I have fought in these mountains for too many years, in endless campaigns of useless bloodshed which have never brought us any further to our goals. So many men have died for one mans glory; so many sons taken from their fathers; so many husbands taken from their wives; so many men lie dead in these mountain passes, so that one dragon could ascend to the heavens. The bureaucrats and politicians tell us to retreat after the sighting of one shooting star? Is the war now over? Is everything we've fought for now forfeit? Was everything dependant on one mans vision? No!

I have fought for this country with pride and honour, scattering any enemies that stood before me, all in the name of the Han. Yet with the death of one man, we no longer fight? Maybe I have chosen wrong. Maybe the men of the north and east are not my enemies. Maybe it is the men who I have been following who are the true devils in this story. No man of Cao Wei, nor of Eastern Wu, has ever insulted me; no man born of Xuchang or Jianye has ever called my honour into question. No, it has been the men of Chengdu who have insulted me, ridiculed me, forced me to this untimely end.

So it is these men that I look towards now; facing me across this mountain valley, swords drawn, spears ready. Persecuting a traitor; that is what they will call it. Putting an end to a nuisance; finally ridding the great tree of Shu Han of its one bad apple.

A man is hailing me, from a top of white steed. I recognise him: Ma Dai, cousin of my friend Ma Chao, now long dead. This man is no heir to the Ma family honour; just another treacherous dog, like the rest of them. He is screaming at me, but I do not hear him. My hand finds my sword; sheathed at my waist. I slowly draw it from its scabbard and hold it before me. The setting sun glints off the white steel of the blade and for a moment I lose my thoughts, enraptured by its simple beauty. I can still hear screaming from across the valley, yet I pay it no heed. The sword has my full attention. How many battles have I fought with it in my hands? How many campaigns have been won on its edge? How many men has it slain? I cannot remember. The truth is I lost count long ago.

All I know is that its work is not quite done yet.

I look up and find the eye of Ma Dai. The torrent of abuse is not yet up. I fasten the straps on my helmet with my free hand, before taking hold of the reigns of my horse. I lift them high before yanking them down, kicking my erstwhile companion in the sides, raising my sword before me.

I ride to battle for the last time. Not against soldiers of Cao Wei or Weastern Wu, but of Shu Han. Not under orders from liars or traitors, but as a free man. I am Wei Yan and I shall die with my honour.