Chapter 443: Alliance Collapse

The smoke on Jalai Beach had not yet cleared.

Zhu Yong stood on the sand, watching the soldiers clear the battlefield.

The English fleet still drifted on the sea; some had been burned to empty shells, others lay tilted on the beach, masts broken, sails charred, fluttering in the sea wind.

The seawater was dyed a dark red, surging in waves and then receding.

The prisoners had already been taken away.

English soldiers formed a long line, heads down and dejected, marching toward Jalai City; a few Longxiang Army troops on horseback escorted them, and no one dared to run, nor had the strength to run.

Fifteen thousand people crossed the sea, fewer than ten thousand set foot ashore; the dead died, the wounded were wounded, the drowned drowned, and the remaining over eight thousand all knelt.

"Prince, Henry V has already been locked up," Wang Gui came up from behind, his boots sinking into the wet sand, leaving a line of deep pits.

Zhu Yong nodded, without turning around.

"Clear a few rooms in Jalai City, keep him locked there, and once things here are settled, send him together with Charles VI back to Yingtian Prefecture."

"Is... over at England, still fighting?" Wang Gui answered with a sound, then asked again.

Zhu Yong looked at the sea.

Across the English Channel was England.

At this time England was in the Lancastrian dynasty, Henry V their king; now the king was captured, the court leaderless, making it an ideal moment for a sea crossing.

But attacking England required ships.

Most of their ships were in Bordeaux and Lisbon, and bringing them over would take time.

Moreover, winter was approaching; the English Channel's winter winds and waves were fierce, making a sea crossing risky.

"We'll discuss it next spring; for now, let the English be in a hurry for a while."

Wang Gui nodded, turned, and left.

Zhu Di rode in from the city, dismounted with a flip, his boots creaking on the sand.

Blood still splattered on his face, but his spirits were high.

"Second Prince, over at the English, a few ships fled northward; should we pursue?"

"No need to chase; a few broken ships can't raise waves."

Zhu Di sheathed his saber, crouched, scooped a handful of sand, watching it slip through his fingers.

"With Henry V's defeat, the English will need at least three years to recover,

their longbowmen are indeed formidable, but once plate armor is worn, arrows can't pierce, and they have no way out."

Zhu Yong hummed in acknowledgement.

English longbowmen were renowned on European battlefields, with long range, rapid fire, and strong penetration; French heavy cavalry in the Hundred Years' War were shot down so badly they could barely lift their heads.

But after plate armor appeared, the longbow's power was greatly reduced.

Great Ming's plate armor had been issued since the seventh year of Hongwu, continuously improved over a dozen years; now its thickness and hardness meant English longbows could not pierce beyond two hundred steps.

"Let's go back to the city," Zhu Yong turned and headed toward Jalai City.

Jalai City's streets were narrower than Paris, but cleaner than Bordeaux.

The English had occupied here for years; although they did little for sanitation, it was at least a bit better than mainland France.

Few pedestrians were on the street; a few bold townsfolk stood at the roadside, secretly watching the iron‑armored troops. Their eyes held fear, curiosity, and awe.

Zhu Yong walked past them, his steps unceasing.

He was contemplating the next battle.

The English were defeated, the Burgundians collapsed, the Bretons fled, and the allied forces of Provence and Auvergne dispersed.

Within France, the forces that could fight had basically been cleared out.

But Europe was more than that...

The Holy Roman Empire still lingered in the east, held by electors, its emperor being Xi Jisu Mengde, the last emperor of the Luxembourg dynasty.

Aragon, though battered, still had its king Alfonso V, who was said to have fled to Naples.

The Kingdom of Naples in southern Italy was also a domain of the Aragon royal house.

There was also the Pope in Rome.

These powers would eventually clash.

Returning to the Governor's Office, Zhu Yong sat in a chair.

On the table lay a map of Europe, drawn by Ministry of Works staff from prisoners' testimonies and seized charts; though rough, its general outlines were correct.

France, Burgundy, Brittany, England, Castile, Aragon, Portugal, and a vast swath of Holy Roman Empire territory in the east.

"Prince, dinner is ready," Wang Gui entered from outside, carrying a tray with a bowl of rice, a dish of pickles, and two pieces of marinated meat.

Zhu Yong took it, took two bites, then set it down.

His appetite was poor, not because his body ailed, but because his mind was burdened.

Europe had been conquered, but governing it was difficult.

The territory was vast, the nations many, languages different, cultures different, and beliefs also different.

Churches were confiscated and turned into schools, priests sent to mine, noble lands redistributed to peasants; these matters sound simple, but in practice are a tangled mess.

"Wang Gui, any news from General Feng?"

"General Feng is in Bordeaux, saying the food there will last half a year, the prisoners are settled, and they are organizing manpower to clean the city's sanitation."

Zhu Yong nodded, then asked, "What about my cousin?"

"General Li is in Rouen, saying the gathered French remnants have been incorporated as auxiliary troops, and they are repairing the road; the official road from Rouen to Paris should be passable in a few weeks."

