CH722 · Rewrite
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Chapter 722: Resplendent Blaze

The exercise did not pause once it had started.

Five rounds of volley fire cleared the first row. Then the protocol shifted to free firing — each crew working at their own pace, cycling through the remaining ammunition at maximum speed. The embedded powder charges in the field added their concussions to the artillery’s, and the combined effect was cumulative in a way that no single element of it could have produced alone. Dust rose until the visibility radius had shrunk to a haze of smoke and displaced snow. Occasionally a ricochet struck a cage and freed what was inside, and the beast, having reached the point where its bloodthirst had been entirely overridden by something older and more fundamental, simply ran.

Most didn’t get far.

“Nothing compared to the church battle,” Andrea said, with the particular proprietary pride of someone discussing their home. She had her hands over her ears, but her expression was satisfied. “Two cannons then, plus hundreds of flintlocks and smaller artillery. The God’s Punishment Army wasn’t caged — they were moving, and they were fast. Anyone who lifted their head from cover on that field didn’t get to do it twice.”

Amy looked at her with wide eyes. Hero sighed. Broken Sword watched Andrea with something between admiration and vertigo.

Andrea appeared not to notice that she had ceased, at some point in the last two years, to be the woman who had climbed a city wall for the first time and stood very still in the face of something overwhelming. Neverwinter had become ordinary to her, which meant the scale she now used for comparison had shifted.

She seemed genuinely pleased about this.


Phyllis watched more carefully than admiration required.

The first row of cages she had assessed and found credible but not decisive. Mad Demons at three hundred meters were a genuine threat — their bone spear ranges fell within that distance, and a wall’s defenders in that zone would face sustained fire from above. But she knew how to calculate that exchange; the Union had been doing it for four hundred years.

The second row was farther. She tracked the shells’ trajectory, estimated the distance, revised upward.

She revised again when they turned to the third row.

Over a thousand meters. She looked at the cages, then at the wall, then at the space between them, and began to understand what the arrangement meant.

She had spent the previous two years treating the Siege Beast problem as intractable. The Siege Beasts were the reason the Union had always needed Transcendents at the leading edge of any counterattack — only the highest-capability witches could close the distance to those weapons quickly enough to matter, and the casualties incurred in that closing were the most expensive part of every major engagement. It was the calculation that had driven the Union’s most desperate decisions, including Alice’s plan to use the witches themselves as shell material.

If the Longsong Cannon’s range exceeded the Siege Beast’s—

She turned to Agatha.

“Is this the furthest it can reach?”

Agatha shook her head. The answer she gave was quiet enough that the words required a brief pause in the artillery to reach Phyllis properly: the true range was not a thousand meters but ten times that distance or beyond. The current arrangement had been calibrated for the audience, not for the weapon’s actual capability.

Phyllis waited for this to resolve into something manageable.

It didn’t.

Ten times. Targets beyond the shooter’s line of sight. Shells calculated to hit specific locations using pre-established range tables. Precision fire at distances where the target couldn’t see the weapon or know from which direction the shell was coming.

If that was true — not theoretical, not planned, but actually achievable — then the entire framework she had used to evaluate the Battle of Divine Will needed reconstruction.

“Can the witches of Taquila make this?” she asked. She heard how the question sounded even as she was asking it.

Agatha gave her the arithmetic. Two thousand workers in the chemical plant, still growing. Three thousand in the mines and smeltery. Fifteen hundred in the processing facilities. The cannon was not a weapon that could be separated from the industrial system that produced it; it was the endpoint of a supply chain that required more people than the Union had controlled at any point in its history.

Even in Taquila’s last years, with every surviving human being concentrated in one city, the numbers hadn’t been close.

Phyllis was quiet for a moment after that.

The guns stopped.

The silence was different from ordinary silence — heavier, as though the sound of the artillery had displaced all the usual ambient noise of a crowd and it hadn’t returned yet. Everyone on the wall was looking outward, toward the third row of cages, and no one was speaking.

She looked at Agatha.

Agatha’s expression was composed and attentive, the expression of someone waiting for something she has seen before and is interested to watch again.

“The key,” Agatha said.

The word had barely reached Phyllis when the light came.

It came from the ground — from the buried charges in the field, detonating in sequence, each one igniting the next in a chain that spread across the entire far distance at once. The flash was simultaneous rather than sequential; hundreds of powder charges all at the same instant, and the light they produced in that single moment was brighter than noon, casting shadows backward through the smoke, throwing everything on the wall into sharp relief.

Then the sound reached them.

Phyllis had survived the fall of Taquila. She had been present for battles that had reduced ancient cities to rubble over the course of days. She had experienced the particular physical sensation of sound and overpressure combined.

What reached the wall was not those things, but it was large enough that her body responded to it before her mind did — the ancient response that has no name but knows exactly what to do.

She caught herself and stood still.

Around her, the crowd was making a sound that she didn’t have an immediate category for. It wasn’t alarm. It was closer to the sound a crowd makes when something they already believed has suddenly been confirmed in a way that bypassed language entirely.

Agatha looked at her with a mild expression. “Now you understand,” she said.

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