Chapter 442: Encircle Three, Leave One

Zhu Yong fell silent, gesturing with his hand.

Longxiang Army soldiers dragged the three men down, shouting something all the way, their voices fading into the distance.

Zhu Di hummed beside him and said, "Millions of Jin, these nobles are truly rich."

"All taken from the common folk…," Zhu Yong stood up, walked to the tent flap, and gazed at the night outside.

The campfire leapt in the darkness, reflecting countless faces.

There were Han People faces and European faces; the captives who had been conscripted as auxiliary troops were helping haul supplies.

After being washed clean and given new clothes, they looked no different from Great Ming civilians.

"Father, shall we head north tomorrow?" Zhu Qiong Jiong came over and stood beside him.

"Hmm…"

"Go fight the English?"

"Fight the English."

Zhu Qiong Jiong grinned, showing a mouth missing a front tooth.

He slung the Wolf Fang Club over his shoulder and strode back to his own tent.

At dawn the next day, before sunrise, the camp began to bustle.

Eighty thousand troops were ready to march, their iron armor glinting coldly in the morning light, Flintlock Guns pointed skyward in a synchronized flash.

War horses whinnied, and War Flags fluttered.

Zhu Yong rode his horse to the front of the formation.

Behind him followed Zhu Di, Li Wenzhong, and Zhu Qiong Jiong bearing the Wolf Fang Club.

Feng Sheng was in Jialai, Zhu Gang in Bo Er Tu, and Zhu Shuang in A La Gong.

The brothers were scattered across several locations, but their goal was the same.

"Depart…"

The army slowly set out, marching along the official road toward the Northern Region.

After three days' march, the outline of Jialai appeared ahead.

The city walls were hazy gray, exuding a dim glow in the sunlight.

At the city gate, people came and went—merchant caravans entering, farmers leaving—everything as usual.

The English fleet had not yet arrived, and the townsfolk were unaware that danger was drawing near.

Feng Sheng waited at the city gate; when he saw the army arrive, he hurried forward to greet them.

"Prince, the English fleet is still on the other side of the strait; it should arrive by tomorrow."

Zhu Yong halted his horse and glanced at the distant sea.

Where sea met sky, there was nothing.

"When the fleet arrives, how do you plan to fight?"

Feng Sheng thought for a moment and said, "I intend to mount cannons on the city walls, fire a round as their ships come ashore, then sally out to meet them."

"No," Zhu Yong replied, "their ships are numerous; the cannons are scattered and can't hit many vessels. Waiting until they land to attack would cause too many casualties." He dismounted and walked into the city.

Feng Sheng followed behind, daring not to speak further.

Zhu Yong climbed the city wall and stared at the sea to the north.

Jialai's coastline was straight, its beaches broad—suitable for landing.

If the English were to land here, the cannons would indeed be ineffective; their firing arc is too narrow, covering only a small area.

"Second Prince, shall we fight at sea?" Zhu Di came up from behind.

"Sail out… our ships are in Bo Er Duo; there's no time to redeploy."

"Then we wait for them to land and strike; we have eighty thousand, why fear their fifteen thousand?"

Zhu Yong said nothing.

He stood on the wall, watching the distant sea, his mind cycling through various plans.

Waiting to attack after they land would cause heavy losses but could annihilate them completely.

Attacking at sea would incur fewer casualties, but the ships wouldn't arrive in time.

After a moment's thought, he made a decision.

"Let them land first; once all their troops have come ashore, we'll encircle them from three sides, leaving one side for them to retreat, they won't fight to the death."

Zhu Di's eyes lit up.

"Encircle three, leave one…"

"It's not encircle three, leave one; it's to let them run, run back into the sea to feed the fish," Zhu Yong said calmly.

At dawn the next day, the English fleet appeared on the sea.

Over sixty ships, their sails fully bulging, came from the north.

Zhu Yong stood on the wall, squinting as he watched for a while.

The fleet formed three vertical columns: twenty ships in the vanguard, twenty in the center, and ten on each wing.

A red field with a golden lion hung from the mast, the royal flag of England.

"Send the order: the whole army out of the city, form ranks."

Eighty thousand troops streamed out of Jialai like fish from a basket, forming ranks on the beach.

Longxiang Army led the front, the new troops followed, with cannons on both flanks.

Five hundred muzzle‑loading cannons were lined up in a single row, their barrels aimed at the sea.

