The Night the Cannons Roared
Cheong yanked the blanket off in a hurry. With a loud pararak, the fabric whipped through the air, infused with inner energy, as wooden fragments clattered and scattered everywhere.
“Fire! Fireworks! Jincheonroe!”
“Huh?”
“Hey!! Danger!!”
Dang Nan-a hurled herself toward Cheong like she was diving into water. The two tangled together, rolled right off the bed, and tumbled across the floor in a chaotic heap.
And then—
BOOM!!
An ear-splitting explosion tore through the air, followed by a cacophony of shattering, ripping, and piercing sounds. Their ears went numb, ringing faintly from the shock.
Having served in the military in her previous life, the sound of a massive gunpowder blast snapped Cheong’s mind wide awake. Artillery!? This is fucking artillery, isn’t it!?
“Wait, since when did Murim have delayed fuses!?”
Unfortunately, these were the very same people who had turned burning things into a national pastime, reducing their own history and ancestors to nothing but charcoal. They were the Red Nation that had laughed while their own sons and daughters beat their parents to death, calling them relics of a bygone era, all in the name of the greater good. So of course the Chinese—original inventors of gunpowder, the ultimate fuel for burning, and pioneers of firearms—would have thought of shooting bombs far away.
On top of that, the Imperial Court had been grinding their teeth for over a hundred years, determined to wipe out all martial artists. The cannon foundries had been running nonstop night shifts for over a century.
“We need to get out of here right now.”
Knowing about artillery and actually getting hit by it were two very different things. Cheong’s face went pale with fear as she tried to bolt, but Dang Nan-a quickly grabbed her wrist.
“Clothes! Put your clothes on first!”
“We’re about to get blown up by a shell and you’re worried about clothes?”
“Hurry!!”
So while the ground shook with continuous booms and the roar of distant and near cannon fire echoed, the two women scrambled around trying to throw on their clothes.
With a sharp kwajik, another shell smashed through the wall. They dove to the floor and flattened themselves just as—
BOOM!
The entire world seemed to shake violently—
Giiiiiiik.
Suddenly, every piece of timber in the building let out an ominous, twisting groan.
“What are you doing? It’s collapsing! We have to go now!”
“Poisons! I need to grab my poisons!”
Dang Nan-a frantically yanked open drawer after drawer, sweeping their contents into her clothes, slipping vials into her thigh straps, pushing packets into her forearm guards, and hurriedly arming herself with practiced efficiency.
Then came a sickening wajik—a splitting sound that made Cheong’s chest tighten. She immediately scooped Dang Nan-a up by the waist and charged straight at the door.
It was just a wooden frame covered in paper, after all. A martial artist’s body could easily smash through it.
“Ack!”
Unfortunately, since she was carrying Dang Nan-a at her side, the girl’s head hit the door first. Dang Nan-a’s skull punched through the wood like a battering ram, leaving her head stuck in the middle of the door panel.
When Cheong finally pulled her out and set her down outside, Dang Nan-a glared at her with axe-like eyes, a broken doorframe still stuck around her neck like the wooden collars used on criminals in historical dramas.
“Ah. My bad.”
“Tsk! Whatever!”
Dang Nan-a ripped the doorframe off her neck and hurled it aside.
Chaos had swallowed the entire area. The air stank of burning. Thick black smoke billowed into the night sky, while flames shot up from the ground. The sharp whistling of shells cutting through the air, the crash of impacts both near and far, the sound of roofs and walls being smashed to pieces—all of it rang clearly in their ears.
And then came a desperate, bloodcurdling scream.
“Child! No! My child!”
“Old Man! I’m over here!”
Choe-ri-ong, who had been frantically digging through the rubble of the collapsed annex, rushed over and immediately felt along Cheong’s arms and legs. After confirming she was unharmed, he let out a visible sigh of relief and quickly draped a face veil over her head.
“What do we do now!?”
“Underground! There’s a passage!! This way!! Only step where I step and follow me!”
