Chapter 220: Advance

On the second day of the tenth month, the sky was just brightening.

The Longxiang Army broke camp, arranging four thousand men into five Formations, leaving the Java port and marching inland.

Zhu Yong rode his horse at the front of the column.

Behind him on the left was Chang Yuchun, and on the right was Wang Baobao.

Further back were the orderly ranks, soldiers shouldering Flintlock Guns and stepping with firm strides.

The morning mist had not yet cleared, and the roadside vegetation bore dew.

Occasionally a few birds were startled, fluttering and flying toward the distance.

After walking for about an hour, a village appeared ahead.

Dozens of crude thatched huts dotted the roadside, and a few plainly dressed natives were peering at the village entrance.

Seeing this massive column, they were frightened, turned and fled, their mouths emitting terrified shouts.

"Prince, should we capture a few to ask for directions?" Chang Yuchun asked.

Zhu Yong shook his head and said, "No, keep moving; with such a stir, the people of Manzhe Boyi will know."

The column did not halt, passing straight through the village.

The natives hid inside the houses, peeking out through the cracks.

They had never seen such an army: orderly ranks, shining armor, and those strange iron rods carried on the shoulders.

A bold child stuck his head out, only to be yanked back by an adult.

Wang Baobao turned his head, saying to Zhu Yong, "Prince, these people are probably local farmers, not the same as those ship‑raiding nobles."

"Alright, we only look for the ones we need," Zhu Yong nodded.

The column continued forward.

The sun rose higher, the mist dissipated, revealing the true face of the tropical jungle.

Tall palm trees, dense thickets, and various plants whose names could not be recalled.

The road grew narrower, from accommodating three or four horses side by side to only two.

Chang Yuchun frowned and said, "This road is hard to traverse; if they have ambushes ahead…"

"Then we fight; Flintlock Gun formation, no ambush can break through," Zhu Yong said.

After another half‑hour's march, a clamor rose from ahead.

Zhu Yong halted his horse and raised his telescope.

In the view, about two li away in a mountain hollow, a mass of people surged out, dark as a wall.

They wore a mishmash of clothing, brandishing spears, machetes, bows, and a few rode short horses.

"They're coming, about two thousand," Zhu Yong said, lowering the telescope.

Chang Yuchun's eyes lit up, "Do we attack?"

"Attack, give the order, form up," Zhu Yong replied, turning his head.

Horn Sound rang.

The five Formations swiftly altered their arrangement; front‑line soldiers crouched, their gun barrels angled forward.

Rear‑line soldiers stood, resting their gun barrels on the shoulders of those ahead.

A three‑layer shooting Formation instantly took shape.

Zhu Yong flipped off his horse and walked to the front of the formation.

Chang Yuchun and Wang Baobao also dismounted, standing on his two sides.

The natives opposite kept approaching, soon within a li.

Seeing this orderly army, they slowed, yet relying on their numbers, they continued pressing forward.

At the head rode a Strongman on a horse, a feather stuck in his hair, a beast‑tooth necklace around his neck, and he carried a Long Sword.

He halted his horse three Hundred Steps away, shouting something in the local tongue.

"Prince, he says if we lay down our weapons and hand over the ships and cargo, he'll spare us," Wang Baobao, fluent in several languages and understanding some South Sea dialect, reported.

Zhu Yong nodded, saying nothing.

The Strongman shouted a few more lines, seeing no reaction, and swung his Long Sword.

The natives behind let out strange cries and charged this way.

Three Hundred Steps, Two Hundred Fifty Steps, Two Hundred Steps…

Zhu Yong silently calculated the distance.

The Flintlock Gun's effective range is One Hundred Fifty Steps, but its optimal lethal distance is within One Hundred Steps.

One Hundred Fifty Steps.

"Prepare," Zhu Yong raised his hand.

One Hundred Twenty Steps.

One Hundred Steps.

"Fire!"

"Bang bang bang..."

The first line of guns fired.

The dozens of natives at the front fell with a cry, their wails echoing.