On the city wall, French civilians crouched on the battlements, looking outward.

They had never seen so many armored soldiers, nor so many cannons.

The English fleet drew ever closer.

The vanguard of twenty ships began to slow, preparing to dock.

"Open fire..."

Five hundred rear‑mounted breech‑loading cannons fired simultaneously.

The bursting shells tore through the air, trailing long tails, striking the sea surface.

Henry V stood at the prow of the flagship, watching the iron‑clad sea on the shore, his face ashen.

He had not expected the Great Ming forces to possess so many cannons, let alone to sortie from the city to meet him.

"Land! All troops, land!" he shouted in a hoarse English.

The English fleet began a forced landing.

Some ships ran aground on the beach; the soldiers leapt into waist‑deep water, shields raised, charging ashore.

Other vessels were blown up, their soldiers flailing in the sea, then capsized by ships behind them.

Fifteen thousand English soldiers; fewer than ten thousand made it ashore.

Zhu Yong watched the English soldiers surging from the water and raised the hammer in his right hand.

"Great Ming, mighty..."

He gave his warhorse a sharp cue, and it surged forward.

"Great Ming, mighty..."

Eighty thousand troops followed closely, their hooves thundering.

English longbowmen began to loose arrows.

Arrows fell like rain, aimed at the Great Ming forces.

But those striking the plate armor rang with clinks, shattering without even bruising the skin.

Those aimed at riders were also stopped by the iron armor.

Zhu Yong charged at the front, wielding Double Hammers to both sides.

An English knight charged, his lance thrust toward Zhu Yong's chest; one hammer shattered the lance shaft, the other hammered the horse's head, the warhorse whinnied and fell, the knight was flung off and broke his neck.

Another longbowman raised his bow on Zhu Yong, but before he could release an arrow, a hammer already struck in front of him.

Behind him, the eighty thousand troops surged along his path into the English Formation.

Flintlock Guns fired in unison, sabers slashing.

At close range, the English longbowmen were no match; before an arrow could be nocked, a bullet already pierced straight through the chest.

Henry V watched from behind, his face pallid.

He had fought his whole life, yet had never seen an army like this.

Arrows could not kill, swords could not cut; their charge resembled a moving steel wall.

"Retreat, to the sea!" he turned his horse and fled toward the shore.

But it was too late.

Zhu Di flanked from the left, cutting off the retreat.

Li Wenzhong burst out from the right, blocking the road into the city.

The English were trapped on the beach, caught between advance and retreat.

Zhu Yong chased to the shore and smashed the English royal banner with a hammer.

The red‑backed golden‑lion flag fell with a crash, pressed onto the sand, washed by the surf.

Henry V fled less than a Hundred Steps, only to be blocked by a squad of Longxiang Army cavalry.

He reined in his horse, stared at the iron‑clad soldiers, his sword falling to the ground.

"Surrender, I surrender."

Zhu Yong rode forward, looking down upon him from his height.

The English king, in his early forties, sported a short beard and a robust build, yet now crouched on his horse like a frightened rabbit.

"If only it had been like this from the start."

Behind him, English soldiers knelt everywhere.

The clatter of weapons hitting the ground rose in a din, mingling with the surf, echoing across the beach.

The wind over the Calais Strait was fierce, rattling the flags.

Zhu Yong stood on the beach, watching the English captives kneeling on the sand.

Fifteen thousand in total, over three thousand killed or wounded, eight thousand captured, fewer than three thousand fled.

Henry V was bound with a five‑flower knot, kneeling on the beach, his complexion ashen.

His crown was askew, his cloak smeared with mud and sand.

"Take him down, lock him up, then later send him back with Cha Li Liu Shi and the others to Yingtian Prefecture," Zhu Yong turned and walked toward the city.

Wang Gui responded with a single word, leading men to escort Henry V down.

Zhu Di rode over and dismounted with a flip.

"Second Prince, the English are finished; what shall we do next?"

Zhu Yong gazed at the sea to the north.

The horizon met the sea, pointing toward England.

"We cease fighting, rest first; England has been taken, but there remain Scotland, Wales, and Ireland—we must tidy them up slowly."

Zhu Di nodded, asking no further.

Zhu Yong turned, looking at Calais City.

Civilians on the city walls still stared outward, their eyes filled with fear, curiosity, and awe.

From today, this largest port city in northern France is completely secure.

The English threat is gone.