Dang Nan-a activated her lightness skill and dashed into the devastated inner compound of the Tang Family. Cheong followed right behind her, leaping over the shattered main gate, racing through narrow alleys, circling burning buildings, and weaving deeper into the complex.
When they finally reached the area behind one of the buildings near a pond, Dang Nan-a pounded the ground, dropped low, and somehow managed to lift a massive section of the floor.
“This way. Hurry.”
With those words, she grabbed the ladder attached to the wall and climbed down without hesitation.
Do we not need to close the lid? Cheong wondered, but since the homeowner’s daughter said so, she followed. As she climbed down the ladder, she heard a thunk from above as the lid closed midway.
Boom. Boom.
The sound of artillery fire reaching them underground was like the deep, resonant tolling of a massive drum. With every impact, fine dust rained down from the ceiling, pattering against the brim of the face veil on Cheong’s head.
Dang Nan-a, who had gone bareheaded, could only irritably brush the falling dirt out of her hair.
After making their way through the underground passage, they emerged into a wide cavern large enough to fit two or three buildings.
“Grandfather!”
“Aiya! So Seomun Cheong is safe too! Thank goodness!”
Surprisingly, the underground chamber was relatively calm. It was somber, but not sorrowful. The people looked shaken, but not terrified.
In the center, the Tang Family’s elite experts—faces Cheong had seen several times before—stood in a circle around a large table.
As Cheong approached, she spotted a familiar face. A pale but gentle-looking scholar who seemed born to spend his days reading books.
“Wait, Jayu? I thought your friend ran away?”
“Insolence! How dare you speak so carelessly in His Highness’s presence! Kneel and show proper respect at once!”
A small woman holding a spear shouted in a booming voice.
Cheong blinked in confusion.
“Huh? Why? Whose presence?”
“His Highness Prince Deokhyun, rightful ruler of Sichuan, is present! How dare a mere martial nobody lift their head so arrogantly!”
“Huh? Prince?”
“Ah! Your Highness! This humble girl has committed a mortal sin!!! Please forgive my previous rudeness!!”
A scream-like cry burst out from beside her. When Cheong turned, she saw Dang Nan-a already prostrated on the ground in a perfectly squared-off posture. She hadn’t had time to tie up her hair, so when she slammed her head down, her loose strands shot straight out like the bristles of a brush.
Cheong looked down at her with half-lidded eyes. This girl… she did the same thing last time. Aren’t her knees a bit too quick to hit the floor?
While Dang Nan-a remained completely motionless like a statue stuck to the ground, Cheong turned back to Jayu.
“Uh. Um. So you were a prince?”
Jayu gave an awkward shrug, looking embarrassed.
In the game of Janggi, the Cannon piece is usually placed near the Palace. Why? Because it is that important a piece.
By that same logic, the Imperial Army’s artillerymen were the absolute elite, handpicked from among the most outstanding soldiers in the Golden Army. They were not only physically robust but also loyal subjects whose fidelity had been thoroughly verified. They were scholars well-versed in ballistics and mathematics required for precise cannon fire.
Therefore, the defense of an artillery battery was not left to ordinary soldiers. A dedicated artillery guard unit, trained in martial arts, was stationed alongside them.
In Murim terms, these guards were at the upper end of the second-class realm—capable of properly wielding military weapons. When they formed proper battle formations and employed strategy, even martial artists would find them difficult to overcome.
However, among the Nine Great Sects and Ten Great Families, there was one faction with bizarre military strength. While they were considered lacking when facing true high-level experts, their notoriety against weaker opponents was unmatched.
“Hey, doesn’t something smell weird? What is that? It’s kind of sweet?”
“Peaches! It smells like peaches.”
A fragrant peach scent mixed into the cold night air.
“Peaches? Well, it is peach season… but who would be eating peaches in the middle of the night—khaak, cough.”
A soldier suddenly spat out a thick wad of phlegm, then rubbed at his itching nose.
“What the? Blood? Uh……”
The soldier staggered and collapsed with a thud.
“Squad Leader? What’s wrong?”
“I feel… a bit tired. Why is this happening?”
