Chapter 372: Crossing the River

In the nineteenth year of the Hongwu reign, the tenth day of the fourth month.

Outside the city of Adrianople, the morning mist had not yet dispersed.

Zhu Yong stood on the city wall, holding in his hand an urgent report just delivered from Constantinople.

The letter was written by Zhu Di, the handwriting scrawled, clearly written in great haste.

"Second Prince, the Serbs, Bulgarians, and Wallachians have scraped together another thirty thousand men, gathering on the north bank of the Danube. That old fox Lazar, while claiming submission with his mouth, has secretly hooked up with the Hungarians again.

According to scout reports, King Sigismund of Hungary has already agreed to send troops, expected to march south within a month. The Ottomans still have a few strongholds in the Balkans that haven't been uprooted, and in the mountain towns west of Sofia, several thousand remnants are still hiding.

These people are like flies—you can't swat them dead, and they just keep buzzing."

After reading the letter, Zhu Yong's expression remained calm.

The Balkan Peninsula had never been a peaceful place.

Many mountains, many peoples, many faiths—it hadn't settled down for centuries.

When Tie Mu Er was around, he held it down with an iron fist, and it stayed down.

The moment Tie Mu Er fell, they all came crawling out.

"Zhang Wu," he called out.

Zhang Wu strode up onto the city wall, cupped his fists, and said, "Your Highness."

"How are things on Chen Heng's end?"

"Chen Heng reported the day before yesterday that three of the mountain towns west of Sofia have been taken, and two are still at a stalemate. Those Ottoman remnants are hiding in the mountains and won't come out. Chen Heng is besieging them."

Zhu Yong nodded.

Those remnants weren't urgent; what was urgent were the thirty thousand men to the north.

It hadn't been long since Lazar was released—at most, less than a month.

He talked a good game, but turned around and went to fetch reinforcements. This kind of fence-sitter would never behave unless shown a bit of color.

"Pass the order: at dawn tomorrow, the entire army marches north."

Zhang Wu was taken aback and said, "Your Highness, won't anyone be left to guard Adrianople?"

"Leave two thousand men, that's enough. Those Ottoman remnants are cowering in the mountains and won't dare come out. The city folk have been stable these past days—they can't turn the world upside down."

Zhu Yong paused, then added, "Send word to Chen Heng: have him seal off the mountain towns tightly, no need to attack in a hurry. Once the north is settled, I'll go clean them up myself."

Zhang Wu accepted the order and left.

Zhu Yong turned around and looked down at the Longxiang Army drilling below the city walls.

Over a thousand men were arrayed on the training ground, flintlock guns raised in unison toward the sky, iron armor gleaming with a dull light in the morning glow.

At the very front of the formation, a half-grown youth stood straight as a ramrod, holding a Wolf Fang Club.

Zhu Qiongjiong.

Twelve years old now, he'd shot up another notch, nearly reaching his father's shoulder.

That Wolf Fang Club was his own choice—sixty jin heavy, much lighter than his hammer, but in this kid's hands, it whirled with a fierce wind.

On the training ground, Zhu Qiongjiong was leading a squad of new recruits in bayonet drills.

He was the youngest, but had the loudest voice; when he bellowed, even the veterans were intimidated by him.

"Thrust! Recover! Thrust! Recover! Don't shrink your neck—who on the battlefield gives you a chance to shrink your neck?"

One recruit was half a beat slow in his movement, and he whacked him with the club—of course, without force—but that recruit still flinched in fright.

A few veterans nearby snickered, and Zhu Qiongjiong turned his head to glare, saying, "What are you laughing at? Back in your day, you were even worse than him."

Zhu Yong stood on the city wall watching, the corners of his mouth slightly lifting.

This kid—like him, but not entirely.

Back then, when he was in the army, he only knew how to charge headlong; he never taught anyone. But this kid was born to lead troops.

Zhu Di wrote in his letter that this kid fought even crazier than his father, but led troops more steadily than his father.

In the distance, the sound of horse hooves came.

Zhu Yong looked up and saw a troop of cavalry galloping in from the west.

At the head was a young officer wearing half-armor. He dismounted at the city gate and strode quickly up onto the wall.

"Your Highness! General Chen has sent word—the two mountain towns to the west have been taken." The man knelt on one knee and handed over a military report.

Zhu Yong took it and unfolded it.

Chen Heng's handwriting was as rough as the man himself:

"Your Highness, the last two mountain towns have been taken. The garrison was three thousand; eight hundred died, the rest surrendered. Quite a bit of grain and weapons were found in the mountain towns, all shipped over from Serbia.

