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For weeks, they had been waiting. Now, the highly classified, long-awaited reports from the swift naval scouts and the deeply embedded Oriole Agents about the mysterious, freezing north island, known to the natives as Hokkaido, or Ezo, had finally arrived. Three Oriole Agents, their black silk uniforms crusted with sea salt and frost, knelt before the table. They unslung heavy, waterproofed leather satchels, reverently placing heavy bamboo scrolls and rough, hand drawn leather maps onto the table.
As Zhang Liao and the strategists unrolled the maps and cracked the seals on the scrolls, they were immediately met with a wealth of fascinating, rugged, and deeply unsettling information.
The scouts reported that the massive northern island was a geographical behemoth, perhaps as large as Kyushu and Shikoku combined, but it was a world entirely alien to the rice farming cultures of the south. Hokkaido was entirely inhabited by numerous fiercely independent Epi-Jōmon hunter fisher communities. There were rugged coastal clans, deep inland tribes, and small, loose tribal confederations.
"There is no Queen Himiko here," Sima Yi murmured, reading the primary scroll, his eyes scanning the elegant calligraphy detailing the barbaric north. "There are no grand wooden palaces, no sprawling rice paddies, and absolutely no large unified kingdom or centralized government in sight. They are fractured, primitive, and entirely adapted to the cold."
The maps divided the massive, untamed island into several major, culturally distinct regional tribal groups, explicitly categorized based around Hokkaido's unforgiving, brutal geography. The society and technology were strictly primitive, portraying them as the most backward cultures in Wa. They relied on bone, stone, yew wood, and imported Honshu iron rather than kingdoms or metallurgy of their own.
Xi Zhicai leaned over the map, tapping the southern tip of the landmass, located just across the treacherous strait from their current position.
"We begin with the Southern Oshima Peninsula Clans," Xi Zhicai stated, reading aloud from the logistical reports. "Located closest to us, they are the wealthiest and, relatively speaking, the most 'civilized' of the northern tribes due to their constant interaction and trade with northern Honshu. They hold an approximate population of twelve thousand souls. They boast two thousand and five hundred fierce warriors. Interestingly, because of their trade, they wield a lethal mix of traditional carved bone spears and traded Honshu iron swords."
"Who leads them?" Zhang Liao asked, his mind already formulating invasion routes.
"They are ruled by a shrewd and pragmatic chieftain named Hakodai," Guo Jia answered, glancing at a supplementary scroll. "Their coastal settlements thrive on a robust mercantile economy. They trade luxurious northern furs, dried kelp, and raw obsidian with the Honshu merchants in exchange for iron tools, woven cloth, and rice. They maintain a fragile, strictly trade based alliance with the northernmost Honshu lords, but they fiercely, violently guard their landing beaches from the inland raiders of their own island."
"They will be our beachhead," Sima Yi noted coldly. "Hakodai values iron and rice. We possess infinite amounts of both. We buy his beaches, or we turn them to glass."
Sima Yi then moved his finger northward, into the massive, sprawling heart of the island. "But beyond the peninsula lies the Ishikari Plain Confederation. Situated in the vast, fertile central western plains dominated by massive, freezing river systems."
The reports detailed a completely different kind of society. The Ishikari Confederation boasted a population of fifteen thousand, fielding three thousand heavily muscled, highly adapted warriors.
"They do not fight in phalanxes," Sima Yi read, his eyes narrowing slightly. "They specialize in brutal ambush tactics within the deep timber forests. They use heavy, recurved yew bows with a terrifying draw weight, and their arrows are tipped with a highly lethal, fast acting neurotoxin extracted from monkshood root. A single scratch can stop a man's heart."
"A council of tribal elders rules them," Xi Zhicai added, marveling at their survival techniques. "They do not build above ground. Their massive, semi subterranean settlements are dug deep into the earth along the rivers to insulate them from the blizzards. They exploit the miraculous, endless seasonal salmon runs, smoking millions of fish to survive the winters. We must also note they have an ancient, bitter blood rivalry with the western coastal clans over river mouth fishing rights. That is a fracture we can exploit."
"Speaking of the west," Guo Jia pointed to the jagged lines drawn along the Sea of Japan. "The Western Coast Tribes. They cling to the rugged, freezing coastal cliffs. A population of about eight thousand, with fifteen hundred fearless marine warriors. They are master boat builders, carving massive dugout canoes capable of braving the open ocean storms."
