The air in the Nue-Li City prison hung heavy with a musky stench of damp stone and unwashed bodies, a smell that clung to the back of the throat. The cold was a living thing here, seeping up from the dark, dirt floor and clinging to the high, stone walls, making the very air feel like a frozen weight. The only sounds were the slow, rhythmic drip of water from the ceiling and the skittering of unseen rats, their eyes glinting like tiny, malevolent stars in the perpetual gloom.
General Chong lay propped against the cold wall of his cell; his bandages stained a dark crimson from his wounds. He winced in pain as his two captains, Xao and Long, sat on either side of him. Their faces were haggard, their armor scratched and dented, a testament to the battle they had lost. The silence of the prison was a stark contrast to the roar of the battlefield, a quiet humiliation that felt even more punishing than their physical pain.
They had already come to terms with their fate, the relentless darkness and cruel treatment of the Magoli prison guards having long since blunted their will. They knew their end would come either by public execution, like the other captured soldiers, or by a slow, agonizing starvation—the Magoli's preferred torture. With that grim certainty, they had already braced for death, but they were not prepared for the sound of approaching footsteps. They were not the usual shuffle of a bored guard. Instead, each footfall was a deliberate, purposeful tread, a sound that sliced through the stale air and made the hair on their arms stand on end. It was the sound of something new, something that promised an end, but not the one they had already accepted.
The footsteps came to a halt directly outside their cell. The three men looked up from the gloom, their eyes adjusting to the dim light of the corridor, and a collective gasp escaped their lips. It was Chinua. She stood flanked by Khunbish and Khenbish, her posture regal even in the confines of the prison hall, while a guard stood a respectful distance behind them. He moved with a practiced ease, the lock clicking open and the heavy chain rattling free. The gate groaned as he pushed it open, and Chinua stepped inside, her two loyal guards close behind her, their shadows stretching long and distorted on the damp floor.
Chinua's eyes met Chong's, her expression giving nothing away. The moment stretched, heavy and silent, before she did the unthinkable. Without a word, she lowered herself to the filthy ground, her movements deliberate and graceful. She settled cross-legged in the dirt before the three men, a silent sign of respect that felt more profound than any spoken word. The act placed her at the same level as her defeated prisoners, while her two guards stood motionless behind her, their rigid posture a testament to the unyielding power she held and a stark contrast to the simple humility she was now choosing to show.
Chong's eyes remained as cold as stone as he stared at Chinua. He knew that sooner or later, his fate would be decided. Yet, seeing Chinua lower herself to the filthy ground, he felt a flicker of reassurance. This was not the act of a cruel and sadistic general. He didn't know what his death would bring, but he was certain that this female general would not humiliate him.
Chong pushed himself forward with the help of his two captains, a low grunt of pain escaping his lips as the movement pulled at his wounded shoulder. "So, the time has come," he said, his voice a strained rasp, "but a general doesn't need to present herself to confirm our deaths."
"General," Chinua responded, her gaze steady and unyielding. "The cold stare is unnecessary. If I wanted your life, you would have been dead since yesterday."
A sharp, angry hiss of a sigh escaped Xao's lips. He looked at Chinua, his expression a mask of pure indifference. "Then why are you here?" he demanded, the words sharp and pointed.
"I am here to offer you a way out," Chinua said, her voice a quiet, unsettling presence. "Surrender."
"Surrender!" Xao shouted, the word echoing angrily down the cold stone corridor. "You can kill me, but I will never surrender, especially not to a Magoli!"
Chinua's expression remained calm, her gaze fixed on Chong. "Your options are simple," she said. "Walk out a freeman or die here."
Chong met her gaze, his eyes unwavering. "Then death is my choice," he said, his voice a strained rasp, "and it will not change."
"What good is a dead general," Chinua countered, her voice laced with a subtle challenge, "when your people still need you?"
"We have already accepted our fate," Chong replied, his voice firm. "I would rather die a fallen Ginmiao than live as a betrayer of my people."
"We will not live under Magoli laws," Long said, his voice firm. "We understand your good intentions, but surrendering and betraying our people is something we will not do."
Chinua's gaze was steady, her voice unwavering. "How can you betray your people," she said, "when they are already willingly surrendering to us?" She let the silence stretch, the weight of her words a physical presence in the cell. Her voice then softened, the sound a striking contrast to her earlier sharpness. "If your loyalty is to Nue-Li City, then swear to guard it. Swear not to raise your sword against a Magoli, nor to rise up to reclaim it for the Gimsong Kingdom. Swear this, and the city is yours to protect."
The three men's eyes widened, turning to each other in a silent, stunned exchange. They had braced for threats and demands, but not this. Confusion replaced their defiance, and Chong's voice finally broke the stillness. "What do you mean by that?" he asked, his cold gaze finally wavering.
Chinua sighed, the sound heavy and weary. "We both know the history of this city isn't written in ink," she said, her voice soft but heavy. "It's written in blood. The blood of fathers and sons, brothers and husbands. Magoli and Ginmiao alike."
