[ FF ] `` The weapon that won the war '' ( Feedback for every response . ) 400 words or less .

Normally I would do sci-fi, but I've had this scenario in my head for a while now, so I guess why not. Exactly 400 words, funny how that works. 
 
 
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 He did not think of himself as a hero. Though he was large and skilled in the blades, there was barely any craft in his fingers or magic in his bones, and so he found himself a soldier. In time, he would write of his life and be long remembered, and in part, it would be because of this day. 
 
 That was when the wild men came, more than the meager defenders. The warmbloods were large and many, and they advanced behind a wall of wooden shields.The Lance-leader had them stand and kneel in double file, long-guns leveled. These were strange, untested designs, with which his unit had drilled for weeks but never brought to the field. 
 
 And so they took aim and waited uneasily, and when the order was given, they fired as one. Some of the wild men fell, but the others dropped their shields and charged, counting on making it before they could reload. He guessed, at that distance, he could fire off one more, deadly shot, but that was with his old long-gun. 
 
 Now came the order to reload, but instead of fumbling with alchemical powder and ball, he reached for a lever on the side of his gun. He pushed and pulled, and heard the metal cylinder rotate, another tube, this one with ball and powder ready, slid to replace the one spent and smoking. The order came, and they fired again, seeing through smoke as charging surfacers fell. And then they were told to keep firing, and he moved the lever and pulled the trigger four more times. 
 
 Now he tilted his long-gun and pulled a different lever, the red-hot spinner falling into a waiting bag. He pulled a fresh, ready one from his belt, sliding it into position and turning to lock it. Then again, the lever, the trigger, three times blindly before the order for blades was given. And so he rose, drawing his sword and parrying blade, and braced himself, and waited. 
 
 And waited. 
 
 And waited. 
 
 They looked at each other in confusion. Gone was the thunder of their spin-guns. Gone were the cries of the warmbloods. And when the smoke finally rose, they saw a field of corpses, dead to the last, not one reaching their lines. 
 
 It was then that he, and soon after the world, understood that war had changed, and the balance of power has shifted.
