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"The capital thinks Beiliang is a wall of stone," Lin Feng whispered, his voice cutting through the gale. "They forget that Beiliang is a wall of men. If they want this land to be a grave, we will make sure it belongs to the invaders."

A lone rider emerged from the white haze. The horse’s breath came in ragged plumes, and the rider’s armor was shattered, held together only by frozen mud and sheer will.

"The Northern Barbarians... they've crossed the Black River," the rider gasped, collapsing before the fortress steps. "The capital... they sent no reinforcements. They want us to die here, Lin Feng. They want the snow to bury the shame of their betrayal."

Lin Feng stood, the heavy silk of his white robe snapping in the wind. He didn't look back at the warm hearth inside or the maps of a kingdom that had abandoned him. He drew his blade. The steel hummed, a low, vibrating note that seemed to command the very storm to pause.

The or martial arts styles you'd like Lin Feng to use.