If you want to read 20 Chapters ahead and more, be sure to check out my P-Tang12!!!
________________________________
(A/N: Also everyone I have a new novel named "From Couch To The Inquisitor", be sure to check it out and give some power stone)
...
The ancient, proud, and fierce independent rulers of western Honshu were being systematically dismantled by an empire that fought on a level of political and military sophistication they simply could not comprehend. The skies over the island darkened with the smoke of burning fortresses and the continuous, rolling thunder of black powder, signaling the violent, irreversible end of the Yayoi era in Western part of Honshu, and the dawn of absolute Hengyuan supremacy.
As the Hengyuan invasion force violently swept across the land, leaving nothing but the smoldering ruins of ancient wooden fortresses and the heavy, suffocating scent of black powder in their wake, the desperate leaders of the several surviving parts of the western Honshu factions frantically tried to band together in a last ditch, agonizing effort for survival.
The sprawling plains and dense pine forests of the west had become a graveyard for their independence. Recognizing that their individual, isolated armies were being systematically butchered by an enemy they could not comprehend, the proud warlords swallowed their immense pride.
Putting aside centuries of bloody, generational blood feuds, the ragged remnants of the Kibi Chiefdom, the surviving fanatical spearmen of the Izumo Confederation, and the opportunistic naval skirmishers of Tango and Harima hastily formed a grand, desperate tribal coalition.
They marched their remaining, battered forces away from the exposed, burning coastlines and deep into the rugged, unforgiving interior of the island. They amassed their remaining warriors, a bruised, terrified, but fiercely determined force of tens of thousands, in a massive, heavily fortified mountain valley surrounded by sheer granite cliffs.
They felled massive ancient cedar trees to create towering wooden barricades across the valley's only accessible entrance, foolishly believing that the narrow, choking geography of the pass would completely negate the devastating mobility of the Hengyuan heavy cavalry. They believed they could force the mainland demons into a grueling, bloody battle of attrition.
However, this desperate banding together was completely and utterly futile.
They were not fighting a tribal warlord who relied on frontal cavalry charges, they were fighting the apex of modern military doctrine. The four brilliant Hengyuan strategists, Guo Jia, Xi Zhicai, Sima Yi, and Jia Kui, had already flawlessly predicted this exact gathering. In fact, through a series of calculated, terrifying feints and the deliberate funneling of retreating native forces, Sima Yi and Guo Jia had actively herded the desperate coalition into that specific valley like sheep into a slaughterhouse.
Sitting in their heavily guarded command tent miles away, sipping hot tea while reviewing the topographical maps, the strategists simply nodded to Zhang Liao. The trap was sprung.
Using their terrifyingly precise strategies and tactics, the Hengyuan Army and Navy executed a flawless, continent spanning pincer movement. While the coalition warriors sharpened their iron swords and prayed to their ancestral gods in the cold mountain air, the unmatched Hengyuan Navy moved into position along the distant coastlines.
The massive, towering steam powered warships anchored themselves near the river deltas that fed into the valley's supply lines. With a synchronized, mechanical roar, they bombarded the coastal supply trails with heavy iron cannons and the devastating Fire Oil Cabinets. Sheets of unquenchable, sticky liquid fire rained down upon the coalition's rear guard and supply caravans, instantly turning the forest paths into a raging, impassable inferno and completely cutting off any hope of retreat or reinforcement.
Simultaneously, the main Hengyuan land army, marching with the silent, terrifying discipline of a mechanical beast, surrounded the high ridges of the valley. The indigenous warriors below, looking up at the ridgelines, suddenly realized their fatal mistake. The cliffs they thought would protect them were now occupied by thousands of Hengyuan engineers and artillerymen.
Standing atop the highest ridge, his dark cape billowing in the mountain wind, Zhang Liao raised his heavy gauntlet. He did not order a charge. He simply dropped his hand.
