Iron Dynasty Chapter 4: To Survive or to Perish
Previously on Iron Dynasty...
“Ideals are full, but reality is bony.”
Xiao Ming could still recall it clearly—during his school days, this had been his teacher's go-to phrase.
At this moment, he faced the brutal truth behind those words head-on.
Assessing his circumstances honestly—his territory was utterly impoverished, scarcely more advanced than ancient tribal times. The bulk of the arable land was controlled by noble families, reducing ordinary folk to mere toiling serfs.
Even possessing the Science Crystal, transforming this place would prove a grueling struggle.
From the inherited recollections, one fact stood out—Da Yu appeared calm outwardly, yet beneath lurked simmering turmoil.
Time pressed against him relentlessly.
Xiao Ming held no title as a military commander, yet to safeguard his domain, evade the swirling intrigues of Da Yu's court, and escape execution at the hands of his ambitious siblings and relatives, he needed to strengthen his fief.
It formed a cruel dilemma—tough to accomplish, but utterly essential.
“Clang… Clang… Clang…”
Resting against a stone arch over the water in the prince's manor, lost in contemplation of his territory's prospects, Xiao Ming jolted at the frantic tolling of a bell echoing from the city entrance.
“Barbarians.” His chest constricted.
This chime served as an urgent alert, dispatched by the wall guards to announce an assault by foes.
And from the wild intensity of the peals, it surely signaled the horsemen from the northern steppes.
In Da Yu, the clans of the vast northern plains were known collectively as the “Grassland Barbarians.” They mirrored the ancient Xiongnu, Turkic, and Mongol hordes—their historical impact unaltered.
Each fall, as their steeds grew robust and vigorous, they swept into the heartlands, ravaging and plundering. For the last three years, these raiders had spared his region.
Yet this season, they struck anew.
Remembering the ruin they unleashed three years prior, Xiao Ming trembled—the very echoes of their rampage chilled him.
This wasn't mere play.
In an age of edged arms, steppe riders dominated utterly—swift, agile, and masters of archery from horseback.
Nevertheless—across his six domains, not even a hundred mounted warriors existed. Defense behind the walls became his sole option.
Dread began to seep into his veins.
“This isn't some virtual trial. Death here means true end—no second chances.” Still, he clenched his jaw. “I've faced death before. What’s one more time?”
Ballistic his hands into fists, he bellowed, “Qian Dafu! Get the horses ready!”
“Qian Dafu!”
Soon after, Qian Dafu hurried over, his plump frame heaving with labored breaths.
“Your Highness! The mounts are prepared! I've grabbed every coin I could! The warning sounded from the North Gate—if we bolt through the South Gate right away, escape is still possible!”
Xiao Ming nearly toppled in astonishment. So this elder had plotted his getaway?
“Fool!” Xiao Ming snarled, landing a kick on Qian Dafu's backside that propelled him stumbling. This mirrored the old Xiao Ming's habit in fits of rage, and he replicated it without thought.
Qian Dafu stared in bewilderment. This behavior didn't match his lord at all.
Previously, even whispers of a barbarian assault would send the prince howling about fleeing to Chang’an.
Three years back, he had indeed run—only to get hauled back and lashed by Emperor Xiao Wenxuan in person.
The sovereign had cautioned him: “Dare abandon your lands once more, and I'll end you myself!”
Qian Dafu pieced it together suddenly—Xiao Ming wasn't showing courage; he simply dreaded returning to the capital for a fatal punishment.
Reacting swiftly, Qian Dafu proposed, “Your Highness, Chang’an isn't our only choice—but perhaps we seek refuge in Prince Wei’s domain?”
Prince Wei was Xiao Wenxuan’s third sibling—Xiao Ming’s uncle.
His holdings lay directly south of Xiao Ming’s territory.
When the royal estates were distributed, Prince Wei had eagerly positioned Xiao Ming’s as the frontline bulwark against the northern invaders.
The fellow proved heartless—and wholly untrustworthy. Even someone as naive as Xiao Ming recognized his uncle wouldn't offer sanctuary.
“No. Head to the battlements I will.”
Qian Dafu’s chubby visage drained of color in fright. He crumpled down, clutching Xiao Ming’s ankles, and wailed desperately.
“Your Highness, think this over! Swords and shafts spare none! Should harm befall you, how shall I ever meet Consort Zhen’s gaze?”
Xiao Ming fixed him with a stern look. “Qian Dafu, you served as my mother’s protector. And yet such timidity? How do you plan to aid my rise to glory? Is this fitting for a royal attendant? Should we forfeit the fief, what footing remains for you or me?!”
Qian Dafu went still.
Through years attending Prince Qi, never had he heard ambitions of grandeur voiced.
His chatter centered on feminine allure, Chang’an’s splendor, his domain’s misery and barrenness.
But now, his speech carried… motivation?
Xiao Ming shrugged him free and marched toward the entrance hall.
His pulse raced fiercely—this excitement was one thing, but execution loomed now.
By the portal, Lu Luo awaited with a modest package.
Next to her stood a young lady clad in violet attire—this was Ziyuan.
Unlike Lu Luo’s soft, southern grace, Ziyuan boasted fair complexion, lithe build, refined looks, and a sharp spark in her gaze.
She had just come back from procuring goods beyond the compound—arriving precisely as the barbarian onslaught erupted.
“Your Highness.”
Lu Luo and Ziyuan curtsied together. The attendant had commanded them to accompany the prince to Prince Wei’s territory.
Gazing upon the pair of lovely servants, Xiao Ming inwardly lamented.
“Such a pity. Who can say if I’ll return from this?”
Suddenly, he delivered a swift pat to each one’s rear, then vaulted atop his steed and charged toward the North Gate.
Shame and anger flushed Lu Luo and Ziyuan’s cheeks crimson. As they recovered, Xiao Ming had vanished from sight.
Qian Dafu arrived panting, witnessing Xiao Ming’s departure. Promptly, he mounted up and dashed in pursuit.
Lu Luo, still rattled, blanched. She assumed desertion. But Ziyuan stayed composed.
She eyed Qian Dafu and inquired, “Steward Qian, will you abandon us here?”
Qian Dafu retorted sharply, “Abandon you?! His Highness has lost his mind—he’s charging to the front lines!”
“What?!”
Ziyuan’s hand flew to her lips in disbelief. She’d never pictured this inept prince taking up arms.
Lu Luo, conversely, exhaled in ease. A glint danced in her eyes.
“Perhaps my judgment of him was spot on from the start?”
Meanwhile, Qian Dafu spared no moment for reflection. Urging his mount, he sped toward the North Gate.