Chapter 370: You...Who Are You

Twenty thousand Longxiang Army roared in unison, and the horse hooves thundered.

The allied army's rear camp lay on a riverbank, the tents scattered sparsely, and sentries leaned against the wooden fence, dozing.

Hearing a distant roar, he rubbed his eyes and saw a sheet of iron‑black tide surging out of the valley.

He opened his mouth to shout, but before the sound came out, a hammer already struck in front of him.

Zhu Yong smashed the wooden fence with a hammer, and his warhorse charged into the camp over the fragments.

His right‑hand hammer swept sideways, smashing a Valaqiya soldier who had just burst from a tent; the sound of a broken breastbone rang clearly.

Another hammer came down, striking a tent; the tent collapsed, and a scream rose from within.

He alone tore through half the camp.

Behind him, twenty thousand Longxiang Army followed his trail, firing Flintlock Guns in unison, and slashing with sabers.

The Valaqiya men awoke with a start, barefooted and fled, only to be shot down in rows.

Someone fell to their knees to beg for mercy, and was trampled by hooves.

Someone ran toward the river, was caught up and cut down.

In less than half an hour, ten thousand Valaqiya men suffered over half casualties, and the survivors knelt on the ground.

Grain and Fodder loads piled in the camp's center, dozens of large carts packed to the brim.

Zhu Yong halted his horse and turned to look at Zhu Qiong Jiong, who followed behind him.

The kid was drenched in blood, his Wolf Fang Club smeared with shredded flesh, his eyes shining terrifyingly.

"Killed how many..."

"Can't count, just kept chasing," Zhu Qiong Jiong panted heavily, his face flushed with excitement.

Zhu Yong nodded, turned and looked west.

There, the allied rear army had already broken apart, and the front and central armies should have heard the commotion.

"Zhang Wu, ignite, burn the Grain and Fodder."

"Yes!"

Torches were thrown into the grain carts, thick smoke billowed, and flames shot skyward.

The allied vanguard and central army saw the column of smoke behind them and indeed fell into chaos.

Serbian Duke Lazhar dropped a cup inside the Central Command Tent.

He hadn't expected the Great Ming forces to bypass his vanguard and set fire directly to the rear army's Grain and Fodder.

Forty thousand men, once the Grain and Fodder was cut off, the morale scattered.

"Send the order, the whole army retreat west, fall back to the Danube!" he gritted his teeth.

But it was too late.

After Zhu Yong finished burning the Grain and Fodder, he did not pause, leading twenty thousand Longxiang Army along the river valley eastward, charging straight at the allied central army.

Twenty thousand men surged out from the flank.

The allied army was turning to run west, its Formation in disarray, front and rear unable to support each other.

Zhu Yong rushed to the front, the Double Hammers clearing the way.

A Serbian knight charged, his lance thrust toward Zhu Yong's chest.

He smashed the spear shaft with one hammer, and with the other hammered the horse's head; the warhorse whined and fell, the knight was flung out, his neck broken.

Another came charging, a curved blade slashing at his shoulder.

He twisted aside, and a hammer struck the man's back; the sound of a spine snapping could be heard through the iron armor.

Zhu Yong alone tore through the allied central army's Formation.

Behind him, Zhu Qiong Jiong kept close to his father, sweeping his Wolf Fang Club left and right.

A Bulgarian infantryman raised a shield in front, and Zhu Qiong Jiong hammered down; the shield shattered, and the man's arm broke as well.

The scream hadn't left his mouth when the second hammer already struck his head.

Another cavalryman charged, his lance thrust at his chest.

He twisted aside, a hammer struck the horse's leg; the warhorse knelt, the rider fell, and Zhu Qiong Jiong hammered his back of the head.

Father and son surged side by side, leaving corpses strewn across the field wherever they passed.

Zhu Yong's hammer knocked a Turk officer, who wore a Jin‑thread embroidered brocade robe, riding a white horse.

"Lazhar?" Zhu Yong halted his horse, looking down at the Serbian Duke struggling to rise on the ground.

