Chapter 419: Breaking Through the City Gate Again

Zhu Yong gave his son a glance.

Beneath Kaiping City, that was over twenty years ago.

At that time he was only fourteen, shouldering a Battering Ram to smash the city gate, hammer after hammer, and he broke the gate open.

Now he is thirty‑six, his hair has turned quite white, but his strength remains.

"Tomorrow at dawn, you follow me."

Zhu Qiong nodded vigorously.

Early the next morning, before sunrise, the Longxiang Army began packing up the camp.

Zhu Yong led five thousand men along the mountain path upward.

The trail was narrow, only two people could walk side by side.

On the left was a cliff, on the right a sheer rock wall; a slight slip would send one falling.

Zhu Qiong followed his father, shouldering a Wolf Fang Club, walking steadily with a clank.

After about an hour's walk, a checkpoint appeared ahead.

Made of Stone, two zhang high, it mounted several bronze cannons, their muzzles black‑eyed toward the mountain path.

Dozens of Spanish soldiers stood on the checkpoint, wearing leather armor, holding spears and fire‑guns.

Seeing the iron‑clad army on the mountain path, they were stunned.

Clearly, they had not expected the Ming forces to come via this road.

Zhu Yong halted, looking at the checkpoint.

Not tall, only two zhang, much lower than Kaiping City's city gate.

He lifted his Double Hammers and strode forward.

The Spanish soldiers on the checkpoint reacted, frantically firing their guns.

"Bang! Bang! Bang..."

The fire‑gun sounds echoed through the valley, bullets striking the iron armor with a ding‑ding‑clank as they burst.

Zhu Yong's steps never ceased.

He reached the checkpoint and raised the hammer in his right hand.

First hammer.

"Boom!"

The Stone shattered, smoke and dust billowed upward.

Second hammer.

"Rumble!"

A corner of the checkpoint collapsed.

Third hammer.

"Boom..."

The entire checkpoint crashed down with a boom.

Zhu Yong stood at the breach, looking at the Spanish soldiers inside whose faces were the color of earth.

"Surrenderers will not be killed."

He was silent for Three Breaths.

Then, someone—unknown who—first dropped a weapon with a "Clang!" sound.

Followed by a second, a third…

The sounds of weapons hitting the ground rang out in a chorus.

Zhu Yong did not look back, strode past the checkpoint, and continued up the mountain.

Behind him, five thousand Longxiang Army followed, the clash of iron armor echoing through the valley.

Over the mountain, the view opened bright before him.

In the distance, a city rose on a hill, its walls a dull gray, reflecting a somber light in the sun.

That was Toledo, the capital of Castile.

Zhu Yong squinted, watched for a moment, then said, "Send the order: the whole army descends, taking Toledo directly."

Five thousand Longxiang Army surged down the mountain like a tide of iron‑black water, rushing toward the hill city.

On Toledo's city walls, the Spanish garrison had already spotted the army.

Horn Sound wailed, soldiers scrambling up the walls, some shouting, some hauling ammunition, a chaotic mess.

Zhu Yong charged at the front, the Double Hammers flaring left and right.

A Spanish cavalryman charged, his spear thrust toward Zhu Yong's chest; he smashed the spear shaft with one hammer and struck the horse's head with the other.

The warhorse whinnied and fell, the rider was flung off, his neck broken.

Another infantryman raised a shield in front; Zhu Yong hammered down, shattering the shield and snapping the man's arm.

Zhu Yong rushed into the city, with five thousand Longxiang Army behind him.

Toledo's walls were higher than Porto's, but they could not stop him.

He charged to the city gate, raising the hammer in his right hand.

First hammer, the gate trembled.

Second hammer, the latch snapped.

Third hammer, the gate crashed down with a boom.

Zhu Yong stood at the breach, looking at the Spanish soldiers inside whose faces were the color of earth.

"Surrenderers will not be killed."

Silence fell for a moment.

Then, the clatter of weapons hitting the ground rang out.

Torrelo City was taken.

Zhu Yong stood on the central square of the city, looking at this capital of Castile.

The Street was cleaner than Porto's, but not much better.

A foul odor lingered in the air, drifting from the city's slums.

He furrowed his brow and turned to look at the Longxiang Army behind him.

"Send the order: take over the city defenses, confiscate weapons, close the gates. Send someone to inform King Qin and have him bring troops over."

"Yes!"

Wang Gui led his men and went.

Zhu Yong stood on the square, watching the prisoners being marched in.

Spanish soldiers formed rows, trudging with downcast heads; some were crying, some trembling, some muttering something as if praying.

Their clothes were so dirty their colors were indiscernible, hair a mess, faces covered in grime, and their nail beds packed with black mud.

A few of the braver ones secretly lifted their heads to look at Zhu Yong, their eyes showing both fear and curiosity.

Zhu Yong looked at them, feeling a sudden surge of emotion.

These people are still people.

But they live in a way that is hardly human.

"Wang Gui..."

"Here..."

"Have someone boil a few pots of hot water, wash these prisoners clean, then give them fresh clothing."

Wang Gui paused, then said, "Prince, give them a bath?"

"If we don't wash them, how can we interrogate? Their stench clouds the mind."

Wang Gui replied with a nod and turned away.

Zhu Yong stood on the square, watching the prisoners being led away in squads.

The setting sun turned the whole city into a wash of dark red.

Distant mountain ranges flickered in the afterglow, like a sleeping giant.

From today onward, Torrelo City has a new master.

But the battle is not yet over.

The king of Castile fled eastward, probably to Aragon.

Will the king of Aragon shelter him?

Will England's Henry V send troops to assist?

Will France's Cha Li Liu Shi take the opportunity to intervene?

These matters must be thought out in advance.

But Zhu Yong was not in a hurry.

He had plenty of time.

He was thirty‑six this year, at the peak of his fighting ability.

Fight another ten, twenty years, subdue all of Europe, and plant Great Ming banners in every city.

Then, return home.

Return to Yingtian Prefecture, to his parents, to Guanyin Nu and the children.

He took a deep breath and turned toward the palace.

Torrelo's palace sat on a hill in the city center, built of Stone and whitewashed, looking more imposing than Porto's palace.

A few Longxiang Army soldiers stood at the gate; upon seeing Zhu Yong, they quickly saluted.

Zhu Yong walked in.

The palace was larger than he imagined; the main hall was paved with stone slabs, and several oil paintings of Castile's successive kings hung on the walls.

At the far end of the hall stood a stone staircase leading to the second floor.

He ascended to the second floor and pushed open a door.

Inside was the king's bedchamber, a large bed with silk bedding that was crumpled, clearly the owner had left in haste.

Beside the bed stood a dressing table with a few combs and a copper mirror.

The copper mirror was rusted, reflecting no image.

He opened the wardrobe, finding several ornate robes—red, blue, purple—trimmed with gold.

Beneath the robes were a few pairs of leather boots, their pointed toes curled up like a ship's prow.

"These items, if taken back to Great Ming, the material is decent but the workmanship is crude," Zhu Shuang entered from outside, picked up a robe, examined it, and set it down.

He had spent five years in Australia, seen many fine things, and his eye was discerning.

Zhu Yong said nothing.

He walked to the window, opened it, and looked out.

Beyond the window, Torrelo spread out before his eyes.

The houses were packed densely, like a beehive.

The Street was narrow and winding, with no end in sight.

In the distance were mountains; beyond them lay Aragon, France, and the Holy Roman Empire.

Europe is vast, with many nations.

But Great Ming's army is stronger.

They are not afraid.

They have never been afraid.