Chapter 411: The Rabble

When Lisbon City came into view, Zhu Yong thought he saw a huge cesspit.

The city wall was indeed imposing, built of stone, two to three Zhang high, with dozens of bronze cannons mounted, their muzzles black and gaping toward the sea.

In the harbor, a dozen large ships were moored, their sails furled, and the Portuguese royal flag hung from the masts.

But that smell could be detected even from several li away.

It wasn't the scent of the sea, nor of gunpowder, but the smell of feces.

"Father, why does this place stink more than Faru?" Zhu Qiongjiong burst out of the cabin, clutching a Wolf Fang Club in one hand and covering his nose with the other, his face scrunched like a dumpling.

Zhu Yong gave no reply; he squinted as he surveyed Lisbon's defenses.

The garrison on the wall had already spotted the massive fleet, and Horn Sound wailed; the soldiers scrambled toward the wall, some shouting, some hauling ammunition, a chaotic mess.

"Wang Gui..." he called out.

Wang Gui stepped forward from behind, holding a telescope, and handed it over.

Zhu Yong took it and held it before his eyes.

The Portuguese soldiers on the wall were dressed in garish colors—red and blue—hats askew, beards unkempt, looking less like an army and more like a bunch of drunks fresh from a tavern.

A few officer‑type figures rode horses along the wall, brandishing swords and shouting something, but no one listened.

"A rabble..." Zhu Yong set the telescope down, saying lightly.

He had seen too many armies on battlefields.

Cavalry of the Northern Yuan, Nüzhen archers, Goryeo infantry, Wa Country samurai, iron cavalry of the Timur Empire, and the Janissaries of the Ottoman Empire.

Each was ten times stronger than the bunch before him.

"Send the order: the whole army line up, prepare to land,"

The command was passed down, and 120 steamships began to change formation.

Thirty lead ships moved toward the shore, each wing spread with twenty ships, and fifty in the center held the line.

The roar of the steam engines was deafening, and black smoke from the funnels obscured half the sky.

On the wall, the Portuguese reaction grew even more chaotic.

Some people began to run down toward the city, some knelt on the ground drawing crosses, and a few officer‑type figures rode horses into the city, apparently to send a report.

Zhu Gang emerged from the cabin, his complexion still a bit pale, but his spirit was much better than in previous days.

That fellow had chased from behind together with Zhu Di, saying he was bored at the rear and wanted to join the fight.

As for the rear, the two had already arranged it, letting the commanders they brought manage it.

He walked to Zhu Yong's side, covered his nose, glanced at the distant wall, and cursed, "This rotten place, I wouldn't even give it to myself."

"Then why did you chase after us?" Zhu Yong gave him a look.

"Second Prince, you have arrived; wouldn't it be odd if I didn't?" Zhu Gang grinned, but soon furrowed his brow; the stench was overwhelming.

Zhu Di came over from another ship, stepped onto the gangplank and onto the "Wu Wang" vessel.

He had spent several years in the Western Regions, enduring all kinds of harsh environments, yet the smell still made him frown.

"Second Prince, the wall probably has two to three thousand defenders, and the city should have more, but judging by their posture, they lack combat experience."

Zhu Yong nodded.

Portugal is a small country; its population is already thin, and the number of able-bodied men for war is even fewer.

These few thousand defenders are probably the largest force they can muster.

"Third Brother?"

"He's on the ship behind, said he'll join us for the landing shortly," Zhu Di replied.

Zhu Shuang had been on the transport ship behind these past days, bringing the thirty thousand troops from Australia.

Although he had stayed in Australia for five years, his sea experience was limited; these past days he suffered severe seasickness, worse than Zhu Gang's.

"We won't wait for him; we'll go first," Zhu Yong turned, walked down the bow, retrieved two drum‑shaped golden hammers from the cabin, and slung them at his waist.

One weighed six hundred jin, the other twelve hundred jin; he carried them as if they were two firewood sticks.

Zhu Qiongjiong followed behind, shouldering the sixty‑jin Wolf Fang Club, his back straight as a pole.

The twelve‑year‑old boy was sun‑tanned black, his arms full of muscle, walking with a fierce, wind‑like stride.

"Longxiang Army, prepare to land,"

Five thousand Longxiang troops surged from the cabin, forming ranks on the deck.

Their iron armor glinted coldly in the sun, the Flintlock Guns shone brightly, bayonets already fixed, flashing a chilling light.

Zhu Yong was the first to step onto the gangplank.

The gangplank spanned the hull and the shore, wobbling; he walked steadily, neither hurried nor slow.

Both feet planted on the sand, the sand soft and yielding, sinking half a foot in.

He looked up at Lisbon's wall, where bows and muskets were already mounted, their black muzzles aimed at the beach.

"Form up," he said without turning his head.

Five thousand Longxiang troops disembarked, forming up behind him.

The front rank of a thousand crouched, Flintlock Guns held level; the middle rank of two thousand stood, muzzles forward; the rear rank of two thousand rested, ready to rotate in.

Zhu Gang and Zhu Di also stepped down, standing on either side of Zhu Yong.

Zhu Gang drew the saber at his waist, its blade flashing in the sun.

Zhu Di unsheathed a short sword, held it, his expression calm.

On the wall, a middle‑aged man in ornate armor stuck his head out and shouted a line downwards.

It was Portuguese; Zhu Yong didn't understand.

"Wang Gui, what did he say?"

Wang Gui stepped forward from behind and translated, "Your Lord, he says he is the Governor of Lisbon, named Alvarez, asking where we come from and why we are attacking Portugal."

Zhu Yong said lightly, "Tell him, the Great Ming Wu King has come to claim Europe."

Wang Gui translated it over.

A stir arose on the wall.

The governor shouted another speech, his voice laced with anger.

"Prince, he says Europe is not Great Ming's, Portugal isn't either, and tells us to roll back, otherwise he'll fire the cannons."

Zhu Yong's mouth corner twitched slightly.

Fire the cannons?

Just those dozens of old, dented bronze cannons?

"Tell him, you may fire the cannons, but once the firing is done, this city will belong to Great Ming."

Wang Gui translated it over.

The governor fell silent.

The Portuguese soldiers on the wall also fell silent.

They stared at the five thousand ironclad soldiers on the beach, at the one hundred twenty steamships on the sea, at those black gaping cannon mouths, and their legs went weak.

After a moment of silence, the governor shouted another speech.

This time his voice was much softer, his confidence clearly lacking.

"Prince, he says we can negotiate; Portugal is willing to trade with Great Ming, offering annual tribute…"

"No negotiations." Zhu Yong cut him off.

He lifted the Double Hammers and strode toward the city gate.

Five thousand Longxiang Army followed behind, steps in unison, the clatter of iron armor echoing on the sand.

On the wall, the governor's complexion changed.

He hadn't expected these people to deny even a chance to negotiate and charge straight at him.

"Fire!" he shrieked in Portuguese.

Dozens of bronze cannons fired simultaneously.

The shells whooshed toward them, some landing in the sea, splashing huge water; some striking the beach, raising a cloud of sand; a few flew to the front of the Longxiang Army formation, where front‑line soldiers blocked them with shields.

Not a single one hit.

Zhu Yong kept moving.

He reached the city gate and raised the hammer in his right hand.

The first hammer.