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(A/N: Don't forget to give those power stones to Skyrim everyone!)
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The villagers were warned through the Goguryeo translators that any attempt to cross the line of black armor would be met with immediate death. This was an absolute strategic necessity, perfectly enforced so that the villagers wouldn't accidentally, or intentionally, alert the other tribes, the roaming patrols, and the warlords further inland about the true, apocalyptic scale of the invasion force that had just landed on their shores.
Furthermore, to guarantee that the island remained completely blind to their presence, the shadows of the empire were deployed. The Oriole Agents, the invisible operatives who had infiltrated the expedition disguised as common scouts and quartermasters, worked in flawless tandem with the perimeter guards.
They established a flawless, suffocating blockade that extended miles into the dense bamboo forests and mountain paths surrounding the beachhead.
They set up hidden tripwires, camouflaged observation posts in the high canopy, and silent ambush points along the dirt trading routes.
If there were any unsuspecting people coming down the roads from the inland territories, like traveling Yamato merchants carrying silk and rice, wandering ronin warriors looking for employment, or weary travelers that simply wanted to stop by the coastal fishing villages to rest or trade, they walked directly into an invisible, inescapable trap.
The blockade was a masterclass in silent subjugation. They absolutely aren't allowed to leave. The moment a traveling merchant stepped over a hidden marker and entered into the occupied zone, they were contained immediately.
There were no shouted warnings, no drawn swords clashing in the woods. Half a dozen Oriole Agents would seemingly materialize from the shadows, dropping from the trees or rising from the underbrush, silently incapacitating the travelers before they could even draw a breath to scream.
The captives were not killed, adhering to Zhang Liao's orders, but they were immediately stripped of their weapons and placed under comfortable but highly guarded house arrest within specially constructed wooden longhouses at the center of the Hengyuan camp.
They were fed the exact same rations as the imperial officers and treated with polite, cold professionalism, but they were surrounded by an impenetrable wall of spears. The Oriole Agents ensured a total information blackout.
Not a single rumor, not a single panicked messenger, and not a single whisper of the hundreds of thousands of mainland soldiers reached the ears of the inland Daimyos. As far as the rest of the Yamato kingdom was concerned, the southern coast had simply vanished into the mist.
As the days of the information blackout stretched on, the mighty Hengyuan navy had finally recovered its strength.
After several days of much needed rest on the solid beaches, and after the shipwrights spent countless hours repairing torn canvas sails, replacing strained ropes, and greasing the massive internal gears of the steam engines, the clarion horns sounded a deep, mournful note across the newly built harbor.
It was time to complete the logistical bridge. All of the massive transport ships, the towering galleons, and the heavy escort warships immediately weighed anchor. The steam whistles shrieked, the paddlewheels churned the blue water into white foam, and the massive sails caught the crisp coastal wind.
The armada executed a flawless, sweeping turn in the deep water and set sail, slowly disappearing over the western horizon, leaving a thick trail of black coal smoke in the sky. They were returning across the treacherous straits to pick up the rest of the soldiers, the heavy cavalry, and the remaining supplies from the Goguryeo staging grounds.
With the massive fleet gone, the psychological atmosphere on the beach completely shifted. There was no longer a towering wall of ships at their backs to provide a false sense of security or an easy avenue of retreat.
The beachhead had fully transformed into a heavily fortified Hengyuan stronghold, a self-sustaining city of tents, wooden palisades, and sharpened stakes, defended by an army of rested, perfectly disciplined killers.
Standing at the absolute forefront of his legions, Zhang Liao watched the last of the ships vanish over the horizon. He turned to face the dense, mysterious, and incredibly hostile mainland of the Wa archipelago. The sea sickness had vanished from his men, replaced by the cold, hard, and eager anticipation of seasoned veterans who had waited far too long to test their blades against a new enemy.
Zhang Liao reached down and smoothly drew his heavy, bespoke broadsword from its scabbard. The sound of the steel sliding against the oiled wood rang out with crystal clarity across the silent, waiting army. He raised the blade high, catching the bright island sun, and began to direct the fully rested, highly eager soldiers to officially begin their tactical movement.
"We march!" Zhang Liao's voice boomed, amplified by the silent, absolute obedience of his men. "Leave the garrisons to hold the docks! Vanguard, form the wedge! Crossbowmen, secure the flanks! We bring the Emperor's peace to the mainland!"