Lazhar lifted his head, gazing at the blood‑soaked man, his legs trembling.

He had fought for thirty years and had never seen anyone like this.

One man, two hammers, tore through his forty‑thousand‑strong army's Formation.

"You... who are you?" his voice trembled.

Zhu Yong gave no answer, set his hammer on the horse's back, dismounted, walked to him, and looked down from above.

"I, the Great Ming Wu King, Zhu Yong..."

Lazhar's complexion turned ghastly pale.

He had, of course, heard the name—the conqueror of the Timur Empire, the destroyer of the Ottoman Empire.

Now, he stood before him.

"Surrender, or die..."

Lazhar knelt on the ground, lowered his head: "Surrender... I surrender..."

Behind them, forty thousand remnants of the allied army knelt on the ground.

The clatter of weapons hitting the ground rang out.

In the battlefield's center, Zhu Qiong Jiong stood amid a pile of corpses, his Wolf Fang Club planted in the ground, panting heavily.

He was covered in blood, his face smeared with a layer as well, yet his eyes shone terrifyingly.

Zhang Wu spurred his horse forward, looked at the eleven‑year‑old boy, and swallowed a mouthful of saliva.

"Little Prince, are you all right?"

Zhu Qiong wiped the blood from his face, grinned and said, "I'm fine, just a bit tired."

Zhang Wu looked at the pile of corpses on the ground—no fewer than twenty or thirty—and saw they had all been smashed to death by Wolf Fang Club, their brains burst open, a sight too horrible to bear.

This child is even more ruthless than his father was back then.

Zhu Yong walked over, gave his son a glance, and nodded.

"Not bad."

Zhu Qiong grinned.

On May 24th, twenty thousand Longxiang Army escorted forty thousand prisoners, marching grandly back to Constantinople.

On the city wall, Zhu Di saw the column appear far on the horizon and was stunned.

Twenty thousand went, twenty thousand returned, and they even brought back forty thousand prisoners.

He shook his head and laughed.

This man fights wars without ever reasoning.

At the city gate, Ba Ye Ji De was bound in thick ropes, kneeling on the ground, watching the dejected Serbian, Bulgarian and Wallachian prisoners pass before him.

He closed his eyes, and the last lingering thought in his heart was completely severed.

With the European reinforcements gone, the Ottoman Empire was truly finished.

Inside Constantinople, Zhu Yong sat on the steps before Hagia Sophia, watching the sunset.

Zhu Qiong squatted beside him, wiping the Wolf Fang Club with a rag.

A thick crust of blood clotted on the club head, and after half an hour it still wouldn't come clean.

"Dad, why can't this thing be cleaned…" he looked up and asked.

Zhu Yong glanced and said, "Soak it in hot water; once softened, it wipes off."

Zhu Qiong let out a soft "oh" and kept wiping.

Zhu Di walked over and sat beside Zhu Yong.

"Second Prince, what's the plan for the next battle?"

Zhu Yong thought for a moment and said, "We won't fight now; let's rest first. The Balkan Peninsula and those regions must be managed slowly; we can't take them all at once."

Zhu Di nodded and asked, "What about Ba Ye Ji De then?"

"Send him back to Yingtian Prefecture and let Imperial Father deal with him."

Zhu Di laughed, "Imperial Father will be pleased to see him."

Zhu Yong also laughed.

The sun sank, and the final afterglow vanished on the horizon.

Hagia Sophia's dome glowed with a dim golden light in the twilight.

In the distance, on the Marmara Sea, the silhouette of the last steamship disappeared below the horizon.

It was the vessel heading to Yingtian Prefecture to deliver news, carrying Ba Ye Ji De and the report that Constantinople had fallen.

Ten thousand miles away, Yingtian Prefecture's lights lit up one after another.

Zhu Biao stood on the city wall, gazing at the western sky.

The railway was still under construction, laying track westward mile by mile.

Someday it will reach Constantinople.

When that day comes, Second Younger Brother's return will be swift.