CH746 · Rewrite
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Chapter 746: A Burning Night

The light from each explosion bloomed like a firefly against the dark.

Van’er raised his telescope and scanned the oasis.

The torches below were the whole map. They clustered thicker the closer they came to Iron Sand City—thousands of small flames marking the watchdog camp in precise, readable positions. The artillery battalion’s targets couldn’t have been more clearly drawn.

After a short interval, a larger detonation rolled up from deep in the oasis.

“The landing pattern is scattered,” Cat’s Claw muttered beside him, also watching.

“Best we can do. Setting a cannon in sand is nothing like setting it on a road—the first shots are always ranging shots.” Jop fed the next shell into the barrel. “Try to push it further in anyway. If we drop one on His Excellency Iron Axe’s head, we’re finished.”

“Don’t worry. The tavern is well away from the camp. If we hit it by mistake, every firing manual ever written would need to be revised from the beginning.” Rodney locked the firing rope and called out: “Ready!”

“Fire.” Van’er gave the nod.

Both Longsong Cannons discharged at once—sound compressed into a single crushing blow, muzzle flame briefly turning the desert floor pale, the concussion raising enough dust to close everyone’s eyes.

The small oasis was no fortified town. It was a collection of clan dwellings outside Iron Sand City’s walls: leather tents, cloth shelters, a few light structures and watchtowers. No brick. No stone.

Against that, the Longsong Cannons were unusually effective.

Each shell struck and the area went dark for a heartbeat—then light returned, brighter than before. The explosions scattered torches, caught tents, and the tent fabric and oil mixed with the oasis’s other dry materials and fed itself into something larger. After several rounds, broad swaths of the camp were burning. The evening wind took the flames and spread them.

This was the artillery battalion’s first use of ranging tables and calculated firing positions rather than direct observation. The results were uneven. But the target was fragile and the wind was cooperative, and between the two, what had been gaps in accuracy became irrelevant. The camp of the Sand Nation watchdogs was lighting up in patches that were joining together.

Van’er watched the fire spread and thought: this is what the Lord of War means.

He let his eyes move briefly to the gun battalion lying in ambush on either flank, and the machine gun squads on the sand hills, and felt—not for the first time—that he had made the right choice. The future of warfare lived in artillery. Flintlocks had a role: supporting the cannons, clearing what the cannons left. Nothing more.


It took Thuram a considerable time to recover from the concussion.

His ears still rang—not a pain exactly, but a persistent vibration, as if someone had laid a flat palm across both sides of his head simultaneously. The sounds that followed were too large for the word thunder: deep below the percussion of the charges, a structural groan of things falling.

A watchtower not far from the tavern vanished inside a fireball. The wood didn’t burn—it disassembled, the pieces thrown outward at speed, and then the pressure wave from the explosion hit the wall and the air left his lungs.

Through the new gaps in the wall he could see it clearly. Tents caught from the splashing fires and became their own fires. People came out of the flames already burning, rolling and struggling in the sand, and most of them did not stop burning. The warriors nearest the first watchtower lay where they had fallen—not dead, necessarily, but something had ended for them. They would not stand again.

Not thunder. Not lightning. This is fire from the sky itself. This is what the Heavenly Father holds in reserve.

He waited for the attack to cease.

It did not.

Every few minutes the double crack of detonation returned, followed by the fireball and the pressure, and he realized the shells were no longer scattered—they were converging. They were walking toward the center of the oasis, where the watchdogs lived. The most fertile ground, the most sheltered position, the prize the big clans had set their hounds to guard.

It was burning.

He looked at Iron Axe differently now.

“By the Three Gods…” His voice came out hoarse, barely above a whisper. “You don’t have this kind of power on your own. Who did you align yourself with? The northerners?”

“A merciful king,” Iron Axe said. “He will bring order and safety to the Ironsand people of the Mojin clan.”

“That’s—” Thuram started to say impossible, but the sea of fire visible through the shattered wall caught the word and swallowed it before it reached his mouth.

“Not everyone welcomes the change willingly. The oasis sustains the Sand Nation—but it also imprisons them. The fighting for survival, the killing and the scheming—all of it grows from scarcity. The oasis that should give life is soaked in blood instead. The watchdogs maintain the big clans’ grip and make the clansmen beneath them suffer in sand and drought.” Iron Axe’s tone was even, almost detached. “That’s a short-sighted arrangement.”

“If a northerner told me this, I wouldn’t be surprised.” Thuram shook his head, and there was something in it that was almost grief. “But you, Iron Axe—you grew up in this desert. How can you speak this way? Did you forget that the oasis is finite? That it cannot support the population if clans stop competing for territory? Unless Mojins can overpower Graycastle, we cannot leave the desert. Submission ends in betrayal—the northerners will never truly trust us. The Black Bone and Sandstone clans proved it. They served Garcia, the Queen of Clearwater. They were given a strange pill, and everything they were promised dissolved with them.”

“Can real trust never be earned?” Iron Axe exhaled slowly. “I once thought not. But what I’ve seen tells me that certain people are born to break the pattern.”

Outside, hoofbeats gathered—sparse at first, then multiplying, a drumbeat building beneath the wind. The watchdog’s counter-attack was assembling. Thuram knew the sound. Even broken and scattered, the watchdog’s warriors hadn’t forgotten their skills: any threat that emerged within range of the oasis, they would ride toward it like sandworms following vibration. He began to warn Iron Axe—

Iron Axe took him by the collar and pulled him to the window.

The torches were moving. Not toward the tavern. Away from it—out into the desert, toward the sound of the cannons. The watchdog cavalry had picked up the artillery battalion’s position and was riding for it.

Iron Axe watched them go without concern. The dark-haired woman watched them go without moving.

“What did I tell you?” Iron Axe said quietly, almost as if speaking to himself. “Not everyone accepts the new order willingly. The watchdogs believed they could stop the thunder.” He turned his eyes from the window and let them settle on Thuram. “But whether you accept it or not—it is coming.”

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