With a synchronized, earth shaking stomp of hundreds of thousands of heavy leather and iron boots, the army moved. Marching in perfect, disciplined formations that had been drilled into them through years of brutal mainland warfare, the Hengyuan legions pushed past the tree line.
They did not rush blindly into the unknown. They moved like a slow, deliberate, and utterly unstoppable tide of dark iron and crimson banners. The army began to systematically take down the surrounding native villages and small fortified towns that belonged to the southern domains of the Yamato kingdom.
When they approached a native wooden fortress, usually a simple, elevated structure surrounded by a dry moat and wooden stakes, guarded by a few hundred fiercely brave but technologically inferior warriors, the result was a calculated, mathematical slaughter.
The Hengyuan generals didn't even bother ordering infantry charges. They simply wheeled up the smaller, horse drawn field cannons and the devastating Hwachas.
A single, organized volley of hundreds of explosive, rocket propelled arrows would completely blanket the native fortresses in fire and shrapnel. The wooden walls would splinter, the thatched roofs would ignite into blazing infernos, and the defenders would be utterly pulverized before they could even draw their curved blades.
Any Yamato's warriors brave enough to charge out of the burning gates, screaming their battle cries to honor their ancestors, were immediately and coldly cut down by the relentless, organized volleys of the repeating crossbows and the deafening sounds of cannons and Hwachas.
It was not a war, it was a technology pacification. They were slowly and methodically pushing inward to the deeper mainland of Wa, leaving a trail of secured, heavily garrisoned supply lines behind them.
This confident, highly calculated, and nearly flawless march was not simply a result of their overwhelming firepower. It was only made possible because their intelligence had been further consolidated, debated, and perfectly mapped out within the command pavilion by the greatest strategic minds of the era.
Sima Yi, Guo Jia, Xi Zhicai, and Jia Kui did not march in the vanguard. They rode in the heavily guarded center of the formation, constantly updating their detailed, constantly evolving maps.
After finally knowing the exact geographical layout, the locations of the dense bamboo forests, the treacherous mountain passes, and the shallow river crossings, and understanding the fractured political climate of the entire southern island of Kyushu, they guided the army with the precision of a surgeon's scalpel.
Guo Jia anticipated where the King and commanders of Yamato would attempt to set up ambushes, deliberately routing heavily armored decoy units into the traps while Sima Yi directed the main vanguard to flank and annihilate them from the high ground.
Xi Zhicai managed the complex flow of grain and black powder from the beachhead to the advancing frontlines, ensuring that not a single soldier went hungry and not a single cannon fell silent.
While Jia Kui rode just behind the carnage, immediately stepping into the conquered, smoking towns to install the brutal, uncompromising legal frameworks of the Hengyuan Dynasty, forcing the surviving locals to immediately submit, pay tribute, and recognize the absolute authority of Emperor Lie Fan.
The island of Kyushu, fractured by centuries of petty local warfare, had never seen an entity that operated with such cold, unified, and terrifyingly efficient purpose. The shadow of the Black Dragon was rapidly stretching across the rising sun, and the isolated King of Yamato were completely unprepared for the storm of iron, fire, and absolute order that had just engulfed their world.
Meanwhile, far away from the smoking ruins and the marching columns of the southern coast, a starkly contrasting scene was taking place in the pristine, heavily fortified capital of Yamato. Located safely at the northeastern part of Kyushu, this sprawling seat of power was a place of deep, ancient serenity that hadn't been touched yet by Hengyuan's marching army.
The capital was a breathtaking testament to isolated prosperity, nestled between towering, mist shrouded mountains and a deep, tranquil bay. It was a city of immaculate wooden architecture, serene rock gardens, and heavily fortified stone keeps that had stood unchallenged for generations.
The people here still went about their daily lives, trading in the markets and praying at the shrines, completely oblivious to the apocalyptic storm of iron and fire that was systematically devouring the southern domains of their island.
However, within the highest echelons of power, the illusion of safety had already been violently shattered.
Inside the grand wooden palace, situated at the very heart of the capital behind triple layered stone walls, a scene of absolute chaos and raw, unadulterated panic was unfolding.
The supreme ruler of the domain, King Tarashihiko of Yamato, had hastily called for an emergency imperial court meeting. Word had just reached the capital, carried by a handful of half dead, severely burned messengers who had ridden their horses to exhaustion, about a sudden, massive foreign attack that had completely caught all of them off guard.
