Chapter 452: Crossing the River

The twenty-first year of Hongwu, July.

West of the Rhine River, outside the city of Worms.

The morning mist had not yet cleared, and the river surface was a hazy gray, making even the opposite city wall indistinct.

Zhu Yong stood on a low hill, hands on his hips, gazing at the faint outline of the city walls in the distance.

The morning wind blew from the west, carrying the river's damp scent and a faint smell of cattle dung from the opposite bank; the Germans' hygiene habits were about the same as the French's—hardly any better.

Behind him, an eighty‑thousand‑strong army had already completed its formation on the plain.

The iron armor glimmered with a dull sheen in the dawn, and the Flintlock Guns pointed skyward with a swish.

Five hundred muzzle‑loading cannons were lined up in a row, their blackened barrels aimed toward Worms.

Warhorses snorted, their front hooves digging the ground, while War Flags fluttered and rustled in the morning wind.

It was July of the twenty‑first year of Hongwu, a full year since departing from Yingtian Prefecture.

In that year they crossed from Australia over the Pacific, resupplied on the west coast of America, then crossed the Atlantic and landed in Portugal.

Then they fought their way forward, from Lisbon to Porto, from Porto to Toledo, from Toledo to Paris, from Paris to Calais, then over the Alps from Calais, across northern Italy, finally advancing to the banks of the Rhine.

The forces of Portugal, Castile, Aragon, France, Burgundy, and even England on the continent had all been shattered.

Now standing before them was the western shield of the Holy Roman Empire, the Rhine River.

Across the river, the imperial cities of Worms, Mainz, and Speyer were barely visible in the morning mist, their walls bearing the banners of various princes.

Zhu Di rode in from afar, dismounted with a flip, and his boots creaked on the grass.

His face still bore the fatigue of night, but his eyes were bright.

"Second Prince, the scouts have returned. The allied forces across the river number about forty thousand; the Elector Palatine's troops are in Worms, the Archbishop of Cologne's troops are in Mainz, and other princes' units are scattered among the coastal cities, not yet fully assembled."

Zhu Yong nodded, his gaze never leaving the distant walls.

Forty thousand men, spread along a riverbank stretching dozens of li.

That is the Holy Roman Empire's flaw: many people, but no unified will.

Each of the seven great electors has his own domain and his own calculations; none is willing to place his troops under another's command.

The emperor Sigismund was elected, not hereditary; the princes heed the tune but not the proclamation.

"Who commands the troops at Worms?" Zhu Yong asked.

"Elector Palatine Ludwig III is personally stationed there, along with several Imperial Knight banners, about twelve thousand men; the walls have mounted over a hundred cannons, sealing the crossing tightly."

Zhu Di paused, then added, "But according to the scouts, their morale is low; the defeat of the Burgundians and the fall of the Milanese have already been reported, and the German princes are feeling uneasy."

Zhu Yong's mouth twitched slightly upward.

When hearts are scattered, the troops become hard to command.

The battle hasn't even started, and morale is already halved; how can we fight this war?

"Send the order: the whole army camps on the He Xi side; today we do not cross the river," Zhu Yong turned and walked toward the camp.

Zhu Di froze for a moment, then caught up and said, "Second Prince, shouldn't we strike while they haven't solidified their position?"

"No hurry; let them gather more. We've just arrived, our men and horses are weary, and the cannons need adjustment. Let them amass more troops so we don't have to hunt them down one by one," Zhu Yong said, his steps unceasing.

Zhu Di nodded thoughtfully.

He understood the Second Prince's meaning: if we fight, it must be a big battle.

Gather the main forces of these German princes together and take them out in one fell swoop; it's far easier than sieging city after city.

The eighty‑thousand army set up a continuous camp on the west bank of the Rhine, tents stretching for miles, with curling cooking smoke rising.

The soldiers lit fires to cook, and the air filled with the scent of Dry Rations and jerky, mingling with the river's briny odor.

Zhu Yong sat on a large stone in front of the Central Command Tent, holding a bowl of hot porridge, sipping it slowly.

The porridge was rice porridge, brought from Great Ming across thousands of miles.

