Chapter 447: Crusade

The thin morning mist rose from the Rhone Valley and wrapped Lyon City in a gray‑white haze.

Zhu Yong stood on the city wall, gazing at the northern horizon.

The direction of the Seine, the direction of Paris, and further north the Channel.

In the city behind them, Longxiang Army soldiers had already begun a day's bustle.

The captives lined up to receive breakfast, each getting a bowl of thin porridge and a piece of black bread.

The line stretched long, but no one dared to cut in, nor to speak.

After half a month of "baptism," these Europeans had learned the rules: disobey and there is no food, skip a bath and there is no food, shirk work and there is even less food.

Simple and brutal, but effective.

"Second Prince…" Zhu Di stepped up from beneath the wall, mud on his boots but his face clean.

He has a habit in battle: after fighting he wipes his face, saying the blood makes it hard to see.

"Any news from the south?"

"Not the south, the east; there's movement in the Holy Roman Empire."

Zhu Di walked to his side, lowered his voice: "Xijisimongde convened the Imperial Diet at Nuremberg; five of the seven great electors attended, plus dozens of lesser princes, gathering about sixty thousand troops, now massing toward the Rhine River."

Zhu Yong's mouth twitched slightly upward.

Sixty thousand, plus the stray remnants still roaming within France, makes seventy or eighty thousand no problem.

But seventy or eighty thousand, to him, is no different from seventy or eighty thousand ants.

"Who commands the troops over at the Rhine River?"

"The Elector of the Palatinate Ludwig III; he's fought a few times, not a famed general but not a fool either. Xijisimongde himself didn't come, saying his age makes him unable to endure the strain."

Zhu Di paused, then added: "The Pope has also intervened; Pope Martin V issued a bull, calling all Catholic nations to unite against Great Ming, calling us heretics and demanding a crusade."

Zhu Yong smiled.

Crusade.

These Europeans, if they can't win they call on God; if God won't move, they call on the Pope.

That's how they fought Jerusalem centuries ago, and it's the same now against Great Ming.

"Where is the Pope?"

"Rome…"

"Is it far?"

"Far—cross the Alps, then head south a few hundred li; the road passes several principalities, but the Pope's domain is in central Italy, surrounded by Naples, Florence, Milan, and the relations are very tangled."

Zhu Di pulled out a map and spread it on the city rampart.

Zhu Yong glanced at the map and asked no further.

The Pope's matter isn't urgent; first settle the Holy Roman Empire, then head south to Rome.

Italian city‑state republics, the likes of the Kingdom of Naples, can't raise a wave.

"Second Prince, when will we head east?" Zhu Di folded the map.

"First clean up the south, secure Burgundy, then go east," Zhu Yong turned, looking at the plaza inside the wall.

In the plaza, several thousand captives were forming ranks.

Longxiang Army soldiers held lists, calling names one by one.

The scene was a bit chaotic, but still fairly orderly.

These captives would be assigned as auxiliary troops, sent to build roads, mine, and plant cotton.

"Over in Burgundy, is Margaret still refusing to surrender?" Zhu Di asked.

"Even if she won't surrender, she must; her husband is in our hands, her son too; what can she negotiate with us?" Zhu Yong said calmly.

The Duchess of Burgundy, Margaret, is a tough figure; after her husband was captured she organized resistance, but all capable soldiers have been wiped out, leaving only the old, weak, women and children, unable to hold out long.

"Send someone to Dijon to deliver a message to Margaret: within ten days bring the Burgundian nobles to Lyon to surrender; the land will be confiscated, assets registered, the people may stay in Europe, but may no longer be nobles."

"If they don't come, when the great army arrives it won't be a surrender any more," Zhu Yong paused and said.

Wang Gui responded with a nod and turned away.

Zhu Di said nothing beside him.

He knows Second Prince's rule: if you refuse a chance, don't blame him for being unkind.

These European nobles put on one face in front and another behind; you can't give them a good face.

The streets of Lyon City were cleaner than half a month ago.

Longxiang Army soldiers cleaned daily, hauling trash outside the city, clearing waste, and scrubbing with lime water several times.

Although still not up to the standards of Yingtian Prefecture, at least they could breathe.

A few local townsfolk crouched at their doorways, watching the iron‑clad soldiers pass, their eyes no longer showing the initial fear.

The habit forms quickly.

