Cast in the great foundries of Nuln and hauled to war on groaning carriages, the great cannon is the Empire's longest arm. A well-laid shot skips through packed regiments like a stone through reeds, punches through gatehouse and rampart, and brings down creatures that have shrugged off arrows for centuries. Its crews are craftsmen as much as soldiers — they name their guns, argue with them, and speak of temperament as though the bronze had opinions.
The great cannon carries an argument as well as a payload. The Empire's enemies trust in old things — old blood, old magic, old muscle — and every roundshot is the reply: men learn faster than monsters. When some dragon-sized horror comes apart in a single thunderclap and a drift of smoke, whole armies remember why the Old World has begun to fear the young nation with the loud machines.
Order of battle
