Xiqi's Central Army Tent had been trampled into ruins by its routed soldiers.
The Marshal's Desk lay tilted in the mud, bamboo slips scattered everywhere. Military orders had been crushed beneath boot soles, their ink smeared into a black stain.
Ji Fa's Marquis of the West's Robe was covered in dust, its hem trailing on the ground. His crown sat askew, two strings of jade beads broken and swaying gently beside his cheek.
Dusk deepened outside the tent, but his face was paler still.
"We've lost."
"We've lost everything."
He murmured the words, his gaze passing through the torn tent flap to settle on the figures running wildly outside.
Xiqi's soldiers threw away their helmets and armor, scrambling toward the rear camp, trampling wounded men and knocking over wooden carts laden with arrows.
Farther away, Yin Shang's cavalry swept after them in a cold tide of black armor. Battle cries, screams, and the clash of iron mingled, making the entire camp tremble.
The distant column of black smoke rose straight to the vault of heaven, lying heavy across Ji Fa's vision. Even drawing breath became difficult.
The provisions were gone.
The defensive line had broken.
Jiang Ziya had been captured alive, and even the God-Beating Whip that suppressed Xiqi's fortune had been taken by Zhao Gongming.
An army hundreds of thousands strong had scattered into broken banners and battered armor strewn across the ground.
The foundation he had painstakingly built over decades, the great Campaign Against Shang he had rehearsed again and again in his dreams, had been ground into the dust in a single day.
"Why?"
Ji Fa reached out to brace himself against a broken tent pole, pressing his palm against the split in the rough wood. Splinters pierced his flesh, but he did not move his hand.