Inside the tense, expansive council room, the atmosphere was suffocating. The air, usually thick with the scent of burning incense and refined political maneuvering, was now thick with the smell of sweat, fear, and aggressive desperation.
The room was packed with the highest ranking military commanders, advisors, and noble lords of the kingdom. But there was no order, no courtly etiquette being observed. Instead, a vicious, screaming blaming game was furiously being done within the Yamato court.
The proud, armor clad generals, men who had spent their entire lives mastering the art of the sword and the bow in localized clan skirmishes, aggressively blamed the naval admirals. They stepped forward, their hands resting threateningly on the hilts of their curved blades, their faces red with indignation and shame.
"How does an invasion force of this magnitude simply appear on our shores?!" one of the leading generals roared, his voice echoing off the intricately painted sliding screens. He pointed a trembling, armored finger directly at the cluster of naval commanders.
"You told this court that the western straits were secure! We fund your fleets to protect the maritime borders! I demand to know why your vaunted patrol ships didn't report back about this massive fleet approaching our shores! Did your sailors fall asleep at the oars? Did they accept mainland silver to look the other way?"
The furious admirals, deeply insulted and reeling from the horrifying reports of their coastal defense fleets being wiped out in a matter of seconds, immediately defended themselves. They pushed back against the generals, angrily yelling back across the polished wooden floor.
"Do not dare question our loyalty or the bravery of our sailors!" the leading admiral spat back, his face twisted in a mixture of rage and profound grief. "Our men did not sleep, nor did they run! They sailed out to meet the enemy! But how could they possibly survive? You speak as if this is a fleet of mere pirate junks! The survivors tell us that the enemy sailed on towering vessels the size of mountains, ships made of iron that moved without the wind, belching black smoke into the heavens! Our fragile wooden ships couldn't possibly survive the sudden, devastating surprise onslaughts from such monsters!"
The admiral took a step forward, turning the blame right back onto the land commanders. "And where were your eyes on the land?! Even if our ships were swallowed by the sea, it should have been the land based coastal soldiers, your vaunted infantry, who lit the warning beacons and reported back to the capital! By the time the first messenger reached us, the enemy had already unloaded thousands of men! Your coastal fortresses fell without lighting a single fire!"
"They couldn't light the beacons because the enemy brought down the sky upon them!" a general screamed back, spittle flying from his lips. "They were slaughtered from afar! Our watchers were dead before they could strike a flint!"
The fierce, escalating argument echoed through the halls, threatening to tear the royal court apart before the enemy even reached the city gates. The shouting grew louder, the insults more personal, as the panic of the unknown stripped away centuries of refined aristocratic manners.
Hands gripped sword hilts tighter, and for a terrifying moment, it seemed as though the Yamato leadership would slaughter each other right there in the council room.
BANG! BANG! BANG!
The deafening, sharp sound of heavy wood striking the floorboards cracked through the room like a whip.
King Tarashihiko violently slammed his thick, ceremonial wooden staff against the polished wooden floor. He stood up from his elevated dais, his royal robes flowing around him, his face a mask of furious, exhausted authority. He struck the floor one last time, the sheer force of the blow finally stopping them all from debating any further.
The room fell into a heavy, gasping silence. The generals and admirals slowly stepped back from each other, lowering their heads in reluctant submission to their supreme ruler.
"Enough!" King Tarashihiko bellowed, his voice trembling not just with anger, but with a deep, creeping terror that he was desperately trying to hide from his subjects. "You bicker like children fighting over a broken toy while a monster breaks down the door to our home! I do not care whose fault it is that they landed! They are here! They are burning our lands and slaughtering our people!"
He looked around the room, his eyes wide and desperate, pleading with the military minds that surrounded him. He sternly demanded silence from their petty grievances and desperately asked all of them for a viable way to fight back.
"I need tactics! I need a strategy to repel them back into the ocean!" the King demanded, his knuckles turning white as he gripped his staff. He stepped down from the dais, pacing frantically in front of his silent commanders. "Because from the scattered, terrifying reports of the few fleeing survivors who managed to escape the blockade, we are not facing men!"
"The enemy army possesses horrifying weapons that we have never seen before in our entire lives! Our survivors speak of weapons that spewed unquenchable liquid fire that burns on the water itself! They speak of iron tubes that spit thunder, and massive, rolling engines that shattered our thickest wooden walls in a single, deafening strike! Arrows that explode! Shields that cannot be pierced! How do we fight this?!"
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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