Something began flowing from his eyes as well—bright red blood streaming down his tear ducts.
“Squad Leader, blood! Blood! Khekh, cough, cough!”
The soldier who had been making a fuss suddenly let out a dry cough, then vomited violently.
“Huh…?”
At that moment, something the size of a child’s head flew in from afar and landed between them with a boom, rolling across the ground.
“Goddammit! Kehuk, kuhk. It’s a poison shell! Everyone swallow the antidote pills and cover your mouths with detox cloths!”
BOOM!!
Unfortunately, it wasn’t a poison shell. It was an explosive incendiary.
The iron fragments that exploded outward tore through flesh and bone. Their eyelids fluttered once, and then the two men were shredded beyond recognition, reduced to nothing but scattered remains across the earth.
---
Gradually the cannon fire lessened, and soon the thunderous explosions that had been tearing apart the night completely died down.
In the command tent, the Supervisor of the Imperial Censorate slammed his fist in rage.
“What is this!? Who ordered the cannons to cease fire!? Keep shooting! Turn the whole place into ashes…!”
“Urgent report! The First Battery has been completely wiped out.”
Another messenger burst into the command tent, cutting him off.
“It’s terrible! The Second Battery has also been annihilated!”
The Supervisor ground his teeth.
“How is that possible!? What were the artillery guards doing!?”
“Incendiary shells! The Tang bastards are using incendiary shells!”
Even ordinary soldiers with no proper martial training could wield devastating power with incendiary shells. All you had to do was light them and throw. But when used by true experts, their power increased exponentially.
And these were the Tang Family—masters of every kind of throwing technique. When their warriors threw incendiary shells infused with the subtle principles of hidden weapons, they became living cannons capable of precise long-range bombardment without needing barrels or gunpowder.
“How could a mere civilian family possess incendiary shells!? The audacity! These traitors!”
The Supervisor breathed heavily, seething with fury.
The manufacture of gunpowder was strictly forbidden by imperial law. Violating it was treated as high treason.
Even as the Supervisor stomped around in uncontrollable rage, new reports arrived announcing the annihilation of the Third Battery.
“No! Those were soldiers granted by His Imperial Majesty!”
Only then did the Supervisor take a long, deep breath and exhale.
“No… that’s not it. Yes, the traitors have finally revealed their true colors. This is actually good. Now we can mobilize the provincial armies and—”
The Supervisor decided to look at the bright side. Losing the batteries was painful, but thanks to it, they had discovered that the Tang Family had been secretly manufacturing incendiary shells.
Of course, he had known that illegal incendiaries circulated among civilians, but whether they bought them or made them, it was grounds to charge them with treason.
No matter how great the Five Great Families or how peerless their experts were, how long could they possibly hold out against hundreds of thousands of Golden Army soldiers?
With clear evidence, even the Murim would not dare interfere with an imperial operation.
Yes. Hundreds of thousands. Hundreds of thousands.
A single Imperial Guard Division numbered roughly six thousand men. Several such divisions were already stationed in each province. If they conscripted during wartime, Sichuan alone could gather nearly thirty thousand troops. Adding forces from the nearby provinces of Hubei, Shaanxi, and Guizhou would easily push the Golden Army past one hundred thousand.
The Supervisor was the head of the Imperial Censorate’s Surveillance Division. He possessed enormous authority, including the power to mobilize an entire province’s military command. Once a justification was established, he was a very, very high-ranking individual who could command a massive army.
It was then that another messenger burst into the tent so violently it nearly tore the fabric, kicking up clouds of dirt.
“This is disastrous!”
The Supervisor snorted.
“Yes, yes. I suppose the Fourth Battery has been wiped out too?”
Losing the batteries hurt, but two hundred cannons and eight hundred gunners were nothing more than a handful of sand compared to the entire Imperial Army. If throwing away one grain of sand secured them proper justification, wasn’t that something to be happy about?
“That’s not it! The Prince’s Flag! The Prince’s Flag has been raised! Those bastards have raised the Prince’s Flag!”
The Supervisor’s face crumpled instantly.