Chapter 818: Castle Town

"Yah!"

A tattered samurai bellowed and lunged straight at him — from far off he leaped high, his katana slashing straight down.

"Clang!"

A burly Plain Blue Banner squad leader in full Ming-style helmet and armor, back-banners jutting behind him and a black tassel atop his helm, blocked — his two-handed greatsword precisely caught the heavy blow, the force rattling every scale of his armor with a sharp clatter.

Amid the ear-splitting clash of steel and a shower of sparks, the samurai's katana snapped clean in two.

The Plain Blue Banner squad leader twisted his body nimbly, his greatsword sweeping through the samurai's skull in one fluid motion — blood sprayed and the samurai's head went flying.

Another roar — another samurai charged and leaped, impossibly fast, a flash of light surging forward, his tachi already slashing down onto the squad leader's shoulder and chest; the shriek of steel on steel was laced with a string of sparks, and the samurai's tachi likewise snapped on impact.

This Plain Blue Banner squad leader wore three layers of armor: innermost chainmail, then a padded cotton layer, outermost full fine-steel plate — scale upon scale, thick and heavy. The katana and tachi of Japanese samurai were razor-sharp against unarmored targets, but against a heavily armored, heavily armed foe they fell woefully short.

This samurai was elite by any measure, clad in traditional Japanese armor — helmet, cuirass, shoulder guards, skirt-plates — plus cheek-guards, gorget, and armored sleeves to shield the face and throat, all fashioned from lacquered iron, leather, and bamboo strips arranged in horizontal rows.

He still had his wakizashi at his waist; the moment his tachi snapped, his reaction was lightning-fast — he went straight for the short blade — but just then a tiger-spear came thrusting at him with crushing force.

It was a Manchu armored soldier who had speared him. The tiger-spear in that soldier's hands was nearly nine chi long, the blade alone nine cun, scored with multiple blood grooves, its edges faceted like a ritual jade blade. From tip to mid-shaft it was sleeved in fine steel, proof against heavy blade cuts, and where the blade met the shaft a deer-antler crosspiece was fitted to prevent over-penetration.

The armored soldier drove the thrust home — a spray of blood — the heavy tiger-spear punched straight through the samurai's chest in an instant. For all its ornate splendor, the samurai's armor was mostly wood and leather with only a few iron pieces; it looked magnificent and fierce, but its protective power was negligible.

The tiger-spear was a brutal weapon — it could punch clean through the tough hide and bone of bear or tiger in a single thrust. How could that samurai's armor possibly stop it? A wet tearing sound of leather, iron plate, and muscle tissue giving way — the razor-sharp blade sank deep into the samurai's body, stopping only when the short deer-antler crosspiece hit home.

The samurai screamed, a heart-rending, lung-shredding shriek, his whole face contorting. The armored soldier grinned savagely, bearing down with his strength and pinning the samurai to the ground on the spear, letting him thrash and flail with all four limbs — just like hunting in the deep forests of Liaodong, pinning prey to the earth and savoring the sight of it shrieking and howling beneath his tiger-spear.

Finally, laughing wildly, he hoisted the samurai up on his spear, letting him claw the air and wail in agony as he dangled from the shaft.

Both races were equally short — the difference was one was short and scrawny, the other short and stocky. Right now, the short and stocky one was winning. He toyed with his prey like a cat with a mouse for a moment, then flicked the tiger-spear — the samurai's body flew off the blade and crashed into a nearby machiya townhouse with the splintering crash of heavy wreckage smashing through a dwelling.

Bowstrings thrummed — several arrows came howling in. A few bowmen had rushed over from the fish-market and umbrella-maker wards nearby; they had drawn great bows taller than themselves, bracing the lower limb with their feet, the bow staves planted on the ground, and loosed their arrows at the Plain Blue Banner armored troops from that stance.

From the sound of those arrows, the draw weight of their bows was no small matter.

Japanese bows, constrained by available materials, had poor elasticity in the stave and followed a path roughly similar to Qing bows — short-range direct-aim flat shooting, using oversized arrows and massive shafts, relying on sheer weight to compensate for low arrow speed and short range. "The dwarf bamboo bow is eight shaku long; they brace its lower limb with the foot, stand, and release. The arrow shaft is sea-reed, the head iron. The head is two cun wide, swallow-tailed, weighing two to three liang. They loose only at close range, and none miss. A hit fells a man where he stands."

