Chapter 281: Pieces Falling

Hongwu 14th year, the ninth day of the eleventh month.

Australia continent North Bank, early morning.

The mist had not yet cleared, and the campfire was already half out.

Zhu Yong stood before the great tent, watching the distant mountain outlines become clearer, a freshly mined ore clenched in his hand.

Malachite, shining green, felt heavy in his hand.

"Prince, the scouting scout has returned," Zhang Wu entered from outside the camp, followed by three dust‑covered soldiers.

Zhu Yong turned, slipping the ore back into his bosom.

"Speak."

The lead scout knelt on one knee, his voice hoarse yet excited, saying: "Prince, we marched west eighty li, crossed three mountains, and discovered a great river, twice as wide as the one we saw before.

The cliffs along the riverbank are covered with this green stone, stretching beyond sight!"

He pulled a bundle from his bosom and lifted it with both hands.

Zhu Yong took it and opened it.

Inside were seven or eight pieces of ore: malachite, blue copper ore, yellow copper ore, and several dark‑brown iron ores, all weighing heavily.

He examined each piece, a faint smile curling his lips.

"There's more!"

The scout continued: "Henan bank has a large tribe, at least two thousand people; their huts are sturdier than those up north, and they have wooden fences.

Their weapons are also finer, with bone arrows and stone axes, appearing more formidable than the previous ones."

Zhu Yong nodded, re‑packaging those ore pieces.

"Well done, go rest and receive your reward."

The scout withdrew.

Zhang Wu leaned in, whispering: "Prince, a tribe of two thousand is probably not that easy to subdue."

Zhu Yong said nothing, handing the bundle of ore to the nearby craftsman leader, asking him to assess its purity.

A moment later, the craftsman leader returned, his face alight, saying: "Prince! Excellent news! These copper ores are at least thirty percent purer than the previous ones!

That iron ore is also pure enough; smelted, it will surely become fine steel!"

Zhu Yong nodded, looking at Zhang Wu.

"Send the order: assemble the whole army, bring enough Dry Rations and ammunition, and depart after one hour."

"Yes!"

……

The troops followed the scout's charted route, marching westward.

The mountain path was rugged, overgrown with thorns.

Soldiers hacked vines with knives, while the craftsmen carried instruments behind them, each step arduous.

Zhu Yong led at the front, bearing Double Hammers, yet his stride was light as if walking on flat ground.

After two hours, they crossed the first mountain.

Another hour later, they crossed the second mountain.

In the afternoon Shen Hour, on the ridge of the third mountain, the troops halted.

Everyone froze.

Below the mountain, a great river surged, its surface so wide that the opposite bank was out of sight.

The river water glimmered gold in the sunset; the steep cliffs on both sides exposed rock that shone in patches of green tinged with blue—the oxidized copper ore, malachite and blue copper, dense and layered, as if the cliffs were draped in a strange Colorful robe.

"Heaven… how much copper is that?" the craftsman behind murmured.

Zhu Yong squinted, gazing down the river valley toward the distance.

The river wound forward, disappearing among farther mountains.

Both banks featured continuous stretches of similar Colorful cliffs, endless to the eye.

He inhaled deeply, suppressing the tremor within his heart.

The records he had read in a past life said Australia is one of the richest copper‑ore regions on Earth, yet seeing it with his own eyes still exceeded his imagination.

"Prince, that over there is the tribe," the scout pointed to the far riverbank.

Zhu Yong followed the direction with his gaze.

On the flat ground across the river, indeed lay a dense cluster of huts, surrounded by tall wooden fences, with vague silhouettes moving along them.

Smoke curled from the tribe's cooking fires, and faint dog barks and a child's cry could be heard.

"Did they spot us?"

"Not yet; this side is upwind, the smoke drifts that way, they cannot smell us," the scout said.

Zhu Yong nodded, his eyes sweeping both riverbanks.

The current was swift; a direct crossing was impossible. They must go downstream to find a calmer stretch.

"Zhang Wu."

"Here!"

"Take a hundred men downstream five li, see if there is a crossing point, be careful not to alarm them."

"Yes!"

Zhang Wu led the men and vanished into the woods.

