Chapter 966: Thunderbolt

The word made Liu Yong freeze for a moment. Zhao Jin raised his riding crop and pointed at the great formation of refugees ahead. "They can't win."

For a moment, Liu Yong didn't know what to say. He looked around, then at the other regiments and companies. From his comrades down to the household troops, every face was marked with anxiety and unease.

Before Liu Yong could speak, a sudden, frantic clanging of gongs erupted from within the refugee ranks. At the sound, the banners and flags scattered through the formation began waving wildly, and the now fully assembled refugee columns started advancing.

Formed into square formations, their forward movement was not too fast — a slow, steady push. Besides these orderly columns, some people were running among them, carrying loads on their shoulders, and others were pushing large carts. Though they tried to screen their movements with the advancing columns, their traces could still be seen.

Liu Yong frowned, concentrating, observing very carefully. He was wondering what those things the refugees had were. By now, Liu Yong no longer dared to dismiss their actions. This was no loose sand of a disorderly mob — this was an organized, planned rebel army! Combined with their religious fanaticism and the Zhao Family Camp's own training methods, even government troops likely couldn't match them!

"Move the cannon company forward. Open fire when the enemy enters two hundred paces. As long as the barrels don't burst, keep pounding them," Zhao Jin ordered.

Meng Zhiqi, waiting in attendance at Zhao Jin's side, acknowledged loudly, wheeled his horse, and left. The great refugee formation was still slowly pushing forward. As this large force advanced, the panic and agitation in the Zhao Family Camp dissipated. Afraid or not, since the enemy was coming, it was time to prepare for battle.

Dragged by horses, the eight cannons arrived at the right flank of the Zhao Family Camp's main formation and were positioned slightly forward. The household troops operating the cannons were visibly flustered — after all, it was their first time in battle, and right before Zhao Jin's eyes; nervousness and tension were inevitable. But strict training proved crucial in the end. After the initial fluster, they quickly became proficient.

They unhitched the draught horses, dug earth and piled it to build the gun emplacements, then swabbed the barrels and loaded the ammunition. They had practiced these procedures so often that the first round was loaded in no time. By this point, the refugee columns had advanced less than a hundred paces and were still over three hundred paces from the Zhao Family Camp itself. The reason they had such a precise estimate of the distance was that there were men specially trained in ranging techniques — a method of Louis's. Using the mathematical foundation he'd built back in the seminary and on the battlefield, they crossed two wooden rulers and combined that with visual estimation to calculate a rough figure.

The cavalry company slowly pulled back. The clamor from the city wall had already unsettled the horses; if the cannons roared, horses that had never experienced cannon fire would surely panic and bolt.

The charcoal in the braziers was already glowing red. Everything with the cannons was ready and in place, just waiting for the refugee host to enter range.

The refugee host had also spotted the firelocks and archers in the front ranks of the Zhao Family Camp, and only then noticed the cannons off to one side of the main force. Seeing these, the refugees' pace did not slow; they kept advancing resolutely. Only their shouted slogans grew louder and more uniform. Perhaps they had learned from experience: in such situations, all you had to do was keep pushing forward. Once you got close enough, these immensely powerful firelocks and bows would become utterly useless.

When the city gates first opened and the refugee host surged out, the aim was overwhelming, intimidating momentum. But once they entered the field and prepared for battle, they could not possibly charge across these several hundred paces. If they did, they would arrive at the enemy's lines utterly spent and gasping for breath — which would be suicide.

According to those elite squads of the Divine Army Protecting the Faith, the more you faced such firearms and bows, the more you had to steady your footing and maintain formation. Casualties were inevitable, but as long as you could close the distance enough, you could repay those earlier losses a hundredfold, a thousandfold.

Though the sight of those pitch-black cannons was unnerving, there were men who had seen cannons before and kept bolstering everyone's courage, saying that government cannons were thick and huge, clearly capable of firing earth-shattering things, while these Zhao Family Camp cannons didn't look nearly so fearsome — their power must surely be limited.

The leaders maintaining each square formation had been specifically instructed: don't worry too much about casualties among the able-bodied men in front. As long as they could bring those long-trained Divine Army Protecting the Faith into close combat with the Zhao Family Camp's devils, and then have the main host surround and slaughter them — the key was to push right up to them, to get close. And once they got close, the Smelling Incense Sect had other methods.

"Almost! Almost!" Watching the overwhelming force bearing down on them from the other side, even with several hundred paces of measured distance, the household troops shouted nervously.

"Two hundred paces — they're within two hundred paces!" the ranging household trooper yelled out the number.

It seemed the refugee host was also estimating the distance. Just as this number was called out, several refugee columns suddenly quickened their pace, moving forward rapidly. Because of this sudden acceleration, their already irregular square formations became even more scattered and disordered.

Under the cover of these few refugee columns, the men behind with those carts full of materials, and those carrying loads on shoulder poles or by hand, also began running forward. No one knew what they were up to.

But whatever they were doing no longer mattered. Just as the refugee host began accelerating forward, the Zhao Family Camp's artillery position opened fire.

