Chapter 420: Church

The third day after Toledo was taken.

Zhu Yong stood on the highest tower of the palace, hands behind his back, gazing at the mountain city.

The morning mist had not yet lifted; the Great Ming banner on the city wall flickered in the fog, its red field and golden dragon glaring on this unfamiliar land.

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

Footsteps sounded behind him.

Zhu Shuang climbed onto the tower, holding a freshly compiled inventory.

He had spent five years in Australia, becoming increasingly efficient; Zhu Yong felt at ease assigning him the task of tallying supplies.

"Second Prince, the Gold and Silver in the city have been counted."

Zhu Shuang handed over the list and said, "Gold: sixty thousand liang, silver: twelve hundred thousand liang, plus over thirty boxes of gems and a dozen church gold items.

The Castile king fled in haste, taking little from the treasury,"

Zhu Yong took the list, glanced over it, and found the numbers roughly matched his estimate.

Castile is larger than Portugal, but in terms of wealth it is still inferior to Portugal.

Portugal relies on the sea; its maritime trade flourishes, and in recent years it has brought back a substantial amount of gold and silver from India and elsewhere.

Castile is inland; its revenue comes mainly from agriculture and sheep‑herding, and wool is a valuable commodity.

"What about the wool?" he asked.

"In the northern warehouse there are several thousand bundles of wool, of good quality, finer than Great Ming's wool, and also dozens of boxes of silk brought from the East, likely via the Mediterranean Sea route."

Zhu Yong nodded.

The Mediterranean Sea route is the domain of Italian merchants.

Genoa and Venice, two maritime republics, dominate Mediterranean trade.

We will strike there later; for now there is no hurry.

"Send the wool back to Great Ming, keep the silk; it will be useful later."

Zhu Shuang replied, turned to leave, then halted and said, "Second Prince, what shall we do with the Spanish captives? There are over two thousand inside the city and several thousand outside—nearly ten thousand in total."

Zhu Yong thought for a moment.

Ten thousand people—food, drink, waste, all become problems.

Killing them would be wasteful; keeping them consumes provisions.

"Select a group of obedient captives, enlist them as auxiliary troops, have them build roads, mine, farm; send the rest to Portugal, hand them over to Fourth Prince for disposition."

"Send them to Portugal..."

"Porto lacks manpower, and the city's sanitation is still unfinished; let them sweep the streets and clear the sewers. Europeans don't bathe, right? Make them bathe daily; if they aren't clean, they may not eat."

Zhu Shuang's mouth twitched, he said nothing more, and turned to descend.

Zhu Yong remained on the tower, gazing at the distant mountains.

The mountains were not high, yet they stretched endlessly, disappearing from view.

Castile's terrain is far more complex than Portugal's, with many mountains and few plains; cavalry cannot maneuver, and artillery is hard to deploy.

Fortunately, he had not planned a hard land push; the amphibious landing caught the Castilians off guard.

"Second Prince..." Zhu Di came up the stairwell, holding a map.

He had spent several years in the Western Regions and had developed the habit of carrying a map wherever he went.

The map had been retrieved last night from the study of the Castile palace; it was drawn more precisely than Portugal's maps, marking each city's location and garrison status.

"From Toledo heading east, three hundred li lies Cuenca; another five hundred li east is Valencia, on the coast. Valencia is the largest port city in eastern Castile, guarded by a garrison, with a dozen ships anchored in the harbor."

Zhu Yong took the map and examined it.

Valencia, an important Mediterranean port, serves as Castile's gateway to the east.

Capturing Valencia would completely sever Castile's contact with the outside world.

"What about Aragon?" he asked.

"Aragon lies east of Castile; a mountain range blocks the border, making travel difficult. The Aragon king, hearing that Castile has been struck by us, is gathering troops at the frontier, apparently looking to loot amid the chaos."

Zhu Yong's mouth twitched slightly.

Looting in the fire—Europeans are quite adept at that.

Although Castile and Aragon are neighbors, their relations have long been poor, and the two realms frequently clash.

Now that Castile has been beaten by Great Ming, Aragon offers no aid and instead seeks to profit.

"Let them fight; once they are exhausted, we will finish them off."

Zhu Di nodded, then asked, "Second Prince, where did the Castile king flee to?"

"He fled eastward, probably to Aragon. If the Aragon king is wise, he'll hand him over; if not..."

Zhu Yong paused, then continued, "Then we strike him as well."

Zhu Di said nothing further. He knew Second Prince's temperament: once he says to attack, he does so without hesitation.

Footsteps sounded from afar.

Zhu Qiong Jiong hoisted the Wolf Fang Club and climbed the tower; the twelve‑year‑old boy, sun‑tanned and muscular, moved with the vigor of a tiger.

These past days, following his father on eastern and western campaigns, he had slain many, and the light in his eyes grew ever brighter.

"Father, the captives outside the city have been herded into the camp; Uncle Wang Gui asked me to inquire when they will be bathed,"

Zhu Yong glanced at his son, "Go now, push them into the sea, wash them clean before questioning, and tell them they may not eat unless they bathe."

Zhu Qiong Jiong grinned, "Father, your method is fine; those people's bodies stink like a cesspit, the stench clouds their minds,"

He shouldered the Wolf Fang Club and ran down.

Zhu Yong watched his son's retreating figure, a faint smile curling his lips.

The boy is just like him in his own youth.

He is not afraid to go onto the battlefield, kills without blinking, but despises filthy, chaotic, lousy things more than anyone.

Zhu Di said beside him, "Second Prince, this child Qiong Jiong, is like you."

"Better like me—strong."

Zhu Di smiled, but said nothing.

He turned to look at the distant mountains, was silent for a moment, then suddenly spoke, "Second Prince, you say, when will this Europe war end?"

Zhu Yong thought for a moment and said, "If fast, three years; if slow, five years."

"Five years, then Qiong Jiong will be seventeen."

"Seventeen is just right, he can hold his own."

Zhu Di nodded and asked no further.

The two brothers stood side by side on the tower, gazing at the endless mountains in the distance.

The sun rose from the east, dyeing the whole mountain city a golden hue.

The Great Ming banner on the city wall flapped in the morning wind, like a waking beast, baring fangs and claws, its momentum overwhelming.

In the center of Toledo city stands a great cathedral, built of Stone, its spire soaring into the clouds, the largest religious building in Castile.

Zhu Yong descended the tower, leading Zhu Di toward the cathedral.

At the cathedral entrance stood several Longxiang Army soldiers; seeing Zhu Yong, they quickly saluted.

"Prince, we've searched inside, no one."

Zhu Yong nodded, pushed the door and went in.

Inside the cathedral it was dim; candle flames danced on the walls, illuminating the colorful frescoes on the dome.

The paintings depicted religious stories such as the Passion of Jesus and the Assumption of the Virgin; the figures' expressions were exaggerated, colors vivid, a style completely unlike Great Ming meticulous brushwork.

Directly ahead on the altar stood a massive silver cross, pure silver forged, set with gems, flashing in the candlelight.