Beginning with the Ubume Bird

Northeast Barrel

Category: Matchlock Gun

Quality: Ordinary

Firing Rate: 1 round/minute

Range: 200 meters

Requirements: Military Skill specialization above 50% or Firearms specialization above 65%

Li Yan flipped the long firearm back and forth, his fingers tracing the curved hook of the firing mechanism before tossing it to Wang Sheng.

“Lord, this…”

The somewhat youthful-faced Wang Sheng clutched nervously at his palm.

“Among us, you are the youngest. Keep it for self-defense.”

Deng Tianxiong, with his hair fluttering, stepped in, bringing with him a hissing cold wind.

“Lord of the Banner, both corpses have been thrown into the ice holes. No tails left behind.”

Li Yan positioned the other ronin’s wakizashi upright, his brows slightly furrowed, “Then we can’t stay here much longer…”

His eyes shifted to Deng Tianxiong, “The Japanese blades are not bad. Can you adapt to using one?”

Deng Tianxiong scratched his head, smiling awkwardly, “I’m still more comfortable with the blades from Great Ming.”

“Is that so.”

Li Yan didn’t insist. The wakizashi was well-crafted, but if it wasn’t comfortable to use, it was better not to force it.

“I can use it.”

A voice came from beside the stove.

The man speaking had deep wrinkles on his face, was blind in the left eye, and his face resembled a piece of black and hard tree bark. His belly was wrapped tightly with cloth, making him look somewhat cumbersome.

Everyone else called him Diao Xiayan, an old acquaintance of Deng Tianxiong.

“When I followed General Qi, I practiced with a wakizashi in his camp.”

“Old Diao, you’re seriously injured. Are you sure it’s okay?”

Li Yan asked.

He wasn’t being stingy; counting Li Yan himself, out of the nine Ming soldiers, only six had blades. In a real fight, those with blades in hand would be the first to charge.

This man was one of the three seriously wounded, with a large hole in his belly made by a spear, clearly not in a condition to lead a charge.

“No problem.”

The man then fell silent, saying no more.

Li Yan handed over the blade. The man took it, wiped it with his sleeve, examined it for a moment, and then suddenly spoke up.

“Lord of the Banner, that ronin was not of low status…”

“How can you tell?”

Old Diao bit off a piece of dead skin from his dark purple lips and began, “On the battlefield, organized infantry carry long spears, and the Japanese pirates are no different. Many peasant soldiers would rather tie a dagger to a long branch than use a shorter sword. A well-crafted wakizashi like this one is typically worn by those of higher status among the Japanese pirates, like ‘ashigaru’ or even ‘hatamoto’.”

“Uncle Diao, you seem to know quite a bit about the Japanese pirates,”

Wang Sheng joked.

Old Diao’s remaining eye swiveled.

“When I was single-handedly fighting the Japanese pirates, you were still in diapers.”

“Bragging…”

Wang Sheng replied incredulously.

Old Diao cackled strangely, his words light and indifferent, “Compared to General Li’s neat and efficient swordsmanship, I’m indeed not worth mentioning.”

Li Yan knew the one-eyed old man wasn’t lying; his Military Skill specialization was only 63%, which was average in this group, but he possessed one particular skill.

Cold Killer (92/100)

Unlike He Andong, this was the age of cold weaponry. Just like the recently mentioned matchlock gun, it was good to be able to fire once a minute. In melee, what counted was the weapon in hand.

Meaning, ninety-two people. Most of them were slain by that old soldier with a blade or even bare hands!

Wang Sheng, though young, was an excellent scout.

Deng Tianxiong had broken through the 70% barrier that even Zhang Mingyuan hadn’t achieved.

And then there was Diao Xiayan…

Li Yan had saved these men, each with their own unique skills. Under Zha Dashou’s command, those 3,000 men included strong soldiers from Liaodong Town and the legendary Qi Family Army.

Even if the intelligence was inaccurate and they had underestimated the enemy, it took quite a force to nearly annihilate such an army, one that had been through a hundred years of the Warring States period.

Li Yan wasn’t too familiar with the Warring States period so revered by countless people; he only remembered a name: Ghost Hachiro.

Honda Tadakatsu…

A cold smirk appeared at the corner of Li Yan’s lips.

The Zhang Fei of the Warring States period?

“`

“Song Translator…”

Li Yan began.

The man who was alone wiping vegetable oil on himself looked up after Li Yan spoke. He had become a lot more subdued and no longer pretended to shiver in fright, but instead constantly kept a cold expression on his face.