The Oriole reports described a people who lived entirely off the bounty of the freezing sea, surviving primarily on hunting seals, massive sea lions, and deep sea fishing. They used harpoons tipped with barbed obsidian that could pierce thick blubber.
"They are an isolationist," Guo Jia summarized, taking a sip of hot tea. "They answer to no single leader, just patriarchal family heads. They care nothing for the plains or the southern trade, but the scouts warn they will violently, fanatically band together into a massive naval force if their sacred coastal hunting grounds are encroached upon."
Zhang Liao frowned, looking at Admiral Zhou Yu, who had joined them in the pavilion. "Can our heavy steamships navigate those coastal cliffs without running aground on the reefs?"
"It will be treacherous, Deputy Grand General," Zhou Yu admitted, studying the naval charts. "The waters are shallow and rocky. Their canoes will have a distinct maneuverability advantage in the coastal shoals, but they have never faced naval artillery. If they swarm us, we will blow them out of the water."
The focus then shifted to the east. Xi Zhicai unrolled a heavily detailed map of Eastern Hokkaido, The Wetland and Volcanic Tribes.
"This region is entirely alien," Xi Zhicai whispered, a hint of awe in his clinical voice. "Living among the dense, sprawling primeval forests, massive, crystal clear volcanic lakes, and sprawling, impassable wetlands. A population of roughly ten thousand, with two thousand stealthy, silent hunters."
The eastern tribes were completely isolated from the Honshu trade. They did not possess a single scrap of iron. They were deeply spiritual animists, led not by warlords, but by elder shamans who wore the skulls of bears.
They relied heavily on hunting the massive, roaming herds of Ezo deer, battling massive brown bears, and trapping wild, red crowned cranes. Because they lacked iron, their craftsmanship in obsidian and bone was breathtakingly lethal, their spearheads were knapped so finely they were sharper than mainland steel.
"They know every blade of grass, every hidden bog," Sima Yi warned. "If we march an armored column into those wetlands, our heavy cavalry will sink to the bellies of their horses, and we will be picked apart by bone arrows from the tree lines."
Finally, the reports detailed the absolute, terrifying extreme of the island. Northern Hokkaido, The Ice Clans.
Occupying the brutal, freezing northernmost tips facing the Sea of Okhotsk, these were hardcore survivalist proto tribes. They numbered only around six thousand souls, but they fielded a thousand terrifying warriors clothed entirely in thick, waterproof bear and seal skins.
"They endure a uniquely harsh cold climate that would kill a mainland soldier in a week," Zhang Liao read, his deep voice filled with a grim respect for warriors bred by the ice. "Their settlements are buried deep beneath the snow for half the year. They survive on ice fishing and hunting massive, tusked walruses on the ice floes. They have no concept of diplomacy. They view any outsiders not as trading partners, or even as enemies, but simply as weak prey to be hunted and consumed."
The four men stood back from the table, taking in the full, terrifying scope of the intelligence.
Throughout the dozens of scrolls, the Oriole Agents heavily emphasized the sheer, breathtaking wilderness of Hokkaido. They painted a vivid picture of a sprawling, untouched landscape of towering, primeval timber forests where sunlight barely reached the floor, snow capped volcanic mountains that spewed ash into the freezing sky, raging, unfordable rivers, and unimaginably abundant coastal fisheries that supported wildlife of monstrous size.
The three strategists, men who had out thought the greatest military minds of the civilized world, who had broken the massive armies of Kyushu and shattered the complex fortresses of Shikoku, looked at the map with a sobering realization.
Hokkaido possessed no grand capital to besiege. There was no Queen Himiko to capture, no centralized supply lines to sever, and no grand armies that would meet them in honorable, open-field combat.
"This is not a war against men," Guo Jia concluded quietly, the chaotic brilliance in his eyes tempered by the chilling reality of the maps. "This is a war against the earth itself."
Xi Zhicai nodded, his mind already spinning with the horrific logistical equations. "The brutal, bone chilling northern climate will freeze our black powder and crack our iron wagon wheels. The treacherous, untamed terrain will negate our cavalry and slow our artillery to a crawl. And the fierce, guerrilla warfare mastery of these hunter fisher communities, utilizing poison and stealth in their own backyards..."
"It will make conquering and occupying Hokkaido an entirely different, highly dangerous logistical nightmare compared to the civilized, predictable plains of Honshu," Sima Yi finished, his eyes locked on the freezing northern tips of the map. "We cannot conquer this island with brilliant formations and sweeping cavalry charges. We must conquer it inch by bloody inch. We must build roads through the primeval forests, bridge the raging rivers, and burn the timber to the ground to root them out."
