The handgun solves the Empire's oldest problem: nearly everything that wants its people dead is stronger, faster, and older than any man. Powder and shot do not care. Handgunner regiments fight by drill — present, give fire, reload to the count — and a disciplined volley at close range will stop an armored charge in a rolling wall of smoke, noise, and toppling bodies.
The great gunnery school at Nuln arms them, and arithmetic makes them terrible: a longbowman takes a lifetime to train, a handgunner takes a season. Veterans of the line insist there is no music sweeter than a full regiment firing on the count of three — and no silence deeper than the one that follows, when whatever was coming is no longer coming.
Order of battle