That old bastard Lazar, while claiming submission with his mouth, has been secretly sending grain and weapons to the Ottomans."

Zhu Yong closed the military report, his expression unchanged.

Lazar, Duke of Serbia.

Half a month ago, he knelt and surrendered beneath the walls of Constantinople, promised to submit to Great Ming, and wrote letters urging the Balkan states to surrender.

Then he turned around and hooked up with the Hungarians, sending grain to the Ottoman remnants.

He had seen plenty of these two-faced people.

"Zhang Wu, where is Lazar now?"

"In Kruševac, Serbia—that's his lair, not far from the Danube."

"Pass the order: tomorrow, the army marches north, straight for Kruševac."

The next day, before dawn, the gates of Adrianople opened.

Fifteen thousand troops of the Longxiang Army stood ready to march, iron armor like a forest, flintlock guns raised in unison toward the north.

Zhu Yong rode at the very front, two drum-beating, urn-golden hammers hanging from his horse's back, gleaming with a dull golden light in the morning glow.

Zhu Qiongjiong rode a chestnut horse behind him, the Wolf Fang Club slung over his shoulder, his back straight as a ramrod.

After three days' march, the army crossed the Maricha River and entered the Bulgarians' territory.

The mountains here are higher than those in Thrace, and the roads are difficult to travel.

The army advanced northward along the river valley, covering fifty li per day.

On the evening of the fourth day, scouts reported that Thirty Li ahead a force of about five thousand, bearing the Bulgarians' flag, was retreating north.

"Bulgarians? Where are they withdrawing to?" Zhu Yong asked.

"Toward the Danube, it looks like they intend to cross the river and join the Serbians."

"Chase."

Zhu Yong turned his horse and said to the army behind him, "All forces accelerate; catch them tonight."

The army pressed on through the night.

The moon was hidden by clouds, the river valley plunged into darkness, and only the sounds of hooves and clanking armor echoed through the gorge.

After about two hours, specks of fire appeared ahead.

It was the Bulgarians' camp.

Zhu Yong halted his horse and glanced back at the Longxiang Army behind him.

Fifteen thousand men wound through the valley for several li, their iron armor glinting dimly in the Moonlight.

"All forces, obey! Follow your king in the charge." He drew two bronze war hammers, clamped one to his horse's belly, the warhorse whinnied once, and surged forward.

The fifteen thousand Longxiang Army roared in unison, their hooves thundering.

The Bulgarians' camp lay on a riverbank, tents scattered sparsely, and sentries leaned against wooden fences, 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 left, a hammer already struck in front of him.

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

The hammer in his right hand swept sideways, crushing a Bulgarian soldier who had just burst from a tent; the sound of a broken sternum rang clearly.

The other hammer struck downward onto a tent, which collapsed, a scream issuing from within.

He alone cut through half the camp.

Behind him, the fifteen thousand Longxiang Army followed his path into the camp, firing Flintlock Guns in unison, and slashing with sabers.

The Bulgarians awoke from sleep, barefoot fled outward, and were shot down in rows.

Someone fell to their knees pleading for mercy, only to be trampled by hooves.

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

In less than an hour, over half of the five thousand Bulgarians were dead or wounded, the survivors knelt on the ground.

Zhu Qiongjiong burst from the ranks, drenched in blood, his Wolf Fang Club smeared with flesh, his eyes shining terrifyingly.

He chased a mounted Bulgarian officer and struck the horse's leg with a club.

The warhorse fell, the officer tumbled down, and before he could rise, the Wolf Fang Club already smashed his occiput.

"Father, we captured an officer!" He grabbed the officer's collar and dragged him before Zhu Yong.

Zhu Yong lowered his head and glanced.

The man wore an embroidered brocade robe, a belt inlaid with silver, and was a Thousand Household‑ranked commander.

His face was covered in blood, his whole body trembling.

"Where are you going?" Zhu Yong asked.

"Dan... Danube... Duke Lazarl is gathering an army over there..." the officer stammered.

"How many..."

"Three... thirty thousand... plus us, thirty‑five thousand..."

Zhu Yong's mouth twitched slightly.

Thirty‑five thousand, plus Hungarian reinforcements, makes fifty thousand without difficulty.

But Lazarl did not know that his Bulgarian ally was already finished.

"Zhang Wu, take him down and interrogate him thoroughly, find out Duke Lazarl's troop deployments."

Zhang Wu lifted the officer and left.

Zhu Yong turned and looked toward the northern sky.

There, in the direction of the Danube, lay the Serbians' territory, Lazarl's old stronghold.

Once this battle is over, the Balkan Peninsula should finally be subdued.