Chapter 428: Opening Fire

In the early morning at the mouth of the Taho River, the sea breeze carried a salty, fishy scent.

Zhu Di stood at the bow, watching the coastline behind him recede into the distance.

The walls of Toledo had already blurred into a gray line, the Great Ming banner atop the city still faintly visible, looking in the morning mist like a small flickering flame.

Sixty steamships formed three columns in line: twenty at the vanguard, twenty in the center, and ten on each wing.

The black smoke from the funnels stretched long dragon-like trails above the sea, and the roar of the steam engines made the water tremble faintly.

"Prince, the wind has shifted to a northeast wind, perfect for heading east," the Vice General climbed down from the mast, still gripping the rope of the wind‑measuring flag.

Zhu Di nodded, saying nothing.

He had spent several years in the Western Regions, accustomed to land routes; on horseback he could ride from Hami to Samarkand in one breath, yet life at sea still did not suit him well.

When the ship pitched violently, his stomach churned like a raging river, but he never showed it.

Second Prince had said that a general must never show weakness before the soldiers.

"Relay the order: full speed ahead, target Barcelona."

The Command was passed down, and the fleet's speed increased.

On deck, the Longxiang Army soldiers were conducting the final checks.

The Flintlock Guns were polished again and again, the bayonets gleamed, and the ammunition bags bulged as they hung at the waist.

A few veterans crouched at the ship's side, sharpening their cavalry swords on a whetstone, the iron‑gray blades flashing coldly in the morning light.

A young soldier lay on the rail, watching the land fade away in the distance, and whispered to the veteran beside him, "Brother Zhao, is Spain really as dirty as they say?"

The veteran didn't even lift his head and said, "Dirtier than described; the streets are covered in excrement, the stench can knock a person out, you'll know when you get there."

The young soldier swallowed, pulling his face back.

Zhu Di heard it, and the corner of his mouth twitched slightly.

Dirty as it may be, the battle still must be fought.

Europeans don't bathe, do they? Then we'll wash them. If it's not clean, wash them every day.

The fleet sailed along the coastline toward the northeast.

Portugal's coastline is very straight, with few bays and not many ports.

After passing Lisbon, the coast gradually became steep, cliffs rising everywhere, and flat beaches were rarely seen.

After two days' travel, a broad bay appeared ahead.

"Prince, this is Saint Vincent Cape; beyond this point lies the territory of Castile," the Vice General said, pointing at the waters ahead.

Zhu Di squinted and watched for a while.

The bay was wide, the current gentle, and a few fishing boats on the surface were hauling nets; upon seeing the massive fleet, they turned and fled in terror.

"Continue onward, ignore them."

The fleet rounded Saint Vincent Cape and entered Castile's waters.

Here the coastline turned, shifting from east‑west to north‑south.

Zhu Di stood at the bow, took a map from his chest, and unfolded it.

The map was drawn by people from the Ministry of Works based on prisoners' testimonies and captured charts; though rough, its general outline was accurate.

Castile's western coast, from Saint Vincent Cape northward to Biscay Bay, stretches a long coastline but has few ports.

Their target was not Castile but Aragon.

Castile had already been taken by Second Prince; the remaining task was to mop up.

Aragon lay to the east, across the entire Iberian Peninsula.

"Prince, there are ships ahead," the lookout on the mast shouted.

Zhu Di lifted his head and looked in the direction he indicated.

On the distant sea surface, the outlines of several small boats appeared.

The boats were small, bearing Latin sails, with crosses painted on their prows.

"They are Castile's merchant ships," the Vice General said, raising his telescope for a moment.

"Ignore them, keep going."

Those small boats clearly also spotted the massive fleet and, in panic, turned back toward the coast.

Zhu Di ignored them and ordered the fleet to continue forward.

After another three days, the outline of land emerged on the sea.

It was not the Iberian Peninsula but the Balearic Islands, Mallorca, the largest island in the western Mediterranean.

"Prince, shall we go ashore to take a look?" the Vice General asked.

Zhu Di thought for a moment, shook his head, and said, "Not yet; we'll discuss it after taking Barcelona."

The fleet rounded Mallorca and continued sailing northeast.

The sea's color shifted from deep blue to light blue, then from light blue to ink green.

The wind and waves grew fierce; a few small boats were tossed violently, and the soldiers aboard vomited profusely.

Zhu Di stood at the bow, his expression unchanged.

When he was in the Western Regions, he had endured all kinds of harsh weather; this level of wind and waves was nothing.

On the fifth morning, Barcelona's outline appeared on the horizon.

The city walls were gray and misty, faintly visible in the morning fog.

In the harbor, dozens of ships were moored—merchant vessels, fishing boats, and a few warships bearing royal flags.

On the shore stood several stone-built structures that looked like warehouses and customs offices.

Further away rose the spires of a cathedral, soaring into the clouds, shimmering with a dark‑gold glow in the sunrise.

"Relay the order: the vanguard to anchor, cannons ready."

Command passed down, twenty vanguard ships accelerated toward the harbor.

The Alagon people on the shore clearly spotted the fleet.

Horn Sound wailed, the soldiers scrambled toward the city wall, and the ships in the harbor hastily raised anchor and set sail, trying to flee, but it was too late.

"Open fire..."

Three Hundred rear-mounted breech-loading cannons fired simultaneously.

Shrapnel shells tore through the morning mist, trailing long tails, striking the harbor.

In the first volley, several merchant ships were blown apart, wood chips flying, hulls cracking, seawater flooding in, and the vessels tilting.

The sailors leapt into the sea, scrambling toward the shore.

In the second volley, the warehouses on the shore collapsed, bricks and stones shattering, smoke and dust billowing skyward.

Several Alagon merchants hauling cargo were blown skyward, their screams drowned by the explosions.

In the third volley, several bronze cannons on the city wall were blown into the air, their barrels somersaulting before crashing to the ground and shattering into pieces.

"Landing."

Zhu Di rode at the forefront, stepping down from the gangplank.

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

He looked up at Barcelona's city wall, a faint smile curling his lips.

Ten thousand Longxiang Army troops surged from the ships onto the beach, forming ranks.

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

Zhu Di drew the short sword at his waist, its blade flashing coldly in the sunlight.

"Longxiang Army, follow me to assault the city."

"Roar..."

He strode toward the city gate, ten thousand Longxiang Army behind him, the clatter of iron armor echoing across the beach like a muffled thunder rolling over the earth.

On the city wall, the Alagon defenders were in complete chaos.

Several officers rode horses along the wall, brandishing swords and shouting something, but no one listened.

Some soldiers were firing arrows, some throwing stones downward, some rushing toward the base of the city.

Arrows rained toward Zhu Di.

He neither dodged nor evaded; the arrows struck his iron armor, clanging harmlessly, not even bruising his skin.

He stepped to the city gate, retreated two steps, lifted his right foot, and kicked the gate.

"Boom..."

The gate shuddered, wood chips scattering.

Another kick.

"Rumble..."

The latch snapped, the gate collapsed inward, crashing to the ground and raising a cloud of dust.

Zhu Di stood at the breach, looking at the Alagon soldiers inside, their faces the color of earth.

"Surrenderers will not be killed."

Silenced for Three Breaths.

Then, someone—unknown—dropped a weapon, "Clang!"

Then the second, then the third.

The sounds of weapons hitting the ground rang out.

Barcelona, taken.