Zhu Yong turned, telling the rear troops: "Stay where you are, rest, await news, no fire, no noise."

The soldiers sat down silently, took out Dry Rations, and ate slowly with water from the Water Bag.

Zhu Yong sat on a stone, gazing at the opposite tribe, his thoughts drifting elsewhere.

This continent is too vast.

Since landing at the North Bank, it's been almost two months; they've trekked several hundred li, and the copper, iron, and coal deposits they've found are so numerous they can no longer keep count.

And this is still only a corner of Australia.

If the entire Australian continent were developed, those mineral resources would suffice Great Ming for several hundred years.

But there are too few hands.

The soldiers and craftsmen brought from Great Ming number just over two thousand, the captured natives are only about five thousand, and they still have to allocate a group to guard the mines and another to escort ore back to the port.

Those who can truly follow him into the depths number just over a thousand.

A thousand people, facing this boundless continent, are like a handful of sand poured into the sea.

"We have to have Father send more people," he mutters softly.

But over at Ying Tianfu, the first batch of ore has only just been shipped back; after the news returns, organizing a second fleet will not be possible until at least March next year.

In the coming months, he must explore as much as possible, marking valuable veins to prepare for subsequent large‑scale extraction.

And those native tribes.

A large tribe like the one across the river, if captured, would provide several thousand laborers.

It's bloody, but there's no alternative.

This continent needs to be developed; Great Ming lacks people, so they must rely on the natives.

He is no saint.

……

As dusk deepened, Zhang Wu returned with his men.

"Lord, six li downstream there's a shallow shoal, water only up to the waist, we can cross the river."

Zhu Yong stood up and stretched his limbs.

"Send the order, depart."

Night provides the best cover.

The party slipped down the hill in darkness, moving along the riverbank. The moon had not risen yet; only starlight barely illuminated the path.

Half an hour later they reached the shoal.

The river rushed noisily, and its deepest point truly reached only to a man's waist.

The riverbed was sand and stone, each step firm and clanking.

Zhu Yong was the first to wade in, raising the Double Hammers above his head and stepping steadily toward the opposite bank.

The icy water rose over his waist, then his chest, but at its deepest it only reached his neck.

He walked steadily onto the opposite bank and set the hammers down.

Behind him, soldiers brandished fire‑guns, craftsmen guarded their instruments, and they crossed the river one after another.

In less than half an hour, over a thousand people crossed the river without alerting anyone.

"Lord, the tribe is six li upstream," Zhang Wu said, pointing toward the riverbank.

Zhu Yong nodded and said, "Let's go."

The party moved silently along the riverbank toward the tribe.

The night wind blew, carrying the river's dampness and distant beasts' howls.

……

Inside the tribe, the campfire had already burned down to less than half.

Men crowded into the largest shelter; a small fire burned in the center, and several elders sat around, their expressions solemn.

"Those people from the north have come again," a elder with white tribal markings on his face whispered.

"I know. The scouts I sent north have not returned," said the chief, a burly middle‑aged man scarred all over, a razor‑sharp stone axe hanging at his waist.

"They capture people, many of them."

"The northern tribes have been completely taken."

Several elders murmured, their voices tinged with fear.

The chief fell silent for a moment, then said gravely, "They will eventually find this place; we cannot wait to die."

"What shall we do?"

The chief clenched his stone axe, a fierce glint in his eyes, and said, "They have that fire‑spitting, smoking staff—formidable—but they are few; we are many.

When they come, we will…"

Before he could finish, a scream rang out from outside.

Immediately followed by shouts, screams, and the chilling "bang‑bang" that exploded instantly.

The chief sprang up, brandishing his stone axe, and rushed out.

Outside the shelter, chaos reigned.

In the firelight, countless dark figures surged from the riverbank, their staffs spewing flame; with each crack, a tribe member fell.

His tribesmen brandished stone spears and bone arrows and charged, but before that fire‑spitting staff they fell one after another, like a wheat harvest.

The chief's eyes flushed blood‑red in an instant; he raised his stone axe and roared, charging the nearest dark figure.

The dark figure turned, and in the firelight he saw the person's face clearly.