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.
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