Zhang Liao stepped forward, his massive hands resting on the edge of the wooden table. The Black Dragon had consumed the south, but the maw of the frozen north lay open, daring them to enter.
"Then we prepare for a war of absolute attrition," Zhang Liao commanded, his voice cold and hard as northern ice. "Order the quartermasters to begin requisitioning heavy winter furs from the Mutsu tribes. Tell the engineers to ensure a warm cannons and Hwachas. We do not stop until the banners of the Hengyuan Dynasty fly over the Sea of Okhotsk. The Emperor demands the entire archipelago, and we will deliver it to him, even if we have to melt the ice with our own blood to do it."
The command pavilion was a hive of terrifying, calculated activity. Having thoroughly digested the chilling intelligence reports detailing the frozen nightmare that awaited them, the Hengyuan army and the mighty navy immediately began their massive, grueling logistical preparations. They were no longer preparing for a war against men; they were preparing to wage war against the absolute, unforgiving wrath of the northern winter.
Knowing the lethal drop in temperature they were about to face, Zhang Liao and the three strategists executed an uncompromising requisition campaign across the newly conquered territories. They relentlessly stripped Northern Honshu of absolutely every resource that could generate or preserve heat. Thousands of imperial quartermasters, flanked by heavily armored halberdiers, marched through the settlements of Mutsu and Dewa.
They emptied the native storehouses of their heavy winter furs, seizing mountains of thick brown bear pelts, waterproof seal skins, and deer hides. They confiscated every scrap of heavy wool and stripped the massive, newly seized winter grain reserves down to the barest minimum required to keep the Honshu peasants from starving.
The Hengyuan foundries that had been established in the central plains worked through the night, their blast furnaces glowing like angry stars. They churned out thousands of iron braziers, reinforced snow cleats for the infantry's boots, and specialized, insulated carriages designed to keep the volatile black powder dry and warm. The soldiers themselves, accustomed to the temperate climates of the mainland and the humid jungles of the south, were heavily layered in the crude but necessary native furs over their dark steel lamellar armor, transforming the sleek, mechanical ranks of the Hengyuan legions into a massive, hulking horde of iron and fur.
With their grueling preparations complete, the terrifying Hengyuan war machine finally moved.
The coastal ports of northern Honshu churned with industrialized violence as the Hengyuan Navy weighed anchor. Commanded by the four veteran admirals, Zhou Yu, Gan Ning, Jiang Qin, and Huang Zu, the grand fleet sailed out to brave the violent, freezing currents of the Tsugaru Strait. The strait was a treacherous stretch of water, characterized by violent rip currents, sudden, blinding fogs, and waters so cold that a man who fell overboard would seize and die before he could even drown.
Standing on the prow of his towering Vanguard flagship, Admiral Gan Ning laughed into the biting wind, his thick fur cloak billowing wildly behind him. He watched as the massive paddlewheels of the steam powered warships brutally crushed the icy whitecaps, their heavy iron hulls violently forcing their way through the treacherous currents that had isolated the northern tribes for millennia.
Of course, the massive warships were not just there to transport the army, they were the spearhead. As the fleet approached the rugged, rocky coasts of Hokkaido, focusing their terrifying might squarely on the southern Oshima Peninsula, the native Epi-Jōmon clans gathered on the shores. Commanded by Chief Hakodai, thousands of fierce tribal warriors lined the icy beaches, brandishing their carved bone spears and traded Honshu swords, shouting defiant, ancient war chants at the dark leviathans approaching their sacred shores.
They had never seen naval artillery. They had absolutely no concept of what was about to happen.
"All batteries," Zhou Yu ordered calmly from the command deck of his own flagship, checking the wind drift with a moistened finger. "Level the shores. Leave nothing but ash and glass."
The fleet unleashed a relentless, deafening bombardment. Hundreds of heavy black powder cannons roared in perfect, terrifying unison. The sheer acoustic violence of the broadside shattered the freezing morning air, sending massive, localized shockwaves across the dark water.
Solid iron cannonballs and heavy, flaming projectiles shrieked across the surf and slammed directly into the densely packed ranks of the Oshima warriors. The devastation was instantaneous and absolute. The bone and stone defenses of the coastal Epi-Jōmon clans, designed to repel rival tribal raiding canoes, were completely and utterly shattered before the natives even knew what hit them.
