"Please arise," my father's voice cut through the charged silence like a blade. The courtiers obeyed instantly, the rustle of silk and the clinking of armor filling the hall. The room was heavy with expectation. The moment had come.
"My ministers," he continued, eyes sharp as obsidian, "Minister Wu, inform us of the situation at the Northern border."
Wu Xian stepped forward—war minister, veteran general, the unyielding hammer behind our northern defenses. His face was weathered, scarred by a hundred battles, but his gaze was as steady as the fortress walls he defended.
"Your Imperial Highness," he began, voice low but clear, "The Crimson Banner and the Golden Mandate have sealed a pact. Their combined forces number sixty thousand soldiers, and their intent is unmistakable—they prepare to strike."
A murmur swept the hall—fear, anger, doubt—but before the storm could rise, my father raised a hand. Instantly, the chamber fell silent as if the very air obeyed his command.
"What say you, my council? How shall we answer this threat?"
My eldest brother, Wu Kang, stepped forward, his golden robe shimmering like a flame. His voice rang with certainty.
"Father, we must gather our forces. The harvests have been bountiful; our legions trained and ready. The time to strike is now—to reunify the North under our banner."
A calculated pause followed before Wu Jin, my second brother, voice quieter but sharper than a dagger, spoke:
"Father, to march north is to leave our southern borders vulnerable. The Southern Kingdom will seize any weakness. We have tried war before in the North—and failed. The cost was devastation, not victory."
The room tensed as my father's eyes narrowed, a flicker of irritation darkening his features.
"The Golden Mandate is a plague—raiding our villages, defiling our people. If they are allowed to continue, what choice remains but to strike back?"
The ministers lapsed into uneasy silence, weighed down by the gravity of war.
I stepped forward, the weight of all eyes settling on me like a storm's calm eye.
Minister Wu's words still hung heavy in the chamber — the looming threat of two kingdoms poised to strike, the scent of blood thickening the incense smoke.
Before I spoke, the room was a warzone of whispered mutters, clenched jaws, and restless shifts. Lords and ministers aligned like pieces on a board, each trying to force their king's hand through his proxies — my brothers.
Minister Li Hao, the elderly steward of grain and treasury, stepped forward, voice trembling but resolute.
"Your Highness, the harvest is bountiful, but the coffers are strained. Our borders are vast. We cannot afford an extended war on two fronts. I support Prince WuJin's counsel. Prudence now will save us ruin later."
A younger minister, General Han Wei, known for his fiery temper and unwavering loyalty to the crown, countered sharply.
"The northern threat festers, rotting our lands and people. Our soldiers thirst for battle. To hesitate is to invite destruction. Prince WuKang speaks with the clarity of a true warrior. We must strike now—strike hard and fast, before the enemy's plans fully mature."
Another voice rang out—Minister Zhao Lin, keeper of the Eastern trade routes, her tone cool and biting.
"To send armies north is to risk the South's sharp dagger. Our enemies are many, our resources limited. If the Southern Kingdom seizes the moment, what then? We fall between two blades."
The court erupted into heated argument, voices overlapping—accusations of cowardice, greed, shortsightedness. The weight of generations crushed the chamber like iron chains.
Through it all, I remained still, my gaze fixed, absorbing every word, every nuance. Their faces revealed cracks beneath polished masks—fear, ambition, desperation.
I spoke at last, voice low, steady, deliberate.
"War is not won by the loudest sword or the largest army. It is won by those who see beyond the battlefield—who grasp the fractures beneath the surface."
I let my words settle like dark water.
"Divide your enemies before they unite. Turn fear into leverage. Use shadows as weapons."
Eyes flicked to me—curious, wary.
"This threat from the Crimson Banner and Golden Mandate will not wait for us to prepare. Yet to rush blindly is folly. Let us not march headlong into ruin."
I paused, letting cold calculation seep into every syllable.
"Gather spies. Sow discord. Exploit old wounds among their ranks. Prepare the army—but hold it back, a blade hidden beneath the cloak. When the moment comes, we strike with precision, and the enemy falls apart from within."
The room grew still, the charged air thickened by the weight of my words.
My eldest brother's lips pressed thin; my second brother's eyes narrowed. The ministers shifted uneasily.
The regent, my father, broke the silence with a slow, deliberate nod.
"Very well, Prince Wu An. Your counsel will be considered."
But I knew this was only the first move in a long game. The court would never be simple. The war outside was mirrored here — a battlefield of minds, wills, and whispered betrayals.
And I was ready.