Those behind froze, their steps stalling.

"Second line, fire!"

"Bang bang bang..."

Another line of guns fired.

Another several dozen people fell.

The natives' troops were completely thrown into chaos.

Some turned and fled, some looked around bewildered, some still charged forward, but were quickly felled by the third line of guns.

Three rounds of fire, in less than the time it takes to brew a cup of tea, over a hundred fell.

The remaining men finally broke, dropping their weapons and scattering in a panicked flight.

The riding Strongman was also fleeing, running while looking back, his face full of terror.

"Give chase?" Chang Yuchun asked.

Zhu Yong shook his head: "No need, let them run; it's better for them to return and report."

The Longxiang Army did not pursue, but reformed and tallied casualties.

Zero casualties.

Not a single one died; there were not even any injuries.

This is the Huogi's crushing of cold weapons.

Chang Yuchun, rubbing his hands excitedly, said: "Thrilling, so thrilling! These savages can't even get close for melee!"

Wang Baobao also smiled, but his smile carried a hint of complexity.

He recalled how, back on the Grassland, his own cavalry had been shattered by Flintlock Guns in the same way.

Zhu Yong remounted and said: "Advance onward."

The unit crossed that battlefield, where over a hundred corpses lay on the ground, and the air was thick with the scent of blood and gunpowder.

A soldier, curious, examined the corpses and found the Flintlock Gun's projectiles had extreme penetrating power; some pierced straight through bodies, leaving bowl-sized wounds.

"This thing... is truly ruthless," a young soldier whispered.

An older soldier beside him patted his head and said: "Stop looking, move on; you'll get used to it after seeing more."

The unit continued deeper inland.

After marching another two hours, a river appeared ahead.

The river was narrow, about twenty zhang across, with a rapid current.

A wooden bridge spanned the river, but only two or three could walk side by side.

"Prince, this bridge is too narrow; it will take considerable time for four thousand to cross, and if they set an ambush on the opposite bank..." Chang Yuchun frowned.

Zhu Yong raised his telescope and carefully surveyed the opposite bank.

The opposite bank was an open plain, beyond which lay dense jungle.

The open ground was silent and empty, not a single figure in sight.

But Zhu Yong felt something was off.

After a moment he said: "Have the engineers construct a floating bridge."

"Floating bridge?" Chang Yuchun was startled.

Zhu Yong nodded: "Zhou Dahai said that people on this side of the South Sea like ambushes; when the bridge is narrow, they wait on the opposite bank to strike us as we are half across."

"A floating bridge is wide; it can let dozens cross at a time, and even if they set an ambush, it won't stop them."

The engineer detachment accompanying the army immediately sprang into action.

They carried simple floating bridge gear: inflatable bladders, wooden planks, and ropes.

Soon, a dozen or so bladders were inflated, linked with ropes, topped with planks, and a simple floating bridge was completed.

The floating bridge could accommodate ten people side by side at once, much faster than that wooden bridge.

The Longxiang Army began crossing the river.

After the first batch of soldiers crossed, they quickly formed a Formation on the opposite bank for guard.

Second batch, third batch…

When the fourth batch was crossing, a group of people suddenly surged out of the jungle on the opposite bank.

This time there were more than before, at least three thousand, plus dozens on horseback.

They shrieked and charged toward the crossing, trying to block the Ming troops at the riverbank.

But it was already too late.

The three hundred soldiers who crossed first had already formed a Formation.

"Raise your guns!"

"Fire!"

"Bang bang bang bang!"

The horses at the front were hit, their riders thrown off, and the infantry behind were swept down by a hail of projectiles.

The second batch, still crossing, heard the gunfire and quickened their pace.

Third batch…

When three thousand natives charged to within Hundred Steps of the crossing, eight hundred soldiers had already gathered on the opposite bank.

Three layers of shooting Formation, with endless gunfire.

The natives' charge hit an invisible wall; wave after wave fell, then surged forward again.

But they could not break past that Hundred Steps.

Hundred Steps became a line of death.