Chapter 421: The Retired Emperor

"This thing is worth quite a bit of money," Zhu Di walked to the altar and glanced at the silver cross.

Zhu Yong gave no reply, his gaze falling on the wall paintings on either side of the church.

The paintings depict the coronation of the King of Castile, the king kneeling before the Pope, who places a crown on his head.

European kings draw their authority from the Church, unlike the Emperor of Great Ming, the Son of Heaven, whose power comes from Heaven and requires no coronation.

"Second Prince, what faith do these Europeans follow?" Zhu Di asked as he walked over.

"Catholicism. The Pope is in Rome, and the kings of all European nations must obey the Pope."

"The Pope is greater than the Emperor?"

In their eyes, the Pope outranks the Emperor; the Emperor governs the body, the Pope governs the soul.

Zhu Di frowned and said, "Wouldn't that make him a Retired Emperor?"

Zhu Yong's mouth twitched slightly upward.

The term 'Retired Emperor' is appropriate.

The European Pope is even more formidable than a Retired Emperor.

He can make a king kneel, can impose capital punishment on a king, and can cause a king's subjects to cease their loyalty.

This is the power of religion.

"When we reach Rome, we'll capture the Pope and see how he can still command," Zhu Di said calmly.

Zhu Yong gave no reply.

Rome is a matter for later.

For now, we must first clean up Castile.

Moreover, these sects no longer need to exist; it is better to let Daoism and Confucianism provide instruction.

Leaving the church, Zhu Yong led Zhu Di northward toward the city.

To the north of the city lay a camp that had been the garrison of Castile's defenders, now requisitioned by the Longxiang Army.

The camp housed dozens of tents, each containing newly captured prisoners.

The prisoners lined up in rows, undergoing the "baptism."

The so‑called baptism consisted of soldiers from the Longxiang Army brushing them with brushes.

A few large wooden barrels were set on the open ground, filled with hot water steaming white.

The prisoners were stripped, then shoved one by one into the barrels; the soldiers, brushes dipped in soap‑nut water, scrubbed them from head to toe with vigor.

Cries of agony rose in waves.

"Mercy! Mercy!" a prisoner shouted in Spanish.

"What are you shouting for? Once you're clean, it won't hurt!" a Longxiang soldier grunted, scrubbing his back with the brush, stripping away a layer of black mud.

Zhu QiongJiong stood nearby, holding a stick, supervising the prisoners as they queued.

"One by one, no cutting in line; if you're not clean, you may not leave!"

A prisoner crawled out of the barrel, drenched, his skin flushed red from the scrubbing, yet far cleaner than before.

He crouched on the ground, trembling, muttering something as if in prayer.

Zhu QiongJiong walked over, tapped his head with the stick, and said, "What are you chanting? Go over there to collect your clothes."

The prisoner lifted his head, glanced at him, his eyes full of terror.

Zhu QiongJiong ignored him, turned and looked at the next.

Zhu Yong stood outside the camp's fence, watching the scene, a slight smile tugging his mouth.

These Europeans—if they won't bathe, then we shall bathe them.

If they aren't clean, wash them every day…

Sooner or later they'll get used to it.

"Prince... a few nobles from Castile wish to surrender and want to see you," Wang Gui said, emerging from behind the camp with a list in hand.

Zhu Yong took the list and scanned it.

There were five men, all high nobles of at least count rank, whose estates spanned several provinces around Toledo.

The king fled; they lost their backbone and could only surrender.

"Bring them in."

Moments later, Wang Gui led five Spaniards in ornate long robes forward.

The five were in their fifties, hair graying, with neatly trimmed beards.

Their robes, though splendid, were wrinkled, clearly showing they had not slept well these past days.

They approached Zhu Yong, fell to their knees with a thud, and muttered incoherently.

Wang Gui translated, "Prince, they say they are willing to submit to Great Ming, only asking to preserve their family's lands and property."

Zhu Yong stared at the five trembling Spanish nobles kneeling on the ground and fell silent for a moment.

