The Almighty Dominance (by Sunshine) novel Chapter 662

Zhang Hu woke to the taste of mud and blood.

His head pounded like a war drum. Pain burned in his neck and thigh where the needles had struck.

For a long moment he lay still, listening. No shouts. No clash of steel. No crackle of torches. Only the wind moving through dry grass and the distant croak of frogs.

He pushed himself up on one elbow. The field stretched empty in every direction. The ten thousand men who had marched with him were gone. No bodies. No abandoned weapons.

The ground where they had stood was trampled flat, but the rebels themselves had vanished as if the earth had swallowed them whole.

Zhang Hu staggered to his feet, sword still clutched in one numb hand. "My men!" His voice cracked across the empty plain. "To me! Form ranks!"

Nothing answered him but the wind.

He searched for an hour, moving in widening circles, qi flaring from his Core Formation senses. He found only a single dropped sickle and a torn strip of rebel cloth caught on a thorn bush.

No tracks led away. No blood. No sign of struggle. It was as if ten thousand men had simply ceased to exist.

Humiliation burned hotter than his wounds. He had led ten thousand men into battle. Now he stood alone in an empty field like a fool. The great Zhang Hu, reduced to nothing but shame.

He sheathed his sword with shaking hands. Then he turned south and began the long walk back to the main Yellow Turban camp.

He traveled for three nights and two days, stealing food from isolated farmsteads and avoiding every road. His wounds festered. His pride festered worse.

By the time the familiar smoke of the main camp rose on the horizon, Zhang Hu had shaped the story in his mind. Not the truth — the truth was too small, too humiliating. He needed something that would make men follow him again. Something that would turn shame into fury.

The great hall smelled of sweat, smoke, and unwashed bodies. Torchlight flickered across the faces of the other leaders as Zhang Hu pushed through the hanging hides and stepped into the circle of light.

Conversation died. Every eye turned to him.

"Zhang Hu," one of the older commanders said slowly. "We heard your force was destroyed. How did you escape?"

Zhang Hu met their gazes without flinching. The lie came out smooth and hot with real rage.

"The governor's dogs used sorcery. Black water fell from the sky and killed every torch. Then shadows moved among us. My men disappeared one by one — swallowed by the darkness. When I tried to rally them, some of my own captains turned their blades on their brothers. Bought with promises of land and women. They betrayed us to Bai Xiaochun. The rest were slaughtered or dragged away and collared like animals."

A low, ugly murmur rolled through the hall.

He leaned forward, both hands planted on the scarred table.

"And while our brothers bleed in the dirt, that dog sits in his silk palace, building a harem of a thousand whores with the grain he steals from our people. His officers beat peasants in the streets and take their daughters for sport. The stories spread faster than fire. The people curse his name by day and pray for someone to end him by night."

His fist came down hard enough to make the cups jump.

"We will answer those prayers. I want fifty thousand men. This time we strike at the heart — Changyi itself. We burn the pleasure palace to ash. We drag Bai Xiaochun into the street and make him watch while we take everything he loves. Then we mount his head on a spear high above the gates so every governor in Xia can see what happens when they treat the people like cattle."

The leaders, Zhang Bao, Zhang Jue and Zhang Liang looked at one another.

The lie had taken root. The rumors of Bai Xiaochun’s silk palace and his cruelty toward the people had already done most of the work. One by one, they nodded.

Zhang Bao spoke first, voice low and hard. “You are our little brother, Zhang Hu. But we will not accept another mistake.”

Zhang Hu stood with his spine rigidly straight, cold sweat tracing down his back. “I heard Bai Xiaochun annihilated fifty thousand of Liu Dai’s men. Fifty thousand won’t be enough. Give me a hundred thousand soldiers this time.” His voice grew firmer. “I swear on our father’s name, I will not fail again.”

Zhang Bao turned to the eldest. “Big brother, give him one last chance. With that many men we can take both provinces from that hateful dog. We can end this.”

Zhang Jue was silent for a long moment. “Fine. One hundred thousand. No more mistakes.”

Zhang Hu bowed his head, the tension in his chest easing just enough to let him breathe. “Thank you, brothers.”

He lifted his gaze again, and this time there was steel in it.

“This time we do not slink through the dark like thieves. We march straight to Changyi in broad daylight. We send heralds ahead. We demand open battle. Let every governor in Xia watch as we tear Bai Xiaochun’s pleasure palace down around his ears and hang his head above the gates.”

He had just straightened to stretch his back when the low hum of a drone grew louder overhead.

He looked up. One of the black machines was descending slowly toward the edge of the works, its cargo hold open. Inside sat a woman clutching a bundle, two elderly figures, and three small children pressed close together. The drone touched down gently on the packed earth.

For a moment, nothing happened.

Then two men working nearby dropped their shovels as if they had been burned.

“Wife!” one of them roared, voice cracking.

“Father! Sister!” the other shouted at the same time.

They ran.

The first man reached the woman and swept her into his arms so hard her feet left the ground. She buried her face in his neck and sobbed. The second man fell to his knees in front of the old man and woman, clutching their hands, his broad shoulders shaking. The children threw themselves at both men at once, crying and laughing and talking over each other.

Chen Hao stood frozen, shovel still in his hand.

He watched as the two families clung to one another in the middle of the half-built dike, tears cutting clean tracks through the dust on their faces. No one told them to get back to work. No one shouted orders. The other laborers nearby simply paused, tools resting against their legs, and let the moment pass in silence.

This was happening more often now.

Every few days another drone would arrive carrying wives, parents, or children. Men who had once marched with nothing but rage and empty stomachs now dropped everything the moment they saw their people again. They held them like they might disappear. They cried without shame.

Chen Hao looked down at his own callused hands, then back at the families still locked in their embrace.

Two days, the voice had promised.

He drove the shovel back into the earth, but the rhythm of his work had changed. Each movement now felt lighter, as if the weight he had carried for years was slowly being lifted from his shoulders.

Out here, on this new land, there was no more killing. No more running. No more fear that tomorrow would bring only hunger and death.