Chapter 446: Nice Try

The road east from Calais is easier than imagined.

The English have occupied this land for years, and to move troops and supplies they have actually kept the main road smooth.

There are no concrete roads, of course, but the gravel surface lets the wagons run steadily, far better than the rutted mud tracks of inland France.

Zhu Yong rides his horse at the front of the column, with Zhu Di beside him, and an eighty‑thousand‑strong army behind.

Iron armor stretches like a forest, and flintlock guns flash upward in unison.

The warhorses snort loudly, their front hooves digging the ground, while war flags rustle in the morning breeze.

After three days' march, a small town appears ahead.

The town is modest, its walls low; a few soldiers in mottled uniforms stand at the gate, spears raised.

Seeing the iron‑black tide in the distance, they stare blankly for a moment, then drop their weapons and turn to flee.

"Send word to bypass it; we won't attack the town, head straight for Dijon," Zhu Yong reins his horse, glancing at the nameless settlement.

The eighty‑thousand troops skirt the walls and continue eastward.

Two more days on, the outline of Dijon emerges ahead.

The walls are a dull gray, shimmering with a muted glow in the afternoon sun.

This capital of the Duchy of Burgundy sits on the banks of the Ush River, the largest city in eastern France and the old lair of Thus Character: Wuweizhe Yuehan.

Soldiers stand on the walls, the artillery already emplaced, its muzzles black‑gaped toward the outside.

But the soldiers' faces look grim; news of the Duke of Burgundy's capture has long reached them, most of the city's nobles have fled, and those left cannot escape.

"Form ranks."

The eighty‑thousand troops begin to line up.

Five hundred muzzle‑loading cannons line up in a single file, their barrels aimed at Dijon's walls.

The iron armor glints coldly in the sun, flintlock guns flash upward like a forest of steel.

On the walls, the Burgundy garrison's expressions change.

They have never seen so many armored soldiers, never seen so many cannons.

A few nobles on horseback dart across the walls, brandishing swords and shouting something, but their voices tremble.

Zhu Yong does not rush to order the fire.

He is waiting.

After waiting roughly the time it takes to brew a cup of tea, the gate opens.

It is not surrender; a crowd pours out of the city, not soldiers but civilians.

Men and women, old and young, families in tow, bearing bundles and pushing carts, scramble hurriedly toward the outskirts.

"The civilians are fleeing..." Zhu Di spurs his horse forward, frowning.

Zhu Yong says nothing, watching the civilians run past the formation.

Some glance up at the armored troops as they pass, eyes filled with fear and bewilderment.

After about fifteen minutes, fewer people emerge from the gate.

The last to emerge is a cleric in a black robe, clutching a cross, trembling as he walks toward us.

"Prince, should we fire..." Wang Gui asks beside him.

Zhu Yong waves his hand, dismounts, and strides forward carrying the Double Hammers.

He does not move quickly, but each step is steady.

The twelve‑hundred‑jin hammer drags two shallow ruts across the ground, the gravel grinding with a creak.

When the cleric reaches the midway point and sees the man bearing the hammer, his legs give way and he collapses to his knees.

The cross he holds plants itself in the ground, his mouth trembling, muttering incomprehensibly.

Zhu Yong walks past him without looking.

The drawbridge at the gate has been lowered. The garrison has fled, leaving the gate unlatched.

He steps into Dijon.

The streets are wider than Calais's, but the filth and disorder are comparable.

Garbage and excrement litter the ground, sticky underfoot.

The air is thick with a rotting stench, a mix of animal waste and wilted vegetables, enough to make one's head spin.

A few Longxiang Army soldiers trail behind, frowning as they walk, but no one curses any more; they've been cursing for almost a year and are tired of it.

Zhu Yong walks straight toward the city center.

The streets are nearly empty; civilians hide inside, doors and windows shut tight.

Occasionally, the brave peek through window cracks, eyes showing both fear and curiosity.

Dijon's palace sits on a hill at the city's heart, built of stone and white‑washed outside, smaller than Paris's palace yet more refined.

No one stands at the entrance; the guards have long fled.

Zhu Yong enters; the palace is modest, and upon stepping inside is a great hall, stone slabs underfoot, moss growing in the joints.

Several oil paintings hang on the walls, depicting ancestors of the Duke of Burgundy, each with a stern expression and lavish attire.

At the far end of the hall is a stone staircase leading to the second floor.

"Search," Zhu Yong says calmly.

Longxiang Army rushes into each room, searching one by one.

Soon a soldier bursts from the basement, cupping his fist, "Prince, there are people below."

Zhu Yong follows him down into the basement.

The basement is small, piled with dozens of crates. Opening them reveals gold and silver vessels and jewels.

In a corner of the wall, a few people crouch—men and women, old and young—shivering all over.

A woman in a splendid long robe held a five‑ or six‑year‑old boy, murmuring something as if in prayer.