Land and property—just like those Portuguese, the same kind of conduct.

The enemy surrenders when we arrive, begs for mercy after surrendering, and then rebels again.

"Tell them the land will be confiscated, the property registered, and the people are innocent."

Wang Gui translated this to them.

The five nobles' faces turned pale instantly.

The eldest, a count with a white beard, lifted his head, his lips trembling, and spoke again.

Zhu Yong didn't understand, nor did he wish to; as long as Wang Gui tells them what to do, that's enough—after all, they're all destined for the mines.

Wang Gui nodded, then began translating again.

The five nobles collapsed onto the ground, their faces ashen as death.

Zhu Yong no longer looked at them, turned and left.

Returning to the royal palace, Zhu Yong sat down in the study.

On the table lay a pile of documents: some sent from Portugal, some from Australia, and others transferred from Yingtian Prefecture.

He flipped through them one by one.

Zhu Biao wrote in the letter that the court had dispatched an additional 50,000 troops, currently being sent to Australia.

Mu Ying kept watch over the South Sea, and the European fleet no longer appeared.

Over at Tie Mu Er's residence, everything was fine; Zhang Wuhe and Chen Heng managed the area well.

Zhu Yuanzhang wrote in the letter that the family was all well, Guanyin Nu's health was recovering nicely, Zhu Qiongwu was robust, Empress Ma chattered about him every day, urging him to finish fighting early and return soon.

After reading the letter, Zhu Yong folded the paper neatly and placed it in the drawer.

He picked up a brush and began to write a reply.

"Father, mother, elder brother, seeing these words is like seeing you in person; here in Europe, Portugal has already been taken, the capital of Castile, Toledo, has also fallen, the king fled eastward, probably to Aragon."

Spain's terrain is more complex than Portugal's, with many mountains and few plains, making warfare inconvenient, but our navy is stronger; we can land from the sea, bypass their main forces, and strike directly at their capital—this method works.

Europeans generally never bathe, their bodies reek, their hygiene is terrible, dirtier than a pigsty. Erchen is having people clean their cities, give them baths, and teach them sanitation.

Europe has a lot of Gold and Silver; Portugal and Castile alone hold several million taels of Gold and Silver in their treasuries, and after confiscating from nobles and the church, they can amass over ten million taels. Erchen will transport this Gold and Silver back to Great Ming in batches.

Aragon lies east of Castile, bears a grudge against it; now that we've beaten Castile, Aragon seeks to loot. Erchen plans to first secure Castile, clean up the south, then move eastward.

Fourth brother is holding Porto, fifth brother and third brother are with me. Qiong Jiong, that kid, once on the battlefield he charges forward, slaying many enemies, just like his father.

Father, mother, elder brother, take care of your health. When Europe is finished, Erchen will return.

Er Rong bows.

After finishing the letter, he sealed it, handed it to the outside Imperial Troops and said, "Send someone to return it to Yingtian Prefecture."

"Yes."

After the Imperial Troops withdrew, Zhu Yong stood up and walked to the window.

Outside, the city of Toledo appeared especially quiet in the dusk.

In the distance, the mountain ranges flickered in the afterglow, like a sleeping giant beast.

On the city walls, Great Ming's banners still fluttered and rustled in the wind.

Europe is vast, with many nations.

Portugal, Castile, Aragon, France, England, the Holy Roman Empire—one after another we fought, and there were hardly any years we couldn't finish.

But he was not in a hurry.

He had plenty of time.

Fight a few more years, subdue all of Europe, and plant Great Ming's banners in every city.

Then, return home.

Return to Yingtian Prefecture, return to father and mother, return to Guanyin Nu and the children.

Night deepened, and the lights of Toledo lit up one by one.

In the distance, on the sea, the steamboat's lights still flickered.

That was a Longxiang Army patrol ship, guarding the Taho River mouth to prevent the Castile king's fleet from returning.

A new day will soon arrive.