The Revolt of the Three Feudatories: All-in at the start in Beijing

Ma Sandao had just finished assembling the square formation and hadn't even had time to have the front ranks check the ammunition when a massive, dark mass of people surged out from the gun emplacement.

He squinted and scanned the area, discovering that the newcomers were not the samurai who had retreated earlier, but foot soldiers. These were things that the generals had already prepared thoroughly for.

The archers, musketeers, and foot soldiers were all mixed together, and the ranks were in disarray, like a bustling market. Some people ran empty-handed after their bowstrings broke, while others ran with their flint and steel to strike the fire as they ran.

Some people even dropped the cannonballs out of their pouches while running, and then squatted down to rummage through the sand, probably because they didn't want to be at the front.

"Is this all the quality you've got?" Ma Sandao spat to the side, then turned and yelled at the messenger, "Form ranks!"

The sound of suona horns echoed across the beach, and the formation changed its position in just a few breaths.

This time is different from the past. Previously, due to the slow loading of ammunition, they had no choice but to choose the five-stage firing method. Now that these veterans have increased their loading speed, they have started to use the three-stage firing method, which can maximize manpower.

In the front row, three hundred men were kneeling on one knee, with flintlock rifles resting on their left knees. In the second row, three hundred men were half-squatting, with the barrels of their rifles protruding between the shoulders of the men in front. In the third row, two hundred men were standing, with the butts of their rifles against their shoulders and their cheeks pressed against the barrels.

Ma Sandao pressed his goose-feather saber forward: "Release!"

The person at the front of the formation pulled the trigger, and the flint sparked as it was struck by the machine, instantly blasting out nearly three hundred bullets from the muzzle of the flintlock musket.

The archer foot soldier at the forefront was thrown back as if by an invisible wall, falling backward with a burst of blood on his chest and his longbow flying out of his hand.

Before the second rank of Japanese archers could even draw their bows fully, the second rank of Han soldiers' flintlock muskets fired again, followed by the third rank.

The three-stage firing was as rhythmic as a loom: the first rank fired, then retreated and reloaded; the second rank advanced, fired, then retreated and reloaded; and the third rank advanced again, repeating the cycle without stopping.

Although the flintlock muskets of the Han army were long and inconvenient to load, they were still much faster than the matchlock muskets of the Japanese, and the barrels were made of fine iron, so they did not get hot even after firing ten shots.

After two rounds of three-stage attacks, more than a third of the three thousand foot soldiers had fallen. The remaining ones could no longer hold on and began to run backwards. Those behind, unaware of the danger, instinctively turned and ran as well.

Just a few months ago, this group of foot soldiers were farmers tilling the land. They put down their hoes, were given a suit of armor and a sword, and were dragged to this island where the west side is all sea.

They didn't know how big the Han Dynasty was, or what the Han army was; all they knew was that the tall men in khaki uniforms opposite them stood in neat rows, taller and stronger than them.

Standing in the dispersing crowd, Yamamoto Kazuo suddenly realized that there was no one around him, and that he hadn't even fired a single arrow or a single shot from beginning to end.

"A bunch of useless trash!" Yamamoto Kazuo cursed, shoved his katana into the ground, bent down to pick up a half-burnt matchlock rope, looked at it, then threw it away. He then drew his sword, turned around, and ran towards the gun emplacement.

At the foot of Fortress Hill, amidst the pile of boulders, Soga Shigehiro had witnessed the entire scene clearly. His face was ashen, but he didn't utter a curse.

He knew that cursing was useless now. The three thousand foot soldiers had gone up and dispersed in less than the time it takes for an incense stick to burn, without even touching the Han army's formation.

He turned around to face the ten thousand warriors crammed behind him among the rubble and the dry creek.

These warriors had already seen the defeat on the beach from the pile of rocks. The senior warriors stood in front, their hands on the hilts of their swords, remaining silent.

The lower-ranking samurai stood at the back, some licking their lips incessantly, others wiping the sweat from their palms onto their trouser legs.

Soga Shigehiro glanced at the group of people, then slowly drew his katana. He didn't shout any slogans, but spoke in a very flat tone.

"Listen up, the Han army's cannons have stopped firing. They've landed and want to fight us with knives. In a knife fight, no one can beat us."

"Right now, it's a thousand against ten thousand on the beach, ten against one. Even if you die, you'll die on the Han army's position. Anyone who retreats will be the first one I cut down. Do you understand?"

No one answered, and Soga Shigeyasu didn't need to. He pointed his katana towards the beach and was the first to walk out.

Two thousand high-ranking samurai followed behind him. They were all over 1.55 meters tall, which was considered tall among the Japanese. Their swords were made of fine iron, and their scabbards were painted with family crests. Some of them had flags on their backs, which bore the emblem of the shogunate.

Eight thousand lower-ranking samurai followed behind the higher-ranking samurai, carrying swords of varying lengths, wearing bamboo armor slightly more solid than that of foot soldiers, and helmets. They had no banners, no family crests, only a fierce determination born of being driven to the brink of despair.

Ten thousand people surged out of the pile of rocks and spread out on the beach in a dense crowd. There were no neat rows or uniform steps. The high-ranking warriors at the forefront had already started jogging.

Ma Sandao frowned when he saw the warriors charging forward. He glanced back and saw that the heavy infantry had not yet come up.

Each of those armored soldiers wore a cloth-covered iron armor weighing thirty pounds, with chainmail underneath. It was very slow to transport them off the ship, let alone put them on.

"Stop looking!" Ma Sandao turned back, raising his goose-feather saber. "No one is allowed to retreat a single step until the heavy armored soldiers arrive! All guns pointed forward—fire!"

The three-stage attack resumed, and the first volley felled a group of high-ranking warriors at the forefront.

When a flintlock bullet hits a metal plate, it can bounce off at a distance, but when it gets close, the metal plate can't stop it at all.

The bullet pierced through the armor, tearing through the shirt and flesh beneath the armor plates, blasting a bloody hole the size of a bowl in the chest.

Some high-ranking samurai had their swords knocked away by bullets. They rolled on the ground and tried to get up, but were hit by bullets from behind and lay motionless on the ground, blood gushing out from the gaps in their cleavage.

The second volley followed immediately. Because the distance was even closer, more people fell this time. The first row of people looked as if they had been swept across the waist by a sickle.

However, after the three volleys, some of the faster samurai had already rushed into the ten-meter range, and the senior samurai at the forefront began to let out hoarse roars, perhaps to cheer each other on.

"Fix bayonets!" Ma Sandao shouted upon seeing this.

Upon hearing Ma Sandao's order, the soldiers in the front row drew their bayonets from their waists and attached them to their gun barrels with a snap.

Ma Sandao also gripped his goose-feather saber tightly and took a step forward. Just as he was about to order a counter-charge, a series of heavy footsteps suddenly came from behind him.

Without even a second thought, Ma Sandao knew that heavily armored infantry had arrived, and he immediately breathed a sigh of relief.

It's not worth it to use musketeers to fight the Japanese hand-to-hand.