Chapter 386
The Camp That Began to Collapse
In the immediate aftermath of the defeat at Dragon Bay, Chen Youliang's main camp swayed like a forest struck by a violent wind.
The screams of the routed army had ceased, yet the silence that followed cut even deeper.
Cold air drifting up from the Qinhuai River seeped into the heart of the camp, pressing down on every breath.
That evening, Chen Youliang stood before his command tent, gazing out at the shattered battlefield.
His shoulders were rigid, his eyes dark like those of a long-starved beast.
Behind that silence, low whispers spread among his subordinate generals.
An old minister spoke cautiously.
"His Majesty's judgment is entering dangerous ground once again."
A nearby strategist swallowed.
"He does not accept defeat easily."
The old man shook his head.
"To survive, this is the moment when one must accept it."
"But he cannot make that choice."
Those words precisely captured the aura of a defeated ruler that had spread throughout the camp.
Across the headquarters—now reduced to less than half its former strength—unseen fractures were opening one by one.
The first rupture came from Noh Wonryong, a general once known for his caution.
Leading several hundred troops from his home region, he slipped south under cover of night.
"This war ends here."
"If we remain, all will fall."
By dawn, news of his departure had spread across the camp.
He was soon followed by Jang Cheongyu, who defected to Zhu Yuanzhang's camp under the pretext of taking responsibility for the defeat—carrying with him detailed maps of Han territory and supply routes.
The third was Gwak Jun, Chen Youliang's most trusted deputy commander.
Leading his horse away, he spoke calmly.
"I regret that I could not fight for you to the end."
"But from now on, my life is my own to protect."
His departure struck directly at the army's core.
At the council convened the next day, Yun Dam spoke with restraint.
"My lord, now is the time to withdraw."
"If we strike Nanjing again—"
"Enough."
For the first time, Chen Youliang's voice wavered.
"I do not abandon opportunities granted by Heaven."
His mind remained trapped in the sensation of victory.
The moment that momentum vanished, fear surged—fear of returning to being merely one contender among countless warlords.
Yun Dam continued calmly.
"My lord, the path must be corrected now."
Chen Youliang slammed the table.
"You claim I have erred?"
"I—the one who divided the realm?"
At that moment, half the generals lowered their eyes.
Within that silence, the conclusion was already present.
General Yu Chong could restrain himself no longer.
"If we turn on Nanjing again, the remaining forces will be wiped out."
"This is no longer war—it is the end of pride."
Chen Youliang's hand trembled.
His gaze was no longer fixed on the enemy, but on allies who no longer answered his command.
"…Those who do not draw their blades at my word are enemies."
That single sentence froze the headquarters.
Glances were exchanged.
A shared judgment settled in: this army could no longer sustain a war.
As night deepened, soldiers began to move quietly.
Pretending to polish blades or refill water skins, they slipped away one by one—
to their homes, across the river, or into Zhu Yuanzhang's camp.
By morning, the army had halved once more.
Chen Youliang stood before his tent, staring at the hollowed camp.
"…They have gone."
No one answered.
Facing the wind, he spoke in a low voice.
"…Who remains at my side?"
Silence continued to answer him.
Those who stand together in prosperity scatter when hardship arrives.
That stillness spread like a funeral drum announcing the end of a fallen ruler.
Watching from afar, Park Seongjin recalled the sensation he had felt on the battlefield.
"So this too is flow," he murmured.
Song Isul replied quietly,
"Those who survive follow the flow. Those who vanish oppose it."
Seongjin's gaze rested on Chen Youliang's back.
"…He has lost the grain."
Those words quietly foretold the direction the wars of the Central Plains would now take.
At the heart of Chen Youliang's command tent, a central pillar creaked and sank.
The sound lingered long—like the sound of an era splitting apart.