Massive plumes of frozen sand, splintered timber, and red mist erupted along the coastline. The flaming projectiles ignited the dry pine palisades of the coastal settlements, turning the freezing beaches into a roaring, inescapable inferno.
Hakodai's proud, wealthy coastal chiefdom was vaporized in a matter of minutes. The surviving warriors, their eardrums burst and their minds completely broken by the apocalyptic thunder, dropped their weapons and fled blindly into the snow-choked forests.
With the coastal landing zones completely cleared and bathed in the warm, crackling glow of burning timber, the army, heavily assisted by the massive transport capacity of the navy, began the perilous crossing of the strait.
Moving with absolute, terrifying discipline, tens of thousands of armored marines waded through the freezing surf, their boots crunching heavily onto the icy, blood stained beaches. They did not stop to celebrate. Under the barking orders of their officers, they immediately began to build a massive, heavily fortified encampment. They utilized the burning ruins of the native settlements and freshly felled pine trees to construct thick timber barricades and deep, zig zagging trench lines in the frozen dirt.
Zhang Liao rode ashore on a massive, fur-draped warhorse. His breath plumed in the freezing air as he inspected the perimeter. He issued strict, uncompromising orders to the vanguard commanders, they were to hold this impregnable beachhead at all costs. No forward advances were to be made into the treeline until absolutely all of the hundreds of thousands of Hengyuan soldiers, heavy siege engines, and vital supply wagons had successfully crossed the freezing waters.
For three grueling days and nights, the iron bridge of ships ferried the massive invasion force across the strait. The beaches of the Oshima Peninsula were completely transformed into a sprawling, industrialized military city of canvas tents, smoking braziers, and perfectly aligned artillery parks.
Once the entire, overwhelming force was fully assembled on the northern shores, their supply lines firmly tethered to the navy, Zhang Liao raised his heavy iron halberd toward the dark, looming timber forests of the interior. The apocalyptic attack on the deep interior of Hokkaido officially began.
However, the reality of the north quickly set in. This northern invasion quickly, violently became the absolute most brutal, agonizing, and hellish campaign out of the entire invasion of the Wa archipelago.
It was not the enemy's armor or steel that made the campaign so horrifyingly difficult. It was the merciless, unforgiving climate and the treacherous, primeval geography. The earth itself was the absolute worst enemy the Hengyuan soldiers had ever faced.
As the massive, armored columns marched away from the warming fires of the coast and pushed deep into the sprawling Ishikari plains and the rugged, volcanic mountains of the east, they marched directly into a white hell.
The biting, bone chilling arctic blizzards swept down from the Sea of Okhotsk with a predatory fury. The blinding, howling snowstorms reduced visibility to mere feet, blinding the marching columns and completely negating the optical advantage of their long range artillery. The temperature plummeted so drastically that the grease in the wagon axles froze solid, snapping the heavy iron wheels. The leather straps of the soldiers' armor became as brittle as glass, shattering under pressure.
Despite the heavy furs they had requisitioned, frostbite became a rampant, terrifying plague. It crept silently into the boots and gauntlets of the marching infantry, turning toes and fingers black and dead. The freezing cold threatened to take more limbs than enemy arrows ever could, forcing the imperial chirurgeons to perform hundreds of brutal, battlefield amputations every night in the freezing medical tents just to stave off gangrene.
And within this blinding, freezing nightmare, the fiercely independent northern tribes struck.
The Ishikari confederations, the Wetland animists, and the brutal Ice Clans did not line up in open fields to be slaughtered by cannon fire. They brilliantly utilized their absolute, generational mastery of the harsh environment. They were ghosts born of the ice and timber.
Clothed entirely in thick, white bear skins and seal pelts that perfectly camouflaged them against the blizzards, the native hunters launched terrifying, ghost like guerrilla ambushes. The Hengyuan soldiers would be marching slowly through chest deep snowbanks when suddenly, the snow itself would explode.
______________________________
Name: Lie Fan
Title: Founding Emperor Of Hengyuan Dynasty
Age: 36 (203 AD)
Level: 16
Next Level: 462,000
Renown: 2325
Cultivation: Yin Yang Separation (level 11)
SP: 1,121,700
ATTRIBUTE POINTS
STR: 1,010 (+20)
VIT: 659 (+20)
AGI: 653 (+10)
INT: 691
CHR: 98
WIS: 569
WILL: 436
ATR Points: 0