“We want to avoid the Japanese pirates and head towards the Yalu River. Which way should we go?”

Song Translator grabbed a handful of soil and began drawing with his fingers. Before long, he had sketched a reasonably accurate topographic map.

“Go this way, circle around from the bottom of She Mountain, there’s a small fort here. When the court set up defenses here, there were probably about twenty men, I don’t know how the Japanese pirates have arranged things, but it’s definitely not a large number. If you can avoid them, you’ve succeeded by half.”

“That’s too far,” Li Yan shook his head.

“Isn’t it faster to follow this river?”

Deng Tianxiong chimed in.

“The riverbanks are crawling with Japanese pirates, if you want to court death, don’t drag me into it.”

Song Translator laughed coldly, his attitude much firmer.

Deng Tianxiong wasn’t offended, as the other was a local and literate. He knew better, and that’s what’s good about being the big-headed soldier; one listens to advice…

“I think She Mountain isn’t too treacherous. Can’t we just go straight through?”

Li Yan inquired.

Song Translator hesitated for a long time before he uncertainly said, “You can try, but it’s very dangerous. The chances of being discovered are high.”

“The longer the night, the more dreams,” Li Yan murmured.

He had his own considerations. Circling She Mountain was not only time-consuming and strenuous, but the area that Song Translator pointed out was also open terrain where the probability of encountering Japanese pirates was indeed low. However, if they were spotted, the pirates had cavalry and they wouldn’t be able to run.

Crossing She Mountain was not only faster, but even if they were discovered, the mountainous terrain was rough, and cavalry couldn’t enter, giving Li Yan a chance to fight.

The moment Li Yan and the others huddled together, pointing and discussing, the girl who had brought a bowl of hot soup for her mother stayed by the side, watching everyone chatter over the small mound of earth. Suddenly, she spoke up.

“What did she say?” Song Translator looked puzzled. “Nothing important, children say the darndest things.”

Li Yan scratched his itchy neck with some irritation, “Just say it if you’re told.”

Helplessly, Song Translator said, “The little girl said She Mountain is haunted; are you really taking a child’s words so seriously?”

“Ghosts? I, Old Deng, have lived for over thirty years and have yet to see one. If it’s a male ghost, that’d be something but if it’s a female ghost, heh heh…”

Deng Tianxiong was nonchalant.

It was Diao Xiayan who was picking his teeth as he spoke:

“The existence of ghosts might be nonsense, but there’s a saying that when a country is about to fall, monsters appear. With all the dead around here now, who knows if something wicked could really come forth.”

Song Translator bit his lip. The mention of the country’s impending doom didn’t offend him, but the reference to dead bodies everywhere struck a chord in his heart.

After the Japanese pirates invaded, they slaughtered wantonly, with sixty thousand dead in Jinzhou alone. Li Yan and company had seen countless emaciated corpses by the roadside and bodies strung up in trees, pecked by crows, on their journey.

“There are ghosts,” Li Yan touched the tattoo on his chest, seemingly casual.

“Then, all the better…”

…

As night fell, more than six hours had passed since Li Yan and the others had set out.

To the west of the walls of Pyongyang City, among the haphazardly positioned huts of the village.

“So, Shin Hachiro and the other one left the troop and said they’d catch up with us, and then… they died just like that. How can I explain this to Mr. Hidetada?”

The man was dressed in a plain white Wu garment with pale cloud embroidery.

With the scent of sake on his slender fingers and white neck, he gazed at the damp bodies dragged before him, his cultivated face showing a hint of distress.

“Drifting along the icy river, probably done by something like the Joseon Volunteer Army,” the samurai beside him shrugged his shoulders.

“Such a clean job doesn’t seem like the work of that rabble.” The man gently shook his head. “It’s the regular army.”

“So, should we chase after them?” the samurai asked.

“Of course, I will go personally. Give me five Red Guards. They don’t have many men; otherwise, we would have encountered them on our way here.”

The yellowed bucket with a crack dropped into the well with a splash.

The worn hemp rope creaked under the burden, and the clear well water leaked out from the sides of the bucket.

The man scooped a ladleful and drank; it was refreshingly cold.

Content, he gestured, and two Japanese pirates holding a child not even ten years old threw him into the well with a splash.

“Fill it,” the man said, then turned away from the roaring flames behind him.

He squatted down, ran his index finger over a corpse’s throat and tasted it.

Chilled blood clung to his clean fingernails, sharp upon his tongue.

His expression turned surprised.

“Such a swift blade.”

“`