She paused, letting the weight of her words hang in the stale air. "Pride is what neither of us is willing to give up," she continued, her gaze settling on them. "And because of that, so many innocents have suffered, believing that their lives were a fair price for a victory. We understand that if we each took a single step back, so many lives could be saved, and yet we still cling to that pride, believing it is our one true purpose."
Chinua continued, her voice clear and measured. "I have written to my king, suggesting for Nue-Li City to be a neutral city that belongs to the people who live here, not as a part of the Hmagol or Gimsong kingdoms." She held their gazes, her conviction unwavering. "And I believe that my reasons are compelling enough to make my king agree to the terms I have proposed."
She paused, her gaze settling on the three men. "Making Nue-Li City a sanctuary is a win for both our kingdoms," she said, her voice filled with quiet conviction. "It creates a buffer zone, preventing senseless deaths. It can rebuild the trust between our peoples. Perhaps one day, we could even sit at the same table and share a meal, as our ancestors once did."
The philosophical tone vanished, replaced by a steely resolve. "I didn't tell you all this out of fear," she said, her voice dropping to a low, dangerous level. "Do not misunderstand me. I did not say this because I fear you or your army. I want you to know the truth: if we go to war, I won't stop at this city. I will only stop when my army stands at the border of the Golden Triangle, facing the Kosanz Kingdom."
Chinua rose gracefully from the ground, brushing the dirt from her clothes with a calm, deliberate motion. She looked down at Chong, Xao, and Long, her voice soft but clear. "I once knew a very stubborn old fool who was willing to march his men straight to their deaths," she began. "But he learned that the greatest victory is one with no blood spilled, and a general's greatest reward is watching his men return to their families."
A flicker of understanding, a deep and unsettling truth, passed over the three men's faces. "So, I ask you," she continued, her voice dropping to a near whisper, "do you want to stand with him and hear the laughter of families, or stand opposite him and hear their cries?"
Chinua and her two guards walked out of the prison cell. The guard quickly followed, the heavy chain rattling as he locked the door. A final, metallic clang echoed in the cold corridor. Chinua let out a deep, weary sigh. "I've never claimed to be the cleverest," she said, her voice a quiet, final thought. "But I know this much: a family gathering is always a better sight than a family funeral." The three men inside the cell watched her and her guards as they slowly disappeared from sight, leaving them in the darkness, alone with her words and the difficult choice they now faced.
Meanwhile, Hye walked the open street, his head pounding with a hangover. He overheard the news of Jochi's punishment, a brutal story that landed in his chest like a cold, heavy weight. He ran, ignoring the stares of soldiers as he burst into the command tent, his chest heaving and his body reeking of stale wine. The tent flap slammed shut behind him with a thud, leaving him alone with a grim-faced Chinua.
"Is it true?" he gasped, the words ragged. His eyes, wide with disbelief and fear, sought hers. "Did you… did you truly punish him for the actions of his men?"
Chinua let out a long, weary sigh and placed the map of Nue-Li City on the table. She looked up at the still-gasping Hye, her expression grave. "It's true," she said, her voice flat. "The orders were clear, but the soldiers chose to ignore them. And Jochi chose to look away."
She held his gaze, her words a heavy weight. "A soldier who disobeys a clear order is at fault. But a captain who lets it happen is just as responsible. In the end, a captain's failure to lead is a greater crime than a soldier's failure to obey. So yes, they were both punished."
Hye's hand trembled as he picked up Chinua's half-empty bowl. He ignored the stares of the others in the tent and brought the bowl to his lips, downing the last bit of mare's milk. The cool liquid was a sharp shock against his hungover body, and he let out a soft, humorless scoff. The punishment was only half-deserved, he thought, but a peculiar sense of triumph settled in his chest, a quiet and unsettling vindication. For the first time since he had set foot in this city, his heart felt a sliver of peace, as if he had finally, and in some small way, gotten justice for Nabi.
Hye let out a soft breath, a genuine smile spreading across his face. "I honestly never thought the teenager I knew would become someone like you," he confessed. His voice was quiet but held a deep sincerity, a mix of admiration and a little bit of awe for the fearless leader she had become. It was a simple truth, a quiet testament to the heavy burden she now carried so unflinchingly.
"If you really are going to praise someone, then praise yourself, because it's you who taught me so well," she said, looking up at him. Her gaze was direct, her expression unyielding. The brief moment of vulnerability vanished as she gestured toward the map on the table. "Now, if your mind is clear and the hangover is gone, take your seat so we can continue with the morning meeting."
Hye's head swiveled, and every eye in the tent was on him. Chinua's seven men and Haitao's seven watched with a respectful understanding, a silent acknowledgment of his unique place beside their commander. But Bilguun, Batzorig, and their captains saw only a civilian, a man with no rank, who had dared to intrude and question their commander. The weight of their combined gazes—some filled with curiosity, others with judgment—made him acutely aware of his place. He had an elevated status due to Chinua's respect, but he was still a stranger in this room of officers. Finding an empty stool, he quietly sat down, the gravity of the room settling over him.