"Prince, this is the Duke of Burgundy's Lady Margaret and her son Philip…" Wang Gui walked up from behind.

Wuweizhe Yuehan fled, abandoning his wife and child.

"Bring them up…"

Lady Margaret was taken to the royal palace hall, knelt on the ground, and trembled all over.

She was in her early forties, well kept, but at this moment her complexion was pallid, her lips quivered, and she could not speak.

The boy curled in his mother's arms, eyes brimming with tears.

Zhu Rong looked at them and was silent for a moment.

"Take them down, watch them carefully, and do not mistreat them."

Wang Gui responded with a sound, and led people to escort the mother and child down.

Zhu Rong walked out of the palace, standing on the steps. The fighting in Dijon City had basically ended; the garrison had mostly fled, and the remaining troops knelt on the ground to surrender.

On the Street, Longxiang Army soldiers were collecting weapons, and groups of prisoners were being escorted to camps outside the city.

Zhu Di rode over, dismounted with a flip.

"Second Prince, the garrison inside the city has all fled, about a thousand or so have surrendered, and the civilians are obedient, causing no trouble."

"Integrate them, enroll them as auxiliary troops, and have them clean up the city's sanitation."

Zhu Di nodded, then asked, "What about those nobles? How many were captured, and are they all locked in the camp?"

"The land is confiscated, assets registered, and the people are sent to mine."

Zhu Di responded with a sound and turned away.

Li Wenzhong rode over from another Street, clasped his fists and said, "Prince, there are several churches inside the city, already cleared. The priest has detained dozens, all locked in the camp."

Zhu Rong nodded and said nothing more.

Matters like this no longer required his careful thought; those under his command all knew how to handle it.

Gold and Silver were moved, the church remained, and the priest was sent to mine.

Feng Sheng rode over from the north of the city, a smile on his face.

"Prince, Dijon has been taken, the Duchy of Burgundy is finished, where shall we strike next?"

Zhu Rong took out a map and spread it on his horse's back.

"Head south to attack Lyon; Lyon is the largest city in eastern France and the gateway to Provence. Capture Lyon, and the south will be secure."

Feng Sheng looked at the map, nodded and said, "Lyon lies on the Rhône River, more than two hundred li from here, and the route is all plains and hills."

"Plains are easy to fight on, hills are also easy. Our Flintlock Gun can fire in any terrain."

Feng Sheng nodded and asked no further.

Zhu Rong turned around and looked at Dijon City.

On the Street, Longxiang Army soldiers were organizing prisoners to clean up trash.

Carts of excrement were hauled out of the city and walls were scrubbed with lime water.

Several local civilians squatted at their doorsteps, watching the iron‑armored soldiers pass, their eyes no longer showing the initial fear.

Getting used to this, it won't take long to become a habit.

"Send the order: the entire army rests in Dijon for two days, then moves south; the target is Lyon."

"Understood..."

At dusk, Zhu Rong sat on the steps of the Dijon royal palace, watching the sunset.

In the distance, the Ush River roared, its sound carrying far in the twilight.

This capital of the Duchy of Burgundy, from today onward, has a new master.

Zhu Qiong Jiong squatted nearby, wiping the Wolf Fang Club with a rag.

The blood scab on the club's head was cleaned, glinting iron‑gray in the sunset.

"Father, is Lyon larger than Dijon?"

"Yes, much larger."

"How about compared to Paris?"

"About the same..."

Zhu Qiong Jiong nodded and continued wiping the club.

Zhu Rong looked at his son, a faint smile curling his mouth.

The child's appetite was even bigger than his own back then.

In the distance, Zhu Di turned from a street corner, holding a military report.

"Second Prince, news from the south."

Zhu Rong took it, unfolded it.

The report, sent by Feng Sheng from Bordeaux, said that envoys from several southern small states had arrived and were negotiating.

The envoy from Navarra said their king was willing to submit, but asked to retain the royal title.

Zhu Rong finished reading and placed the report on the table.

"Royal title, what a fantasy."

Zhu Di sat down beside him.

"Second Prince, Navarra is a tiny state, it can't cause trouble; if they want to keep the title, let them, it's not a big area anyway."

"We can't open that precedent; today Navarra wants to keep the title, tomorrow Provence will want it, the day after Auvergne will want it."

"Once one opens the door, everyone will ask for it."

Zhu Di thought for a moment, then nodded.

Second Prince is right.

Zhu Yong stood up and walked to the window.

Tell General Feng to deal with the Navarre affair; if they are willing to submit, follow Great Ming's regulations, if not, just wait for the great army to arrive.

Zhu Di answered with a sound and turned away.

The night in Dijon was very quiet.

From afar, the Ushi River's rushing water roared, carrying far through the night.

On the city walls, Great Ming's banners flapped and rustled in the night wind.

Zhu Yong stood at the window, watching the night outside.

Burgundy has been taken.

Next is Lyon, then Provence, then Auvergne, then the various small and large lords scattered across southern France.