The range was short, but the power was considerable.

Some of the armored soldiers took arrows, but every one of them wore at least two layers of armor; though a few staggered and reeled from the impact, the arrows could not breach their armor. Then, one by one, they drew their own infantry bows, nocked heavy arrows, and shot back.

The bows they used were essentially ten-li draw — over one hundred thirty pounds in poundage — massive in force and weight; the bow staves groaned as they were drawn. Their arrows howled across, and screams rose in an unbroken chorus, mingled with Japanese cries of alarm.

Those bowmen had at most a light ashigaru breastplate, and some wore only paper armor — how could they withstand such heavy arrows? One after another they toppled.

One armored soldier even pulled out a throwing axe and hurled it — the axe spun through the air with a whirring sound and then bit into a bowman's neck.

The bowman tumbled to the ground instantly, clutching his throat with both hands, thrashing desperately on the earth, yet the blood from his neck still gushed forth like a fountain.

A group of ashigaru had just turned the corner from the nearby paper-goods ward; seeing this, they were so terrified they spun around and fled. The Plain Blue Banner armored troops surged forward with a roar, falling upon those ashigaru armed with bamboo swords and bamboo spears in a frenzy of slaughter...

The low, chaotic hovels were piled like toy blocks, a stark contrast to the lord's castle and its central tenshu keep not far away. Then, from every ward and street and house, wails of agony shook the heavens as scores of Plain Blue Banner armored troops ran rampant within, interspersed with a few wide-brimmed-hatted Korean soldiers fishing in troubled waters.

This was the castle town of a daimyo in Kyushu, Japan. Like the Mongol invasions of old, when the Qing brigands descended once more, the lord of this domain had only had time to withdraw his samurai into the castle, leaving the townsfolk outside to fend for themselves. Of course, some samurai of the upper town wards had refused to retreat; they had stayed behind willingly to resist and, without exception, had been annihilated.

Another full haul. Watching the warriors of his banner plunder and ravage this region to their hearts' content, the spoils of pillage flowing out in an endless stream, the Plain Blue Banner company commander who had led the assault on this place stroked his wispy rat-whiskers with satisfaction. Japan was truly fat, and they had not even built city walls — this was simply too convenient.

Watching the townsfolk's wards resound with heaven-shaking wails, the company commander felt nothing but enjoyment. He surveyed it all with the poise of a victor, watching the ceaseless packing and carting of goods, and the captured Japanese populace — a strange look flickered in his eyes. He had thought Manchus were short, but he had never imagined the Japanese were even shorter, especially the women.

Fortunately, experience had proven these people were docile and useful, so the company commander did not mind.

Smiling broadly, he watched his warriors stream out with their spoils; some armored soldiers even had live Satsuma chickens flapping and squawking on the tips of their tiger-spears.

These local free-range chickens were plump, tender, and delicious — highly praised by the company commander. This land of Japan was a strange place: the entire populace hardly ate any meat, at most some seafood and dried fish. That was the company commander's greatest dissatisfaction; luckily, these native chickens made up for it somewhat.

"Ha ha ha ha!"

Watching a Japanese woman wailing loudly, the company commander burst into wild laughter for no apparent reason, setting off a chorus of laughter from the many armored soldiers around him; some even began singing loudly.

Weeping and raucous laughter echoed across this patch of earth, interwoven with rousing Manchu ballads.

"Yak, ni, yak..."

"The yellow dog leads the way, le he le..."

"A heart as boundless as the blue sea, go seek the handsome white hawk."

"Yak, ni, yak..."

Plundering parties like that of the Plain Blue Banner company commander blanketed every domain across Kyushu. The supplies and captives they seized flowed ceaselessly westward, converging — countless supply carts and horses choked every road, like streams merging into a great river, all finally gathering at a stretch of coastline in Hizen Province.

There, on a hillside, dense ranks of Bayara guards stood at attention; a sumptuous gold-threaded dragon banner rose tall, and Dodo and Abatai watched the scene before them with cool detachment.