Chapter 312: Panic

The sixteenth year of Hongwu, the ninth day of the seventh month.

Timur Empire, outside Samarkhan.

The sun has just risen from the eastern horizon, golden light spilling over this most prosperous Central Asian city, making the blue‑domed mosques glitter brilliantly.

Samarkhan.

The capital of the Timur Empire, the pearl of Central Asia, a paradise on the trade routes.

The city wall rises five zhang, built of the strongest bricks and stones, winding over ten‑plus li, encircling the whole city like an iron barrel.

Every Hundred Steps along the wall there is a watchtower, its top flying the Timur Empire's flag, a green field embroidered with a golden crescent and a curved blade.

Outside the city lies an open plain, which should have been a bustling scene of merchants and countless carts and horses.

But at this moment, outside the city gate there is no one.

Because in the distance, an army is slowly advancing.

Three thousand cavalry, three thousand warhorses, three thousand sets of plate armor.

In the morning light, that forest of steel glints with a cold sheen, uniform and motionless.

Only the sound of hooves, heavy and rhythmic, like muffled thunder rolling over the earth, thudding one after another, striking each person's heart.

On the wall, the garrison has already become a chaotic mess.

"Quick, quick go report to His Majesty!" the guard general's face turned deathly pale, his voice trembling.

The messenger, stumbling, ran down the wall, mounted a horse and galloped toward the palace.

The guard general again crouched on the rampart, staring fixedly at the army drawing ever nearer.

Closer, even closer.

The three thousand cavalry slowly halted about a mile from the city gate.

There is no clamor, no chaos, even the warhorses stand there in perfect order, as if trained.

In the front row are five hundred Heavy Armor cavalry, wrapped from head to toe in refined steel, even the warhorses are clad in iron armor.

In the sunlight, the reflected glare of the armor stings the eyes.

They hold long spears, the tips angled forward, as if in the next instant they would charge, piercing everything that stands before them.

The middle unit consists of two thousand light cavalry, also wearing plate armor, each bearing a strange object on their backs; the guard general does not know it is called a Flintlock Gun, but instinctively feels it must be very dangerous.

In the rear are five hundred scouts and logistics troops, all now fully prepared, none whispering, none looking around.

Three thousand men, three thousand warhorses, like a silent steel citadel.

The guard general's legs begin to give way.

He has guarded the city for over a decade, having seen countless armies.

Mongol cavalry, Persian infantry, Indian war elephants—he has seen them all.

But he has never seen an army like this.

Those soldiers are wrapped in iron from head to toe, revealing only a pair of eyes.

Those eyes are as cold as winter snow, without fear or hesitation, only absolute obedience and absolute confidence.

The guard general suddenly recalls a legend.

It is said that in the east there is a great nation called Great Ming, where the Emperor is the Son of Heaven, where people wear silk and use porcelain.

It is said that that country's army is unbelievably powerful.

He did not believe it before.

Now he believes it.

"Quick… quick close the city gate…" his voice trembles.

The Vice General beside him says in a trembling voice: "General, there are still civilians outside the city…"

"We can't worry about that, close it quickly!"

The heavy city gate begins to close slowly, emitting a dull thud.

Outside, the merchants and civilians who had been preparing to enter the city are frightened by this sudden scene, scattering in panic, cries filling the air.

On the wall, more soldiers pour up, archers draw their bows and nock arrows, spearmen grip their spears, as if facing a great enemy.

But their hands all tremble.

Because that army is too quiet.

Three thousand men, three thousand warhorses, just stand there silently, motionless, saying nothing.

Only the sound of wind rustling the flags.

It is the Great Ming flag, a red field embroidered with a golden dragon, fanged and clawed, exuding grandeur.

At the front of the formation, a man dressed in dark princely robes rides a tall warhorse.

He has thick brows, large eyes, a square face, a full forehead, and his gaze is calm as water.

On the horse's back behind him hang two massive hammers.

