Li Shimin faked his death? Then I will be powerful enough to conquer the world!

The dusk was like thick blood ink, slowly spreading across the ruined walls of Isfahan, making the dark red bloodstains in the cracks between the bricks and stones shine.

Kefu walked forward on the charred rubble, the soles of his boots rolling over the finger bones of soldiers from unknown countries, making a crisp sound.

He looked at the broken limbs and corpses scattered across the scorched earth. The rotten flesh mixed with the unburned tent fabrics gave off a sickening sweet smell in the night wind.

The ears were still echoing with wailings one after another, including the dying mutterings of soldiers in a strange language and the mournful cries of wounded horses on the verge of death.

When Khufu spoke, Muawiyah was wiping his scimitar with a blood-stained cloth.

It was picked up from the side of a Byzantine soldier who was blown to pieces by the Divine Fire Crow. At this moment, the blood clots on the blade had turned dark red.

It glows eerily in the sunset.

The hilt was wrapped in faded silk, with the Byzantine royal iris pattern faintly visible, but now it was soaked in blood, becoming sticky and heavy.

"Kefu, look at the Byzantine emperor. Do you believe that our hope of success lies in him?"

Muawiyah's voice was as hoarse as sand grinding on rough gravel.

He leaned against the half-broken watchtower, the crescent-shaped guard of the scimitar at his waist flickering in the twilight.

His eyes passed over the burning tent and fell on the cowhide tent where Justinian was hiding in the distance.

The tent embroidered with a double-headed eagle emblem was shaking violently in the night wind, and the edges of the gold embroidery thread were burned with charred holes.

Kefu turned his head to look at the leader of the Arab Empire in disbelief, and saw from the corner of his eye that Susulia also had her eyes wide open. The usually calm Susulia also showed a rare look of astonishment at this moment.

In the distance, Justinian was being carried by his personal guards and staggering forward. His purple imperial robe was stained with ashes and vomit, and his jewel-encrusted crown hung askew on his head. He looked exactly like a frightened deserter.

"How is that possible?" Kefu finally found his voice, with uncontrollable doubt in his words.

"He can't even command his own guards. When the explosion happened just now, I saw him hiding under the shield and trembling all over. Such a person..."

He recalled the absurd scene half an hour ago: when the first divine fire crow landed, Justinian screamed and crawled into the wooden box filled with parchment scrolls, his nails scratching deep marks on the box boards, and the corner of the box tore a long tear in the noble imperial robe.

"You can't believe it, right? To be honest, I can't believe it either, but that's the truth."

Muawiyah put his hand on Khufu's shoulder. His eyes were as deep as the Persian Gulf under the night sky, reflecting the flickering flames in the distance, and the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes were filled with smoke and dust.

"If you must ask me why, then I can only tell you that he is the final successor to the Holy Roman Empire. He is the orthodox. In this land torn apart by war, only the orthodox can lead the coalition forces to victory."

Susulia stroked his beard thoughtfully, his metal armor making a slight clanging sound as he moved. "But Caliph, the Holy Roman Empire has long lost its former glory..."

“It is precisely because it is dilapidated that it deserves to be rebuilt.”

Muawiyah interrupted him, picked up half a broken piece of pottery, and drew a vague outline of a map on the charred ground.

The pottery fragments had sharp edges, making a crackling sound as they were dragged across the ground. "Look, the Indians, the Arabs, the remnants of the Persians, no matter how brave and skilled we 'wild men' are, we are still outsiders in the Western lands."

"But Justinian is different. The blood of the Roman legions flows in his veins, and his crown has received the holy light of Hagia Sophia."

"When he stood up and shouted 'Fight for Rome', the nobles hiding in the ruins and the scattered knights would regroup."

His fingertips pointed at the location of "Constantinople" marked on the pottery fragment, where the city walls that had stood for a thousand years still stood.

Kefu was silent for a long time, and finally understood the deep meaning in Muawiya's eyes.

Everyone knew that beneath Constantinople lay twelve secret vaults filled with enough gold to form three elite cavalry units.

If only in the name of orthodoxy...

His Adam's apple moved, and he suddenly realized that this was not only a military strategy, but also an elaborate political scam - using the afterglow of the Roman Empire to ignite the fire of resistance throughout West Asia.

"Kefu, do you believe me?"

Muawiyah suddenly grabbed his wrist with a force that was almost burning.

The palms of this Arab leader were covered with calluses, and there was an old scar at the base of his palm, which was the mark left by the bloody battle with the Turks.

Kefu looked at the leader in front of him who pulled the Arab Empire out of the humiliation of the Ali era, and recalled the scene when they first met. Muawiyah broke into the Indian camp alone, with only a scimitar hanging on his waist, but persuaded his entire clan to migrate with just three sentences.

