While the maesters of Westeros obsessed over obsidian dragonglass, Jason had no interest in mining it on Dragonstone. He had muskets, gunpowder, and artillery. Why would he bother with primitive weapons?
Back in the modern world, IronForge Props had already manufactured parts for over twenty thousand flintlock muskets. Jason had transported them all to the military factory outside Starfire City, where workers were busy with assembly. The First Northern Army, his original corps, was now fully equipped with these new rifles and was currently undergoing intensive marksmanship training.
In addition to the seven thousand soldiers of the First Northern, the ten thousand men he had recruited before marching south had now completed more than half a year of training. Jason officially organized them into the Second Northern Army. He appointed himself Commander-in-Chief of his entire military, while also serving as the direct commander of the First Northern, with Kent as his deputy. He promoted Jon to command the new Second Northern Army, with Bud as his deputy.
Next, he recruited from the young men among the Riverlands refugees, aged sixteen to twenty-five, forming two more corps: the First and Second Southern Armies. He appointed McCann as commander of the First Southern, with Chris as his deputy, and Marbu as commander of the Second Southern, with Rubin as his deputy. All of his most trusted knights were now leading armies. The only exception was the simple and honest Rick, who he kept by his side as the captain of his personal guard.
The two newly formed Southern corps, totaling fourteen thousand men, had only been training for a month. Their commanders were pushing them hard, drilling them from dawn until dusk. Once they completed their basic training, they too would be equipped with the newly assembled flintlocks.
With two full army corps armed with rifles, Jason's military was already the most powerful in Westeros. But since they had not yet been deployed in battle, no one knew that his strength had grown to such a terrifying level. He no longer concerned himself with the knights and spearmen of the southern lords. His true enemies were the White Walkers and their army of wights beyond the Wall. Once those magical threats were dealt with, the rest of Westeros would inevitably fall into his hands.
But even a massive force of riflemen wasn't enough for Jason. He had IronForge Props manufacture a large number of cannons, officially sold as 19th-century "handicraft replicas." He had recently transported ten of these 12-pounder Napoleon smoothbore cannons to the barracks outside the city. Today, he had brought Jon, Kent, McCann, and his other top commanders to witness their power firsthand.
Each 12-pounder cannon weighed 600 kilograms, with a barrel over a meter long and a caliber of 117mm. It was mounted on a carriage with two large, sturdy wheels. The guns could fire solid iron cannonballs, explosive shells, or canister shot. The production line for the ammunition had been secretly moved to his military factory; manufacturing it in the modern world was too risky.
"Fire!" a company commander, newly appointed as head of the artillery, gave the order.
BOOM!
A deafening roar echoed across the training grounds as a cloud of thick, white smoke billowed from the cannon's mouth. A solid cannonball screamed through the air, smashing into a rocky hillside nearly a kilometer away. Rocks splintered and dust flew, the raw power of the impact stunning the onlookers. The effective range was over a kilometer, with a maximum range of nearly two.
Jon, McCann, Kent, and the others, who had only ever known the clash of steel, stared with their mouths agape, their minds struggling to comprehend the terrifying weapon before them.
Jason watched their stunned reactions with a proud smile. He turned to the artillery commander. "Change to canister shot. Show them its effectiveness against infantry."
"Yes, my lord!"
The hundred clever soldiers Jason had handpicked from the First Northern Army to serve as his first artillerymen moved with practiced efficiency. He had formed them into an artillery company, and they were quickly becoming familiar with the cannons. Even if their aim wasn't perfect yet, it hardly mattered. No army in Westeros had ever faced artillery. The first time they heard that thunder on the battlefield, they would break and run in terror. Jason even imagined secretly arranging hundreds of cannons to give the Night King a warm welcome. Perhaps a single volley could send the icy demon straight to hell.
Soon, a cannon loaded with canister shot was aimed at a series of wooden man-sized targets and thick logs set up two hundred meters away.
BOOM!
The cannon fired with another earth-shattering roar. A dense cloud of lead balls erupted from the barrel, tearing through the air like a giant shotgun blast. The wooden targets were shredded into splinters. A log as thick as a man's thigh was instantly sheared in two. If that had been a line of men, even those in the heaviest plate armor would have been ripped to pieces.
A wave of fierce desire washed over the faces of the commanders.
"My lord," Marbu said, his voice filled with excitement, "when will the Second Southern Army be equipped with these... these cannons? With weapons like this, no one in Westeros could stand against us!"
McCann and the others looked at Jason with the same eager hope. They were no fools. They understood that they were witnessing the end of an era. The age of swords and knights was over. The firearms of the Starfire army would sweep the world.
"Don't worry," Jason reassured them. "Every corps will be equipped with artillery in time." He paused, letting his words sink in before adding, "But the first enemy we will face with these weapons is not the lords of the south. It is the threat that comes from north of the Wall."
"North of the Wall?" Jon asked, confused. "The wildlings? My lord, they don't even have proper swords. Surely this is overkill."
Jason just smiled cryptically. "There are more than just wildlings north of the Wall."
He left it at that. There was no point in telling them about the army of the dead. Hearing is not believing. They would see for themselves soon enough.
Jason's guess was more accurate than he knew. Far to the north, the men of the Night's Watch, stationed on the Wall, had also begun to sense that something was terribly wrong in the haunted forest beyond.
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