CH452 · Rewrite
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Chapter 452: The Unification

The rebelling nobles had nothing to offer against the First Army. One round of fire was enough in every confrontation — the enemy lines broke before the smoke cleared, men scattering with whatever pride they still carried, which wasn’t much. The First Army didn’t even need to change cartridges. More often than not, there was no fight at all, only the pursuit, the capture, the quiet surrender.

Iron Axe cleared one territory per day. The Elk, Wolf, and Wild Rose family lands fell in sequence, clean and fast. Then the column reached the Maple Leaf territory, and it slowed.

“Damn it.” Brian stared at the castle looming above the snow and spat. “This is no different from Stronghold. They’ve got a moat.”

“Anyone hurt in the last probe?” Iron Axe asked.

“Two. One arm, one back — neither serious.” Brian’s frown was the kind that had been sitting on his face all morning. “But we’re shooting uphill from open ground. Even crossbow bolts can answer us when we’re the ones exposed.”

Iron Axe couldn’t argue with that assessment. Nobody had expected the Earl of the Maple Leaf to have a castle like this: a tower wedged against the cliffs of the Impassable Mountain Range, streams from the mountains diverted into a five-meter moat that ran constantly, kept open by the current even when ice crusted its edges. The gate was the only entrance, which meant crossing the bridge, which meant walking into the densest concentration of bolts and fire the defenders could produce. Two probing attacks had brought down three or four of the enemy and gained nothing.

“If we’d brought cannons,” Brian muttered, “three balls at that gate and they’d be asking to surrender.”

“The roads are too long and the snow too deep.” Iron Axe glanced at the sky — the grey of it, flat and unhelpful — and made his decision. “Set up camp. We’ll resume at first light.”


The bonfires were lit by nightfall.

“What do we do tomorrow?” Brian tossed a log into the pit and watched the sparks rise. “Rush the bridge? Take casualties until someone gets to that steel door?”

Iron Axe didn’t answer. He stared at the fire for a long time. If he were still in the Iron Sand City — still the man he had been — he would have ordered the charge without hesitation, tallied the dead in his head, and moved on. That calculation had been simple once. It was no longer simple. These soldiers — he had watched them drill, watched them improve, watched them become something more than bodies between him and an objective. His Highness had invested in every one of them. They were not just weapons.

He sighed. “We use the witches.”

Brian looked up sharply. “The witches?”

Iron Axe had not wanted to. The prince had told him more than once that a proper army should be able to complete its mission on its own terms, and some part of him still believed that was right. But a good general, the prince had also said, accounts for his soldiers’ lives. These two things could coexist. They had to.

“Send a messenger to the prince. Tell him we’re in trouble and need Miss Maggie.”


Maggie and Lightning arrived the next morning, landing at the edge of camp with the ease of people who had done harder things.

“Coo coo?”

Iron Axe coughed. He explained the problem — the tower, the moat, the steel door that no charge could reach, the upper floors where the defenders were concentrated and rifles were nearly useless.

“We can handle this,” Lightning said, patting her chest.

They had trained with the First Army in the small town, and throwing explosives was not new to them. Iron Axe nodded and gave the order: one last attack, the witches leading the way, the soldiers ready to follow the moment the door was breached.

Brian watched him check his rifle, slot cartridges into his belt. “You’re going in yourself?”

“Rather than say ‘charge for me’, say ‘charge with me.’” Iron Axe glanced at the tower. “His Highness always says this.”


When the signal came, Maggie was already in the air.

She had become something enormous — vast and dark against the grey sky, her claws clutching a bag of the new explosives — and the sight of her silenced the plain around the castle for one full breath. Then the First Army erupted. Then the defenders on top of the tower descended into chaos, crossbow bolts rising uselessly into the air, every one of them chasing a target that moved faster than their aim.

Maggie gathered herself, rose hard on her wings, and released the bag.

It fell true.

Iron Axe felt the world go still — a brief, strange instant before sound returned — and then the fireball rose from the top of the tower. The earth shook underfoot. Columns of black smoke punched upward through the falling snow, and the heat wave struck him full in the face, staggering him back, ears ringing, eyes watering against the light.

The power of God.

He had seen gunpowder tests before, had stood beside the prince during the first trial at the small town’s walls. This was not that. This was something larger and more absolute, something that rewrote the scale of what was possible. As for the defenders who had been standing on that roof — he didn’t need to imagine their fate. He knew it, the way you know the shape of a thing after you’ve seen it once.

Iron Axe prayed briefly to the Three Gods. Then he raised his rifle over his head.

“For His Highness the prince — First Army, charge!”

“For His Highness!” The soldiers answered as one and swarmed forward.

This time, no one came out to stop them.


Iron Axe rode back into Longsong Stronghold on the sixth night.

The entire Western Region was finally under Roland’s control.

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