Zhu Yong did not ask further.

Li Wenzhong's handling of affairs gave him confidence, and Feng Sheng also gave confidence.

These two men, one his cousin, the other a veteran who had fought alongside Zhu Yuanzhang, were capable both in war and in governance.

"Dad..." Zhu Qiong walked in from outside, the Wolf Fang Club slung over his shoulder, its head smeared with fresh blood.

The boy was sun‑tanned dark, his arms full of muscle, and he walked with a fierce, wind‑like stride.

Today in this battle, he again charged at the front.

"How many did you kill..."

"Uncounted, maybe thirty or forty," Zhu Qiong leaned the Wolf Fang Club against the wall, grabbed a piece of marinated meat from the table, shoved it into his mouth, chewed a couple of bites and swallowed.

"Dad, the English longbowmen are indeed formidable; their arrows fly fast and true. If they weren't wearing plate armor, they'd be hard to deal with."

Zhu Yong looked at his son.

This kid not only fights, but also studies the enemy's strengths.

"Longbowmen are strong, but their armor is weak—leather, chainmail can't stop a Flintlock Gun. Our Flintlock Gun can pierce at two Hundred Steps; their longbow needs a Hundred Steps to pierce plate armor.

This is the gap..."

Zhu Qiong nodded thoughtfully.

"Dad, when will we go to attack the Holy Roman Empire?"

Zhu Yong gave him a glance.

"What's the hurry? Europe is vast; you can't swallow it whole. First secure France, deal with England, then strike east."

Zhu Qiong pursed his lips and said nothing more.

He squatted by the wall, picked up a rag and began polishing the Wolf Fang Club.

Zhu Yong rose to his feet and walked to the window.

The night in Calais was very quiet.

On the distant sea, the steamship's lights flickered like stars.

The harbor held dozens of ships, some unloading cargo, others loading prisoners.

This last mainland foothold of the English was, from today, raised under Great Ming's banner.

The English are finished.

The Burgundians have collapsed.

The French have surrendered.

Castile and Aragon have also been dealt with.

The Iberian Peninsula is wholly in Great Ming's hand, and France as well.

Next, we must handle those powers still watching.

Footsteps sounded from afar.

Zhu Di came up from the stairwell, holding a freshly received military report.

"Second Prince, news from the south."

Zhu Yong took it, unfolded it.

The report, sent by Zhu Gang from Porto, said several small southern kingdoms had dispatched envoys seeking negotiations with Great Ming.

"Which small kingdoms?"

"Navarre, the remnants of Aragon, and a few southern French countships—about a dozen people—have already arrived at Bordeaux; the Fourth Prince is entertaining them."

Zhu Yong's mouth twitched upward slightly.

Negotiations—Europeans are indeed shrewd.

If they can't be beaten, they negotiate; if talks fail, they fight again; after the fight, they negotiate once more.

"Tell them to wait; we have no time to attend to them now."

Zhu Di nodded and put the report away.

"Second Prince, what about the Duke of Burgundy? He's locked in Calais prison, shouting daily to see you."

"Do not see him; let him shout. Once he's shouted enough, he'll stop."

Zhu Di smiled.

"What about the Duke of Brittany's nephew? Also imprisoned?"

"Imprisoned; later we'll send him back to Yingtian Prefecture together with Cha Li Liu Shi."

Zhu Di asked no further.

He turned and walked to the window, watching the night outside.

Calais's night was quieter than Paris's, the sea wind blowing in with a salty, fishy scent and a faint hint of blood.

"Second Prince, how many years do you think it will take to govern this Europe?" Zhu Di asked suddenly.

Zhu Yong was silent for a moment.

"One generation is not enough; two generations, still not enough; three generations. Europeans differ from us—they've believed in God for centuries, and their minds have become muddled.

They need to be taught to read and study, to awaken their insight."

Zhu Di nodded.

"Elder Brother over there should have already sent Taoist priests and Confucian scholars."

Zhu Yong gave no reply.

He recalled the letter he had written to Zhu Biao, which mentioned the European church and asked Elder Brother to send some Taoist priests and Confucian scholars to replace the priests.

Sending the letter back takes time, and dispatching people also takes time.

At least several months.

In these months, first cleanse the European churches, convert the cathedrals into schools, and when the Taoists and scholars arrive, we can begin teaching directly.

"Second Prince, regarding the Holy Roman Empire, when do you plan to attack?" Zhu Di asked again.

Zhu Yong looked at the map.

On the eastern side of the Holy Roman Empire, across the Rhine, its territory is larger than France's, with countless princes, seven electors, each governing their own affairs.

Emperor Sigismund is an old fox; he will not easily go to war with Great Ming, but he will not surrender easily either.

"No rush; wait until next spring, first deal with England, then strike east."

Zhu Di nodded.

He turned around and looked out the window.

On the sea, the steamship's lights flickered like stars.

This last English outpost on the continent, from today onward, is completely secure.