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

The night was like thick asphalt poured onto the scorched earth of Isfahan, and the broken walls and ruins were filled with the pungent smell of sulfur and blood.

The charred wood was still sizzling, occasionally emitting a few sparks, coating the broken pottery and scattered weapons with a dark red layer.

Muawiyah took off his helmet and let his sweaty black hair fall in front of his forehead. A hideous old scar on his angular face was faintly visible in the flickering firelight.

Justinian II curled up on a gold-embroidered cushion, his purple imperial robe stained with vomit wrinkled into a ball, and his jeweled crown hung askew in his messy hair, looking like a child stripped of his gorgeous clothes.

His nails dug deep into the brocade, and the dirt that had been stuck on his fingers when he was avoiding the bombing was still embedded in the gaps between his fingers. His body couldn't stop shaking.

The emperor, who once stood under the dome of Hagia Sophia and accepted the worship of the people, was now like a frightened bird, afraid of the Tang army's firearms.

"Your Majesty, you shouldn't do this."

Muawiyah knelt on one knee, his bronze wristband slamming heavily on the malachite-inlaid floor tiles, shaking off a cloud of choking dust. "Anyone can surrender, but not you. You represent the Holy Roman Empire, you represent orthodoxy."

He reached out and lifted Justinian's chin, his fingertips brushing against his trembling skin. The rough touch carried calluses from years of gripping knives. "The blood of Constantine the Great flows through you."

"When you bow your head, the waves of the entire Mediterranean will weep for it - are you worthy of the dome of Hagia Sophia and the bloody Roman legions of generations?"

Justinian's pupils suddenly contracted, but now, the Tang army's divine fire crows easily tore his pride apart, and he was now curled up in the tent like a frightened bird.

He looked at Muawiyah's cloak, and a bitter taste of rust rose in his throat. "But we are no match for the Tang Dynasty..."

"Once upon a time, we went to war against each other."

Muawiyah suddenly untied his cloak. "But at this moment, the Arab Empire is willing to submit to Rome. My land, my people, and my scimitar will become your sword and shield."

He drew the scimitar from his waist, the blade pressed against his palm. Blood flowed down the blade, spreading dark red flowers on the malachite floor tiles. "A pile of loose sand cannot stop the divine fire of the Tang Dynasty. Only by reforging the glory of Rome can the Crescent and the Cross stand together to fight against the powerful enemy."

Justinian's Adam's apple rolled violently: "But...but the Tang Dynasty's firearms..."

Before he could finish his words, the sound of heavy horse hooves suddenly came from afar, and the earth trembled slightly.

"Your Majesty, please look!"

Muawiyah flung open the tent curtains. The night wind blew in, carrying the smell of sulfur. Torches in the distance blazed brightly, like a winding red snake slithering across the horizon.

The moonlight fell on the scales of the knight in front, reflecting a cold silver light - that was the chain mail craftsmanship that had been lost in Byzantium for a hundred years. Each piece of armor was emitting a dark blue like water waves, and the double-headed eagle emblem on the chest was emitting scarlet in the firelight.

These knights stood as tall and straight as pine trees, their warhorses clad in armor made of fine steel, and every step they took produced a heart-stirring rhythm.

"Ironclad Paladin!"

Justinian staggered and held on to the pillar.

Deep in my memory, the legend that my grandfather told me before bed suddenly came to life: General Belisarius led such cavalry to flatten the North African desert and recapture the Roman territory.

And at this moment, these warriors who only existed in epics appeared before his eyes alive.

Further in the distance, dozens of specially designed siege vehicles slowly advanced, their shafts wrapped with mysterious pottery jars. The surfaces of the jars were engraved with ancient runes and covered in layers of black leather.

An Arab soldier stepped forward and lifted the oilcloth. A dark green liquid flowed strangely in the moonlight - it was the long-lost Greek fire!

Legend has it that this liquid will ignite when it comes into contact with water, and can burn a sea of ​​fire on the sea surface. It is the most terrifying weapon of war.

Justinian's breathing became rapid. The scene before him was so shocking that he almost suspected that he was still dreaming.

"Although Arabia is not as wealthy as the Tang Dynasty," Muawiyah's voice rang out in his ears with unquestionable determination, "but we have hidden a thousand armored holy cavalry and three hundred pots of Greek fire."

"These were originally trump cards prepared to recover lost territory."

He looked at Justinian, his eyes burning like torches, "Now, they will all fight for your majesty!"

Outside the tent, the cavalry formations were lined up in an orderly manner.

The leading knight took off his helmet, revealing a face covered with scars. He was none other than the bravest Arab warrior.

He spurred his horse forward, knelt on one knee, and the dust flew up from the ground. "Your Majesty! Once upon a time, the Roman legions swept across the world. Today, we are willing to transform ourselves into your spears and plunge them straight into the heart of the Tang army!"

Behind him, a thousand armored paladins raised their spears at the same time. The sound of metal clashing was like thunder, startling a flock of crows in the ruins in the distance.

Justinian's hand trembled slightly as he reached out to straighten the crooked crown.

The defeat in the battle five years ago and the cowardice that had just been frightened by the Divine Fire Crow surged into a blazing torrent in his chest.

He took a deep breath and stepped onto the ruined platform. Although his voice still trembled slightly, it struck everyone's heart like a hammer: "All troops, listen up! March towards Damascus! The glory of Rome will be restored in our hands!"

A thunderous response erupted from the army, and the uneven shouts contained the hope of revival.

The Indian guards led by Kefu immediately formed a team, and a galaxy of blades flowed into the distance.

The Arab cavalrymen raised their scimitars high, and the moonlight condensed into frost and snow on the blades.

The remaining Byzantines put on their blood-stained armor again, and the flames of battle ignited in their eyes again.

In the crowd, an old soldier who had lost his right arm was shouting with all his might, leaning on his broken sword, tears mixed with dust forming grooves on his face.

Several children accompanying the army also clenched their fists and imitated the adults in cheering.

Muawiyah looked at the departing team.

He turned to his adjutant and whispered, "Send someone to notify the Bedouin tribe in the desert and have them lay quicksand traps along the route the Tang army must take."

"Tell the craftsmen to speed up the preparation of Greek fire. Five hundred jars must be completed within three days."

The night wind howled past, blowing up scorched earth all over the ground.

Muawiyah mounted his horse and led his guards at gallop in the opposite direction.

He wanted to prepare a "grand" welcome ceremony for the Tang army on the ruins of Isfahan - under the city walls destroyed by the divine fire crows, hundreds of large vats were secretly filled with Greek fire, waiting for the Tang army to step in, so that they could see that the anger of the Arabs could also burn through the clouds.