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The bullets made contact with the gunpowder as planned, and three pillars of flame shot up from the earth, shaking the ground violently for miles around, indistinguishable from a regular earthquake.

The siege towers had been designed to mount walls and withstand bullets, they had certainly not expected to have to overcome a veritable landmine, and all its after effects. Those on the inside were killed instantly. The wood buckled, and shot apart, splintering onto the landscape around them, all blackened and abused.

Joining it were various limbs and body parts strewn gruesomely across the ground. The oil reserves soon kicked in, and that wall of flame only grew larger, completely cutting off the march of the Matsudaira men – not that they would have been able to do much, with their towers completely ruined.

He admired his own handiwork with grim satisfaction. The heat from the raging inferno began to trigger other traps that had been left planted, and soon there were spontaneous secondary explosions that severed to unnerve the huge army even further.

No matter how well trained. No matter how disciplined. No matter how courageous. Against such a sudden and violent attack, one would turn back, and rout, to go forward into the unknown would be suicide, and to remain still would be to ask for further casualties – they had no idea what lay in the earth around them.

They turned back and fled from whence they came, toward ground they knew to be stable, and a little less volatile. They did not go quietly however, as men with missing legs and arms struggled to keep up with their comrades, screaming despite the pain. Many had to be carried, though for most, that was a wasted effort, as within a few seconds, their bodies shut down, and they passed on to a less frightening world.

The smell of burning oil was not a particularly pleasant smell, but they learned to enjoy it, as they watched their enemies flee, raising their rifles high, cheering as loudly as they were able. The first major victory was theirs, and morale soared.

"MIURA! MIURA! MIURA!" They chanted, praising the name of their great leader, who had defused an almost fatal attack with ease.

THUD

And yet still that ballista continued to fire. A weapon that had caused chaos on battlefields for almost a thousand years, and yet it still continued to prevail. Under the genius of a certain commander, it had been modified to be so large, and capable of withstanding such tension, that it could even outrange a cannon. Even the warlords of the past would have bowed low in response to such an upgrade.

As he ran back towards the eastern wall, with his men sprinting alongside him, they were met with a rather displeasing sight. The stone was crumbling, leaving gaping holes in the brick work. It was a wonder that the wall was still standing at all. For one victory, there was another minor loss.

"We just can’t get a shot to land, my lord!" One of the cannoneers explained frantically. It was understandable. Their first hit had been entirely down to luck, and to replicate it one would need the stars to align once more.

Matsudaira had his brow furrowed deeply. He had watched from a perfect view the untimely end of his siege towers, and was struggling to hold back the gnashing of his teeth. He felt that he should have predicted such placements, yet some less critical part was well aware that to do so would have been impossible. It was the first time he had been met with such a defensive tactic.

And now, he had to gamble all he had on his ballista, in order to regain some sort of ground.

"SEND A DISPATCHMENT TO ASSIST THE BALLISTA! I WANT THAT FIRERATE DOUBLED!" He barked orders, watching anxiously as the small cannonballs continued to drop sporadically from the sky, well aware that any one of them could be what spelt the end for his weapon, as it had for the other.

"YES, MY LORD!" His retainer replied, leaving with haste, carrying out his orders with enthusiastic terror, still shook from what he’d witnessed earlier.

It was a war of fire rate by now, and all the Red Feather could rely on was their own luck.

"This... Is damn unfortunate." He professed lightly, not feeling the most extensive of displeasures. "Continue to fire as quickly as you can. If we can take this ballista out today, then our victory will be well within sights!"

"HAH!" The men let out their roar of approval, as soldiers that had previously stood idle shot forward in attempt to be of some use. The final obstacle of today’s battle.

THUD

The tremors of the ballista stake were becoming increasingly more worrying, as the whole wall threatened to collapse. A few shots more, and it likely would.

And then, just as they were running low on ammunition, two cannonballs connected, shattering the wooden frame of the troublesome weapon, rendering it unusable, and killing two men in the process.

A collective sigh of relief went out, as for the first time in hours, their shoulders fell, and their muscles relaxed.

"Well. I guess you could say that was pretty close." Gengyo stated mildly.

The men blinked, processing his extreme understatement, before a rippling laughter began through their ranks, beginning with the bellowing Morohira, who promptly raised his rifle and proclaimed their victory. "ANOTHER DAY, ANOTHER FINE PIECE OF WARFARE! AS EASY AS THAT, THE RED FEATHER WIN ONCE AGAIN!"

As Rokkaku raised his rifle to reciprocate, Jikouji stared at them, exasperated. ’How are they so easy going?’ He wondered. For the past few hours, he felt himself bordering on a heart attack. They had truly walked the razor edge on this day.

Gengyo smiled at their comedy, before casting a glance up at the sky. It was a little past noon, but given that neither side had a hand to play, he knew they had seen the end of today’s excitement.

"Alright men. We’re done here. Go and get yourselves a drink, and toast to our good name."

"Now there’s an order I can follow! Come on you newbloods, I’ll show you how we used to do it back when we flew a Niwa flag!" Morohira led the descent downwards, lured by the promise of drink, and soon the soldiers followed after him. The majority of them were men from good houses, and had been raised to be proper, and polite, yet bound by honour. Here though, they slowly felt such standards being dragged down hill, as they became caught up in Morohira’s casual demeanour, and the general air about the lord in which they served. They say the temperament of a company comes from the top, and nowhere was that truer than here.

"Nii-san, are you sure its fine to stand down so early? What if Matsudaira orders a charge?" Rin stayed behind with Akiko, voicing the concerns that the others should have had.

"He will not. Though if he does, we can always call them back up. It’s been an exciting day, little sister. The men had better get themselves some rest, otherwise they’ll end up as uptight as you." He poked fun at her merrily, seeming not to care that they were standing on a wall that was on the verge of collapse.

"I think Rin is right to be concerned... Tomorrow this wall will probably fall, will it not? A few more shots, and we’re done for." Akiko joined in, not satisfied with his easy-going response.

"Tomorrow is a different day, we’ll see what happens, but for now, we’ve got Morojo to try and patch things up."

Standing off to the side, the shipwright was brought into the conversation, much to his reluctance. "Quite the weight you’re putting on me... would be better to drop the whole thing down, and rebuild it from scratch."

"I’ll let you do whatever you need to do. Bring the villagers back into your employment, and have them help you with the repairs. I’m sure they’ll be just as eager to secure the coin, and they’ll be happy to hear your stories of battle. A sound deal, from where I’m standing."

"Heh... When this wall collapses after a single shot tomorrow, don’t go blaming me, but I’ll do what I can to keep it standing. That’s all I can promise."

"Good man. I’ll leave you to it then."

Morojo nodded, taking his hint, before calling to his sons, and beginning on his way to getting everyone gathered. It was likely one of the most labour-intensive tasks he had been given in his life, and he doubted that they could have anything suitable done by morning, but still he had to try.