After securing the third and final stone fortress of the northern highlands, Jiedushi Shen took a mont to appreciate the silence of his new domain.
While the engineers dismantled the primitive gates of the captured keep to make way for proper defensive earthworks, Shen thodically reviewed the logistical reports laid out on the table before him.
The conquest had been almost insultingly swift. In a re fourteen days, his expeditionary force had swept across the jagged, rain-swept landscape, seizing thirty percent of the territory the local barbarians referred to as Alba. Dozens of squalid mud-and-thatch villages had been brought to heel, and the region’s three most prominent castles now flew the crimson and gold banners of his rogue dynasty.
However, with the initial conquest concluded, a new logistical problem presented itself. Shen commanded an army of fifty thousand professional soldiers. They were currently equipped with standard leather lallar armor, finely forged steel swords, composite bows, and the most closely guarded secret of the East: black powder.
Yet, maintaining an army of this magnitude in a fractured, primitive land required more than superior weaponry; it required imdiate infrastructure and absolute ideological loyalty.
Shen tapped a perfectly manicured fingernail against the rim of his teacup, his mind executing a flawless step-by-step deduction.
First, the n were exhausted from the sea voyage and the rapid military campaign.
Second, the local grain reserves were insufficient to feed fifty thousand mouths through a harsh winter.
Therefore, he needed to instantly transition his standing army from conquerors into a synchronized labor force capable of mass agriculture and industrial fortification. To do this, he needed to refra their exile from the collapsing Tang Dynasty into a divine mandate of supre conquest.
With his deductions finalized, Shen set his porcelain cup down.
From the shadows of the solar, his chief tactician and favored concubine, Lady Hua, stepped forward.
She draped a embroidered silk cloak over his broad shoulders, her touch light and reverent.
"The n are gathering in the lower valley and the courtyards, my Lord," she murmured softly. "Fifty thousand torches await your voice."
Shen reached up, capturing her delicate hand in his. He smoothed his thumb over her knuckles in a display of affectionate dominance, offering her a calm, wicked smile.
"They look out at this freezing mud and see the end of the world, Hua," Shen stated, "I look at it and see a blank canvas. By spring, we will have the local savages mining sulfur and iron until their spines snap, and our n will sleep in heated manors... But first, we must feed their pride."
Leaving Lady Hua to admire his intellectual superiority, the warlord rose from the chieftain’s seat and strode out onto the high stone balcony.
The sight below was staggering. The Scottish valley was illuminated by a river of fire. Fifty thousand Tang soldiers stood in perfectly disciplined formations, their torches pushing back the oppressive highland night. The faint glint of starlight caught the edges of tens of thousands of drawn swords and the brass fittings of their Heavenly Fire tubes.
They had taken three castles in two weeks, and they were vibrating with the adrenaline of undisputed victory.
Shen looked down upon his vast military apparatus. He raised a single hand, and the murmurs of fifty thousand n vanished into absolute, chilling silence.
"Sons of the East," Shen’s voice bood, "Two weeks ago, we stepped onto the shores of a forgotten world. The emperor we left behind sits in Chang’an, waiting for his empire to rot from the inside out. He clings to a dying age."
Shen paced slowly along the stone battlents, ensuring his deliberate words reached every commander in the valley.
"But you are not a dying breed. In fourteen days, you have shattered the greatest fortresses these barbarians could construct. You have claid a third of their nation without breaking a sweat. Their arrows bounce off your armor; their stone walls crumble before your gunpowder. They worship false gods, but over these last two weeks, you have shown them what true divinity looks like!"
A low, unified rumble of approval rolled through the ranks. Shen’s wicked smile widened slightly in the dark.
"Starting tomorrow, we do not just hold these three castles. We tear them down and build a capital that will make Chang’an look like a peasant village! We will ta this savage land, extract its wealth, and forge an empire!"
Shen gripped the stone railing, exuding a terrifying, majestic aura that washed over the gathered army.
