiers bustled about, busy with rescue and cleanup, every face etched with heaviness and sorrow.

……

On the main city tower.

After that intense bout of dizziness, Chen Wen forced himself to stay upright.

He refused the guards' support, insisting on seeing the enemy's retreat with his own eyes.

Only when he saw the False Song's banner gradually receding in his field of view did his tense mind finally ease a little.

However, this relaxation caused the long-suppressed injuries and fatigue to surge back like a breached flood.

He suddenly burst into a violent cough, bringing up traces of blood.

His vision darkened in waves, his ears rang, and the ground beneath his feet seemed to shake.

"Your Majesty!"

The guards at his side, no longer observing propriety, rushed to left and right to steady his swaying form.

Chen Wen waved his hand, wanting to say something, but only felt his throat dry and unable to produce a clear sound.

He pointed to the temporary resting area set up inside the tower.

The guards understood, carefully supporting him as they slowly walked inward.

With each step, Chen Wen felt as if he were walking on cotton, his whole body weak and powerless.

He knew this was not merely exhaustion of strength and spirit.

It was also a backlash from overusing his power, shaking the foundation of the state's Fortune Momentum.

That weakness, stemming from bloodline and soul's depths and linked to the dynasty's vital energy, was far more terrifying than any bodily wound.

He was helped to sit on a simple cot, where an attending imperial physician immediately stepped forward to take his pulse and treat his injuries.

The imperial physician's fingers pressed his wrist pulse, his brows immediately knitting tightly, his face turning grave.

His pulse was floating and chaotic, his qi and blood both deficient, plus an indescribable feeling of emptiness, as if his foundations were shaking.

"Your Majesty, overexertion has depleted your vital energy; you urgently need rest and must not stir your mind again……"

The imperial physician's words were tactful, but the meaning was clear.

Chen Wen closed his eyes and gave a slight nod, indicating he understood.

How could he not want to rest?

But he is the emperor of Great Chen, the mainstay of Heroic Prefecture, which has just undergone the baptism of blood and fire, and indeed the mainstay of the whole dynasty.

He cannot collapse; at the very least, he cannot show utter weakness before outsiders.

"Although the False Song has retreated, the Iron Crow is not yet destroyed; hidden dangers remain."

His voice was weak, yet still clear.

Convey my oral order, strictly guard against the enemy forces making a comeback.

All post-war affairs are to be coordinated by Shi Dun, Zhang Cheng, and others.

"We receive the edict." The attendants nearby promptly responded.

Just then, a dust-covered messenger with three red plumes stuck in his back, led by the guards, stumbled onto the city tower!

Eight-hundred-li urgent! Emergency reports from Xingzhou and Luozhou!

The messenger fell to his knees with a thud, both hands high holding a wax-sealed emergency document, his voice trembling with barely concealed panic.

Inside the city tower, silence fell instantly.

Everyone's gaze focused on that document.

An ominous premonition weighed on everyone's hearts.

A eunuch hurried forward, took the document, checked the wax seal was intact, opened it, and quickly scanned it.

After just a glance, his face turned deathly pale, the hand holding the document beginning to tremble slightly.

He quickly walked to the couch, bowed, and reported in a low voice with a trembling tone:

Your…… Majesty…… in the regions of Xingzhou, Luozhou, and the other five prefectures, signs of a massive drought appeared three days ago; now…… the drought has become a reality!

The scorching sun blazes the sky, the canals run dry, the fields crack, and all the seedlings are withered……

The people…… the people face the danger of total crop loss and displacement!

Although he had some foreboding, when the words 'massive drought' truly reached his ears, Chen Wen's closed eyelids still twitched violently.

His hand resting on his knee clenched silently, his knuckles whitening.

As expected…… it has come.

And it has come so swiftly, so fiercely.

After the hail comes the drought demon.

Is this the price that must be paid for forcibly activating the thirty-twofold extensive bestowal, reversing the battle fortunes of hundreds of thousands?

The scale of Fortune Momentum is cold and unfeeling, not off by the slightest.

Inside the city tower, the senior officials and generals looked at each other, shock and worry appearing on their faces.

The Northern Frontier's bloody battle has just ceased, yet the southern heartland again suffers this great disaster.

For the newly founded, shallow-rooted Great Chen, this is undoubtedly adding frost to snow.

A pyrrhic victory, the cost is actually so heavy.

Not only the corpses piled like mountains on the city walls, not only the emperor's vomiting blood wound.

But also this shocking drought affecting several prefectures, concerning the lives and deaths of countless commoners.

Chen Wen slowly opened his eyes; deep within his pupils lay deep fatigue, and a hint of unshakable resolve.

He struggled to rise, but staggered.

With the guards' support, he barely stood firm, his gaze sweeping over those present; his voice, though weak, carried undeniable authority:

Issue the edict……

Exempt the disaster-stricken five prefectures including Xingzhou and Luozhou from three years of taxes, open the granaries to release grain, and provide full relief.

Order the Ministry of Works and the Ministry of Revenue to immediately dispatch capable personnel to the disaster zones to survey water sources, construct waterworks, and resist drought to protect the people.

Tell Zhang Cheng to coordinate provisions properly; the Northern Frontier's consolation and the southern disaster relief must not be mistaken.

The Xiongzhou defensive line is to be placed entirely under Shi Dun's charge: reinforce the city defenses, rest the troops, to guard against the unexpected.

As his series of orders were issued, his breath grew somewhat short, and his face turned even paler.

Long live the Emperor's health! Everyone bowed in unison, their voices filled with genuine concern.

Chen Wen waved his hand, indicating he was fine.

He again turned his gaze to the battlefield outside the city, where corpses lay strewn, and to the southern land unseen, now being ravaged by the drought demon.

The blood and fire of Xiongzhou have temporarily been extinguished.

But another silent war concerning the nation's fate and the people's livelihood has only just begun.

The cost of this pyrrhic victory requires the entire dynasty to repay with all its strength.