The Hengyuan artillery unleashed a sky darkening, apocalyptic barrage. Hundreds of Hwacha rocket carts, lined up wheel to wheel along the cliffs, shrieked to life. Tens of thousands of explosive, rocket propelled arrows tore through the sky simultaneously, leaving massive, localized clouds of thick gray smoke in their wake. Accompanying the rockets were heavy, iron tipped ballista bolts and explosive projectiles hurled from portable catapults.
The native coalition was instantly decimated. The sheer acoustic violence of the bombardment trapped within the echoing valley was enough to burst eardrums and shatter minds. The towering wooden barricades they had spent days building were completely pulverized into flying splinters in the first ten seconds. Explosive projectiles landed directly in the densely packed formations of Kibi swordsmen and Izumo spearmen, detonating with concussive force that threw armored bodies dozens of feet into the air.
It was not a battle, it was an advanced extermination. The grand, desperate coalition was shattered into pieces, completely broken physically and psychologically before they could even launch a single, coordinated charge. The proud Chief Kibitsuhiko and the fanatical warlords of Izumo died side by side in the mud, their ancient rivalries rendered entirely meaningless by the indiscriminate, egalitarian slaughter of explosive black powder.
When the one-sided slaughter and the final, sweeping cavalry attacks were completely done, silencing the valley save for the crackle of burning timber, the strict, highly efficient political and military consolidation was immediately initiated.
Jia Kui and Sima Yi wasted absolutely no time. The entirety of the conquered western part of Honshu was swiftly brought under the absolute, suffocating administrative rule of Lie Fan, just as they had done in Kyushu. The surviving natives were disarmed, their ancestral swords piled high and melted down in roaring Hengyuan smelting furnaces.
Strict censuses were taken, new imperial magistrates were installed in every pacified village, and the terrifying Oriole Agents wove their invisible webs of surveillance. The once proud independent chiefdoms of the west were seamlessly, brutally digested into the belly of the Black Dragon.
Meanwhile, as this brutal pacification and bureaucratic consolidation was actively happening in the smoking ruins of the west, a massive, unstoppable wave of sheer, unadulterated terror swept eastward across the island.
The very few fleeing, deeply traumatized surviving members from the destroyed factions in the western part of Honshu, men who had managed to crawl through the burning forests and escape the iron net, fled into the rising sun. They stumbled into the fertile plains and deep mountain passes, bringing horrifying, mind shattering tales to the major powers of Central Honshu.
They wept as they spoke of towering iron ships that breathed black smoke and vomited fire. They trembled uncontrollably as they described the deafening thunder weapons that could shatter a mountain, and the endless, perfectly disciplined legions of heavily armored demons who fought without fear, without mercy, and without honor.
This vital central region that the survivors had stumbled into was a massive, highly strategic, and culturally rich landscape. It was the beating heart of the archipelago, consisting of Owari, Mikawa, Suruga, Shinano, and the central Hokuriku/Koshi territories. Unlike the recently annihilated west, these powers were immensely wealthy, heavily populated, and boasted terrifying military traditions.
The geopolitical landscape of Central Honshu during this Yayoi period was a complex, fragile web of alliances and bitter hatreds.
Located directly in the center of the region, sprawling across the massively fertile, life-giving Nobi plain, were the agricultural crown jewels of the central lands, Owari and Mikawa.
Owari was a dominant, aggressive powerhouse. It boasted an approximate, densely packed population of 45,000 citizens. Its military strength was terrifying, fielding 8,000 highly disciplined spearmen and expert bamboo archers. They were ruled by the ambitious and physically imposing Chief Takeinawake, a warlord who believed his lineage was destined to conquer the entire island.
Bordering them was their neighboring, deeply entrenched rival, Mikawa. Though slightly smaller, with a population of 30,000, Mikawa fielded 5,000 fierce, religiously motivated warriors. They were guided by the revered, enigmatic High Priestess Otohime, a woman whose political cunning was masked by her supposed divine visions. Owari and Mikawa held a bitter, ancient, and bloody rivalry over the sprawling river networks that divided their lands, constantly skirmishing over water rights, fertile borders, and the strategic trade routes that utilized the rivers flowing to the southern sea.