A young woman cradling a child stood at the alley mouth; the child clutched a piece of bread, crumbs smeared across his face.

The woman watched Zhu Yong pass, her lips moving as if to speak, but she dared not.

Wang Gui came up from behind, asking a few newly‑learned French phrases. The woman trembled and babbled.

"Your Lordship," she said she wanted to ask if some food could be given to her family; the child's father was conscripted, unknown if dead, leaving her alone with the child," Wang Gui translated.

Zhu Yong glanced at the woman, silent for a moment.

"Take her to the granary and grant a month's rations."

Wang Gui responded with a nod and led the woman away.

The woman bowed repeatedly, muttering something, tears streaming down her cheeks.

Zhu Yong no longer looked at her, continuing onward.

These Europeans are also human.

It's just that they live too painfully.

The king doesn't care, the nobles don't care, and the church doesn't care either.

When sick they bear it themselves, when hungry they endure, and when they die they just die.

Great Ming has arrived; at least it can let them have full meals.

At dusk, Zhu Di returned from the east, bringing back more detailed intelligence from the Holy Roman Empire.

Prince‑elector Ludwig III of Pfalz gathered about fifty thousand troops in Mainz on the banks of the Rhine, and with the armies of other princes the total may exceed eighty thousand.

The army not only includes forces of the German princes, but also mercenaries from the Low Countries, Switzerland, and Northern Italy.

"Eighty thousand, plus the remnants of Burgundy and Brittany, makes a hundred thousand no problem," Zhu Di said, placing the military report on the table.

"A hundred thousand, so what…" Zhu Yong sat down in the chair, lifted the Water Bag and took a sip.

"How many men do we have in our hands now?" Zhu Di asked.

Zhu Yong thought for a moment; adding the new troops brought by Li Wenzhong, plus the auxiliary forces recruited from various places, the total exceeds one hundred twenty thousand.

One hundred twenty thousand against one hundred thousand, we don't lose in manpower, and in equipment we are even more crushing.

"Enough, once the south stabilizes, we strike east."

Zhu Di nodded and asked no further.

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

Lyon's night is quieter than Paris's, and the roar of the Rhone River carries far in the darkness.

"Second Prince, do you think those people of the Holy Roman Empire will fight us to the death?" Zhu Di suddenly asked.

Zhu Yong fell silent for a moment.

"They won't, even if they have many people, their hearts are not aligned, the seven great Prince‑electors each harbor hidden motives, none accept another, Emperor Xi Ji Si Meng De was elected, not hereditary, the princes heed the tune but not the proclamation.

If a hard war truly comes, everyone fears their own troops will be depleted."

Zhu Di nodded thoughtfully.

"So we need not rush; let them fall into chaos themselves."

Zhu Yong said nothing further.

He stood up and walked to the window.

Lyon's night was very quiet; in the distance the Rhone River shimmered silver under Moonlight, and a few small boats drifted on its surface.

The Holy Roman Empire, the largest nation on the European continent, a nominal empire but in reality a scattering of sand.

The seven great Prince‑electors, a dozen major princes, dozens of minor princes, and over a hundred Imperial Knight territories each governed themselves; none could control another.

Such a nation will dissolve on its own without a fight.

Three days later, news came from Burgundy.

Margaret surrendered.

She brought the last batch of Burgundy's nobles to Lyon, knelt at the gate of the Governor's Office, and handed over all of Burgundy's land, property, and army.

The land was confiscated, the property registered, and the nobles sent to mine.

Margaret and her son Philip were confined in a camp outside Lyon, awaiting transport back to Yingtian Prefecture together with Cha Li Liu Shi and his party.

"Burgundy is taken; next we should deal with Brittany," Zhu Di said, standing before the map.

The Duchy of Brittany lies at the far west of France, a peninsula surrounded by sea on three sides and land on one.

Duke John V is an old fox; when the Burgundians previously attacked, he sent troops to aid them, and when they were defeated he withdrew, and now that Burgundy has surrendered he remains watchful.

"Send someone to Rennes to tell Duke John V: surrender in Lyon within ten days, otherwise a great army will come."

Zhu Di responded with a single word and turned away.

Zhu Yong stood at the window, looking at the sky to the north.

With Brittany taken, France is entirely in Great Ming's hand.

Next, we should head east.

The Holy Roman Empire still waits on the other side of the Rhine.