At this moment, he patted his chest with one hand without hesitation.

"I believe in you, Caliph!"

"Okay, then you listen to me."

Muawiyah glanced at the wounded being carried away by soldiers in the distance. The white cloth on the stretcher was soaked with blood, leaving a winding trail on the ground. "We can't hold this place anymore. Take your army and your people and move back. This is retreat, not escape. Go to Damascus and build a second line of defense."

He paused, reached out and took off his cloak. The brocade embroidered with the crescent emblem fluttered in the wind, and the silver thread on the edge flickered in the firelight.

"From the moment you leave, you are the commander-in-chief of the coalition forces."

"Take the Byzantine emperor with you and support him—remember, make him feel that he is the one giving the orders."

"Caliph, what are you doing? We can go together!" Kefu looked at the other's resolute profile and suddenly realized some terrible truth.

Muawiyah shook his head and picked up a piece of the still smoking fragment of the Fire Raven of God, with an unburned fuse still on the metal surface.

The edge of the fragment was as sharp as a knife, cutting his fingertips and causing blood to drip onto the scorched earth.

"No, you all can go, but I can't."

"This is my home. The coalition forces' morale has been broken. I want them to rally. If they all leave, we will only suffer repeated defeats."

He suddenly smiled, a smile that was a bit crazy, his teeth gleaming white in the firelight, "I want to let them know that the Tang army is not invincible."

Before he finished speaking, Justinian's sharp cry for help came from afar.

The sound was like a rusty iron nail scraping across the eardrum, trembling with tears and mixed with curses against God.

Muawiya patted Khufu's shoulder and turned to walk towards the tent.

Susulia followed closely and whispered, "Caliph, at least let me stay..."

"Take our people and go ahead." Muawiyah didn't even turn his head, his cloak swirling in a black arc behind him. "Tell Kefu that if he encounters Byzantine nobles on the road, tell them that Justinian wants to rebuild the Roman Senate in Damascus."

His voice was torn apart by the wind, mixed with the sound of explosions coming from afar, and dissipated in the air filled with the smell of sulfur.

Justinian huddled in the corner of the tent, clutching the gold-embroidered cushion with both hands, with dirt embedded in the cracks of his fingernails.

Seeing Muawiyah lift the curtain, he rushed over like a drowning man grasping at a lifeline, his face covered in tears and soot: "Muawiyah, no, Caliph, we can't fight anymore! We are no match for them! Surrender, Caliph!"

A large hole was burned in the hem of his royal robe, revealing the linen shirt embroidered with the image of a saint. At this moment, the saint's face was also blurred by blood.

Muawiyah stared at the distraught emperor and suddenly reached out his hand.

Justinian instinctively shrank back, but saw the smoke-stained hand gently brush across his cheek, wiping away the coal dust bit by bit.

When his fingertips brushed Justinian's trembling eyelids, the emperor suddenly whimpered like a wronged child.

"Your Majesty, anyone can say surrender, but you cannot."

Muawiyah's voice was deep and powerful, striking Justinian's heart.

Justinian was stunned, his ears buzzing.

"Your Majesty... Your Majesty?"

He repeated it blankly, as if this name he had been used to hearing since childhood had weight for the first time.

When he was crowned at the age of twelve, the dome of Hagia Sophia shone golden in the sun. The Patriarch placed the emerald-inlaid crown on his head, and the choir's singing shook off the gold powder from the dome.

When he was twenty years old and led his own army to fight, he waved a gilded spear amid the clouds of dust raised by the armored cavalry that crushed the enemy's defenses, followed by his people who shouted "Victory".

But later, he was defeated by the Arab army led by the man in front of him and lost a large amount of land.

And at this moment, this person who gave him nightmares actually called him His Majesty?

"What did you call me, Caliph?"

He pointed at himself tremblingly, his voice so low it sounded like a whisper.

Muawiyah knelt on one knee, took his hand and pressed it against the crescent emblem on his shoulder. The gold thread on the brocade hurt Justinian.

"Byzantine Emperor, the last heir of Rome. Have you forgotten that the banner of Constantine the Great once flew from Gibraltar to the Euphrates?"

When he looked up, his eyes burned with a passion that was both unfamiliar and familiar to Justinian, a fire that had once lingered in the eyes of every emperor eager to conquer. "Now, it's time for you to restore your glory."

Outside the tent, the night wind blew up the scorched earth all over the ground.

Kefu stood at a distance and watched this scene, and suddenly understood Muawiyah's real plan - this was not a simple strategic retreat, but to rebuild a legend that could compete with the Tang Dynasty on the ruins of defeat.

He gripped the scimitar at his waist and let out a long howl into the depths of the night.