"You are the vanguard of the new world! The land is yours. The glory is yours. Long live the new Dynasty!"
As the words left his lips, the valley erupted. Fifty thousand swords were thrust into the night sky, accompanied by a deafening, fanatical roar that shook the very foundations of the Scottish mountains.
Watching the absolute devotion of his heavily ard host, Shen felt a profound surge of mighty satisfaction. With the morale of his troops fully secured and his labor force mobilized, he turned back toward the warmth of his chambers.
...
While the pale light of dawn began to bleed through the dense Scottish fog, Vanguard Commander Bjorn stood at the helm of his lead ironclad.
Ahead of his small fleet of seven vessels lay the narrow, jagged inlet of the coastal loch. Beyond the towering stone cliffs sat the three captured fortresses, currently occupied by fifty thousand eastern soldiers. Through the mist, Bjorn could faintly make out the flickering torches of the Tang watchtowers.
The sentries were undoubtedly awake, keeping an arrogant vigil, waiting to slaughter any foolish barbarian who dared approach their newly conquered domain.
With the enemy’s periter established, Bjorn set his mug upon the reinforced iron railing and began to analyze the tactical variables.
The problem was straightforward: a direct naval assault against an enemy equipped with direct-fire brass cannons would result in a statistical failure. If his ironclads entered the enemy’s line of sight, the Tang artillery would eventually sink them through sheer volu of fire.
However, Bjorn quickly deduced that exposing his vessels was entirely unnecessary. The natural geography of the loch provided a perfect visual shield.
By anchoring his shallow-draft ships behind the towering coastal rocks, he could utilize the parabolic trajectory of Ragnar’s siege mortars.
With this tactical deduction finalized, Bjorn turned his attention to his chief artillery officer, a seasoned shield-maiden nad Torvi.
As she finalized the angle of the heavy iron cylinders, Bjorn approached her and rested a heavy, reassuring hand upon her armored shoulder.
Demonstrating a quiet, affectionate dominance, he offered her a wicked smile.
"Are the firing coordinates aligned with the topographic maps my brother provided?" Bjorn inquired.
Torvi nodded respectfully, keeping her voice low to avoid carrying across the water. "Yes, Commander. We are aiming blindly over the ridge. At this elevation, the fragntation shells will drop directly into the center of their valley encampnts. They are densely packed and, aside from the watchtowers, completely asleep."
"Excellent," Bjorn murmured, his gaze drifting back toward the hidden fortresses.
As he did so, he revealed the devious layer of his military sche. "We will show them that their Heavenly Fire is nothing but a spark compared to our industrial furnaces!"
After securing the heavy iron base plates of the mortars to the reinforced decks, the crews stood by, awaiting their commander’s final word.
"Comnce the bombardnt, Stagger the fuses. I want a continuous rain of iron!"
Following his strict command, the artilleryn sparked the fuses of the massive cast-iron shells. One by one, the mortars roared to life. The concussive blasts violently shook the ironclad vessels, sending deep, chanical thuds echoing across the dark waters. The heavy shells arced high into the misty sky, clearing the rocky promontory with mathematical precision before descending rapidly into the valley below.
While the Tang sentries in the watchtowers scanned the horizon for primitive wooden longships, the sky directly above their heads ripped open.
The ensuing devastation was absolute and thodical. The fragntation shells detonated monts before striking the earth, showering the tightly packed, sleeping encampnts with thousands of jagged, razor-sharp iron shards. Tents were shredded instantly. In the span of a few agonizing seconds, thousands of proud Tang soldiers were crushed and violently dismantled before they could even open their eyes to comprehend the threat.
Panic consud the valley as the invisible, parabolic bombardnt continued to fall from the heavens without a single enemy ship in sight.
As the muffled screams of the dying echoed over the rocky cliffs, Bjorn casually picked up his ceramic mug from the railing. Taking another relaxed sip of his warm tea.
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