Those hammers are larger than a human head, their black‑gold sheen flowing in the sunlight, appearing weighty.

The guard general glances once and feels his breath become difficult.

How heavy could they be?

What kind of person could swing such hammers?

……

Outside the city, Zhu Yong holds back his warhorse, gazing at the majestic city in the distance.

Samarkhan.

The capital of the Timur Empire.

In his previous life he read about it in history books, knowing how prosperous this city was, and also knowing how great Timur's ambition was.

But seeing it with my own eyes at this moment was still somewhat shocking.

The city walls were taller than imagined, the city itself larger than imagined, and those blue‑domed mosques were indeed beautiful.

"Father, that city is so big!" Zhu Qiong Jiong's voice came from beside me.

Zhu Yong turned his head and saw his son riding a camel, stretching his neck to look into the distance.

The seven‑year‑old boy had been riding a camel every day for a month, sun‑browned like a lump of coal, yet his eyes shone brightly, full of vigor.

"That is Samarkand, Tie Mu Er's capital," Zhu Yong said calmly.

Zhu Qiong Jiong blinked and asked, "Is it larger than Yingtian Prefecture?"

"Not larger than Yingtian Prefecture, but not small either."

Zhu Qiong Jiong responded with a hum and asked again, "Is Tie Mu Er inside there?"

"Hmm."

Zhu Qiong Jiong thought for a moment, then laughed, "He must be on the city wall watching us, surely terrified."

Zhu Yong looked at his son, the corner of his mouth lifting slightly.

"How do you know?"

Zhu Qiong Jiong pointed at the distant wall, speaking in an old‑man's tone, "Look, their gates are shut, a crowd on the wall, they must be watching us."

Zhu Yong lifted his head to look toward the wall.

Indeed, the gates were tightly closed, and the wall was packed densely with people.

Faintly one could see archers drawing bows, spearmen gripping long spears, as if facing a great enemy.

He smiled.

"Jiong Jiong is right; they are indeed watching us, and indeed they are terrified."

Zhu Qiong Jiong puffed out his little chest proudly.

……

On the wall, the guard commander's palms were already slick with sweat.

That army was too quiet.

Quiet enough to be frightening.

He had fought for twenty years, had seen countless armies charge with vigor, and had also witnessed the panic of rout.

But he had never seen an army like this.

Just standing there silently, motionless, saying nothing.

As if waiting for something.

Waiting for orders.

And the man in the dark robe was the one to give the orders.

With a single command, those three thousand steel machines would spring to life, charge forward, smash the gates open, and level the city.

The guard commander shivered.

At that moment, the distant army suddenly moved.

The guard commander's heart tightened, and he instinctively stepped back.

But it was not a charge.

In the middle of the formation a path was cleared, and several wagons slowly rolled forward.

They were large wagons, their cabins made of fine wood, carved with exquisite patterns, and draped with silk curtains.

The guard commander was stunned.

"What does this mean?"

At the front of the formation, the man in the dark robe dismounted and walked to one of the wagons.

He pulled back the curtain, apparently speaking to those inside.

Then a woman in red clothing stepped out of the wagon.

The woman was very beautiful.

Even from this distance, the guard commander could see that she was beautiful beyond mortal.

She wore a flowing scarlet gown, a phoenix crown set with rubies, stood tall, and exuded noble bearing.

She stood beside the man, gazing at the distant wall, her expression calm.

The guard commander suddenly understood.

These were Great Ming's nobles.

That man was a noble.

That woman, too, was a noble.

They had come to see Tie Mu Er His Majesty.

Not to fight.

The guard commander exhaled a long breath, his legs went weak, and he nearly sat down.

But immediately, he tensed again.

If they had come to fight, that would be easy to explain.

If they could not win, they could surrender; it would not be disgraceful.

But if they had come to see His Majesty, bringing such an army…

"What does this mean?"

"A show of force?"

The guard commander dared not think further.

He only knows that His Majesty Tie Mu Er will probably not sleep well today.