To the east, standing as a heavily fortified geographical choke point, was the coastal chiefdom of Suruga. It was an incredibly wealthy domain that controlled the vital eastern sea routes and the treacherous, narrow mountain passes near the foothills of the great, snow capped sacred mountain, Mt. Fuji.
Suruga possessed a population of 35,000, supported entirely by the bounty of the sea. Their military consisted of 6,000 highly skilled marine skirmishers and heavily armored coastal infantry. They heavily relied on fishing and deep sea trade, their rulers growing fat and arrogant on the tolls they extracted from passing merchant vessels, believing their mountainous borders and powerful navy made them utterly invincible.
Looming to the north of them all, located deep inland, was the terrifying domain of Shinano. This was an impenetrable, high altitude mountainous natural fortress. The air was thin, the winters were brutal, and the people were carved from stone. Shinano held a rugged, incredibly hardy population of 40,000. Its terrifying military strength consisted of 9,000 hardened highland warriors and expert mountain hunters.
They were ruled by the fierce, unforgiving Warlord Suwa, a giant of a man who wore the pelt of a bear. Shinano controlled the most vital, highly prized iron sand and obsidian resources hidden deep within their volcanic mountains. Because of this, their weapons were highly lethal, sharper and more durable than anything fielded by the plains dwellers. The people of Shinano were traditionally deeply isolationist, looking down upon the politics of the lowlands, but their sheer military might formed a massive, impenetrable defensive wall against any central invasion.
Finally, located along the freezing, snow heavy, and unforgiving northern coastlines were the Central Hokuriku and Koshi territories. This region contained rugged, scattered smaller clans and isolated fishing settlements with a combined population of 25,000. They fielded 4,000 tribal warriors who were absolute masters of the harsh environment. They specialized in brutal winter guerrilla warfare, moving silently on snowshoes, and vicious coastal raiding, surviving in a land where weakness meant freezing to death.
For generations, these five distinct powers had endlessly plotted, skirmished, and vied for supremacy over the central lands. Chief Takeinawake of Owari had spent the last decade trying to assassinate High Priestess Otohime of Mikawa. Warlord Suwa of Shinano routinely raided the coastal wealth of Suruga just to remind them of their mortality.
But when the powerful rulers of these central territories heard the horrific, undeniable truth of what was rapidly happening in the western part of Honshu, the entire geopolitical paradigm of their world instantly shattered.
When they truly knew of the apocalypse marching toward their borders from the weeping, bleeding survivors, when they saw the soot stained armor, the vacant, traumatized eyes of the western warlords, and heard the descriptions of weapons that could melt stone and erase entire armies in a heartbeat, they were absolutely paralyzed with profound, existential fear.
The realization hit them like a physical blow. The Hengyuan Dynasty was not a rival clan looking for tribute, it was an apocalyptic force of nature intent on wiping their entire civilization from the face of the earth.
In the face of absolute annihilation, whatever petty tribal rivalries, blood feuds, or active, bloody border wars that were currently happening between them were instantly and permanently stopped. The archers of Owari lowered their bows at the Mikawa border. The highland raiders of Shinano retreated back into their mountain passes, leaving the coastal towns of Suruga untouched.
Recognizing with absolute, terrifying clarity that they would all be systematically slaughtered, their lands burned, and their cultures erased if they stood alone against the Black Dragon, the central powers did something they had not done in centuries. They immediately contacted each other.
Hundreds of desperate envoys on exhausted horses galloped furiously across the fertile plains of Nobi, through the freezing, snow-choked mountain passes of Shinano, and along the rocky, salt-sprayed coasts of Suruga. They carried urgent, frantic messages of unity.