Muffled thunderclaps sounded one after another. The cannons boomed, but amid the deafening chant-slogans, they did not draw much attention.

The cannons the refugees had dismissed as limited in power belched smoke, and lead balls weighing over two jin screamed forth, plunging into the dense refugee columns.

Nothing could stop the cannonballs hurtling at speed. An able-bodied man of the Smelling Incense Sect's rebel army standing at the very front saw the cannonball coming. Instinctively, he tried to dodge, but the cannonball flew faster than his judgment. He only managed to shift half his body aside; the other half was directly blasted to pulp by the cannonball.

One man's flesh and blood body did nothing to slow the force and momentum of the cannonball. The ball, coming in at an angle, punched straight through this square formation of several dozen men across and deep. Everywhere it passed, it plowed a channel of blood and flesh. Then it landed in the second formation behind, hitting the ground inside the ranks. But it was not over. The earth outside Ji'ning City, trampled over and over, had long since been packed hard. The cannonball struck the ground and bounced up again. This time it did not fly as high, but its force was just as irresistible. Many had seen the spray of blood and flesh in the formation ahead, but they had no time to dodge or evade. The ricocheting cannonball reaped another bloody harvest. Many were cut in half at the waist. Others were "fortunate enough" to only have a leg or foot smashed — but on this battlefield, all that awaited them was bleeding out to death.

One cannonball slammed heavily into a large cart loaded with timber and materials. The lumber on the cart, and even the cart itself, were smashed to splinters and dust by the cannonball. Wood fragments flew everywhere, piercing the bodies of many men in several nearby formations. Many collapsed on the spot, and the formations instantly disintegrated.

The eight cannons fired simultaneously. In just the first volley, the several columns of refugees that had been running forward were directly shattered. The ground was covered with corpses; everywhere were spattered chunks of flesh and blood. The deafening chant-slogans from moments before suddenly dropped in volume. The gongs and drums on the wall and in the city, the waving flags and banners — all stopped at that very moment.

Those forward charging columns were shattered. The survivors all broke down in that instant. Most threw down their weapons and turned to flee. A scattered few spun in place, then suddenly, howling madly, charged toward the Zhao Family Camp's main formation. But as soon as they entered bow range, several arrows nailed them dead on the spot. They had been driven mad with terror.

The great refugee formation, composed of several dozen square formations, had been rolling forward, pressing in like that. But now the foremost columns were shattered. The square formations behind them, seeing the fate of their comrades ahead, immediately hesitated and refused to advance. And those further back still did not know what had happened up front. The already not-very-orderly great formation became chaotic and loose once more.

Wet swabs cleaned the barrels. Scraping rods drew out the powder residue from the bores. Then dry swabs went in again, wiping away moisture and remaining debris. Then they loaded the ammunition. At this distance, there was no need yet to adjust the elevation; they only needed to load the prescribed charge.

The cannon household troops came from several backgrounds. Some were from the scholar-troops, some were apprentices who had cast cannons in the Zhao Family Camp's workshops, and some came from the household troops and militia. Pushing cannons onto the battlefield was a first. With the dark mass of people pressing toward them, everyone was nervous. But the sequence of motions for loading and firing the cannons — they had drilled it countless times. Once the first shot was fired and they saw the astonishing lethality, everyone's tension and anxiety dissipated. Each man set to work with redoubled energy, so much so that Louis and Meng Zhiqi, accompanying the unit, had to shout angrily to keep them in check, lest their movements become sloppy or excessive in their zeal.

"Charge through! Everyone charge right up to them! Then their big cannons will be useless, and we'll slaughter every last one of those devils!" someone roared.

Then they saw several armored men on horseback burst out from deep within the formation, brandishing blades and shouting: "Die to ascend as immortals! Everyone charge! Maitreya protects — enter the Pure Land of the Western Paradise!"

After that cry, the next sentence turned murderous: "Anyone who hesitates or holds back gets his head cut off right then—"

The threat was only half spoken when the cannons boomed again. By now, the shouting everywhere had died down, and the roar of the cannons was piercingly clear. After what had just happened, everyone already knew that this low, rumbling roar was a death warrant from the Hall of the Underworld. The men on horseback had no time to keep shouting and yelling. Instinctively, they ducked low in their saddles, wheeled their horses, and fled.

If even they were like this, how could they urge anyone else on? When the others saw their leaders flee first, their morale collapsed even further. Who would still be willing to charge forward and throw their lives away?

Whether one wanted to fight or flee, no matter the reaction, human movement could never match the speed of a cannonball. The eight cannonballs once again carved eight bloody paths through the crowd of the refugee host. Everywhere they passed was a swath of death and injury, blood and flesh covering the ground...

Two cannon volleys, sixteen cannonballs, falling into the dense crowd — several hundred dead, nearly a thousand casualties. The killing efficiency of the cannonballs was quite good. Yet these thousand-odd casualties meant practically nothing against the Smelling Incense Sect rebel army's numbers, which were in the tens of thousands. But those two volleys had utterly shattered the Smelling Incense Sect rebel army's morale.

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