A historic, deeply tense emergency summit was hastily convened in a neutral, sacred shrine located at the foothills of Mt. Fuji in Suruga territory.
Chief Takeinawake of Owari, stripped of his usual arrogance, sat across from High Priestess Otohime of Mikawa, their lifelong hatred buried beneath the sheer terror of the coming storm. The towering Warlord Suwa of Shinano stood beside the wealthy coastal lords of Suruga, and representatives from the freezing Hokuriku coasts huddled near the braziers.
In that sacred shrine, as the distant, faint booming of Hengyuan naval artillery echoed from the far western coasts, sealing the doom of their neighbors, the rulers of Central Honshu drew their daggers. They sliced their palms, letting their blood mix in a ceremonial bronze bowl.
They sealed ancient, unbreakable blood oaths to face these rising, god like threats together. They officially, desperately formed a single, united Central Honshu coalition, pooling their massive populations and their tens of thousands of warriors into one grand, combined army.
However, as the warlords looked at each other over the bloody bowl, a grim, unspoken reality hung heavily in the air.
Chief Takeinawake looked at his finest iron spear, then thought of the survivors' tales of Hengyuan cannons that could shatter mountains. High Priestess Otohime consulted her sacred bones, finding only visions of ash and fire. Warlord Suwa knew that even his hardened highland hunters could not ambush an enemy that possessed repeating crossbows and explosive rockets.
They knew, deep in their terrified souls, that even their combined mortal weapons, their thousands of elite spearmen, and their intricate, mountainous defensive lines still might not be enough to stop the industrialized, perfectly disciplined Hengyuan war machine. Mortal courage was simply useless against liquid fire.
The newly formed coalition realized they needed a miracle. They needed power that transcended the mortal realm.
In absolute, trembling desperation, the coalition leaders convened in secret. They drafted a frantic, pleading message, written in blood on pure white silk. They selected their fastest, most trusted, and most seasoned maritime messengers.
Under the cover of a moonless night, they launched a small fleet of incredibly swift, narrow boats out into the treacherous, churning waters of the inland sea, desperately avoiding the heavy Hengyuan naval blockades that were already beginning to choke the coastlines.
Their destination lay to the east, across the misty, unpredictable waters. They were sailing toward the mysterious, heavily isolated eastern island of Shikoku.
Shikoku was a land shrouded in deep myth and terrifying rumors. It was an island where the ancient gods were said to still walk the earth, hidden behind impenetrable mists and treacherous reefs. But more importantly, it was the absolute, unquestioned seat of power for the legendary Queen Himiko, the supreme, supposedly immortal ruler of the powerful, deeply mystical Yamatai Kingdom.
The messengers of the Central Honshu coalition rowed until their hands bled, their eyes fixed on the eastern horizon. They were not just seeking a military alliance; they were desperately seeking the divine, supernatural intervention of Queen Himiko.
They believed, with the blind, frantic hope of dying men, that only the supreme shaman queen of Yamatai, with her rumored legions of spirit warriors and her command over the elements themselves, could possibly stand against the numerous iron clad demons of the advancing Hengyuan Dynasty. The fate of the archipelago now rested on a desperate race against time. The Hengyuan vanguard was already marching eastward, their siege engines leaving deep, crushing ruts in the dirt roads, while the tiny wooden boats of the coalition desperately rowed toward Shikoku, praying to awaken a legend before the thunder of the enemies consumed them all.
______________________________
Name: Lie Fan
Title: Founding Emperor Of Hengyuan Dynasty
Age: 36 (203 AD)
Level: 16
Next Level: 462,000
Renown: 2325
Cultivation: Yin Yang Separation (level 11)
SP: 1,121,700
ATTRIBUTE POINTS
STR: 1,010 (+20)
VIT: 659 (+20)
AGI: 653 (+10)
INT: 691
CHR: 98
WIS: 569
WILL: 436
ATR Points: 0