Being able to drink hot porridge in Europe was already a luxury.

Zhu QiongJiong squatted nearby, his Wolf Fang Club leaning against the stone; the blood crust on its head had been cleaned, glinting iron‑gray in the sun.

The twelve‑year‑old boy was sun‑tanned dark, his back straight as a ruler; whether sitting or squatting, he resembled a blade drawn from its sheath.

"Father, are those Germans across the river stronger than the French?" he asked suddenly.

Zhu Yong glanced at his son and said, "Pretty much; they have better gear, thicker armor, finer weapons, but war is not about equipment—it's about who fears death less."

Zhu QiongJiong grinned, "Then I fear death less than they do."

Zhu Yong said nothing, lowered his head, and kept drinking the porridge.

That boy had been on the battlefield with him since he was twelve; by now he couldn't even count how many he had killed.

Moreover, if the boy weren't so young, he'd probably have killed more than he has.

But he felt no pity; Zhu Family descendants would inevitably go to war sooner or later. Better to go early than late.

From afar, the sound of horse hooves arrived.

Zhu Yong looked up and saw Li Wenzhong riding in from the east side of the camp.

He dismounted with a flip, hurried to Zhu Yong's side, and clasped his fists, saying, "Prince, General Feng has arrived from Bordeaux, bringing three thousand fresh troops and a batch of supplies; they have already reached the rear camp."

Zhu Yong nodded.

It's good that General Feng has come.

Although the old general was aged, his battle experience surpassed all; with him stationed at the rear, there was no need to worry about supply logistics.

"Where is General Feng?"

"He is at the rear camp arranging the supplies; he said he will come later to see the Prince."

Zhu Yong hummed and continued drinking the porridge.

Having finished the porridge, he handed the bowl to the nearby Imperial Troops.

The sun had risen from the east, the morning mist gradually lifting, revealing the outline of Worms on the opposite bank of the Rhine.

The city wall was grayish, shimmering with a dull light under the sun.

On the wall fluttered the Elector Palatine's banner, a blue field with a golden lion, rustling in the morning breeze.

A few small boats drifted on the river, likely German patrol boats; from afar they saw the camp stretching several li and, frightened, turned back and fled.

Zhu Yong stood up and stretched his muscles.

The old wound on his shoulder ached a little, a scar from wars years ago.

It's not serious; it only flares up on overcast days.

He turned his head and asked Sixth Prince to fetch some ointment to apply.

"Wang Gui..." he called out.

Wang Gui walked over from the side, clasped his fists and said, "Your Majesty..."

"Send someone to the opposite bank of the river to inform Lu De Wei Xi San Shi, ordering him to lead the nobles of Worms out of the city to surrender; the land will be confiscated, assets registered, and the people sent to Yingtian Prefecture for resettlement.

If they do not surrender within ten days, the great army will cross the river, and it will no longer be a matter of surrender."

Wang Gui responded with a nod, turned and left.

Zhu Di walked over from the side, frowned and asked, "Second Prince, will they surrender?"

"They won't, but the words must be spoken, and courtesy must be observed first."

Zhu Yong turned, looked at his brother and said, "Great Ming is not a band of robbers; we are here to collect them. We give them a chance; if they refuse, don't blame us for being impolite."

Zhu Di nodded and asked no further.

At dusk, the dispatched envoy returned.

With him returned the Elector Palatine's envoy, a middle‑aged noble in a splendid brocade robe, sporting a large beard and a long sword at his waist.

He stepped before Zhu Yong, bowed deeply, and spoke at length in Latin.

Wang Gui translated, "Your Majesty, he says Lu De Wei Xi San Shi refuses to surrender, claiming Worms is a free city of the Holy Roman Empire and will never bow to the infidels."

Zhu Yong stared at the envoy, silent for a moment.

Infidels…

These Europeans, if they can't be beaten they call them infidels; if they can't move God they call the Pope.

For centuries, every misfortune has been pinned on the "infidels".

"Tell him, whether they're infidels or not doesn't matter; what matters is that three days from now Great Ming's cannons will blast open Worms's city walls.

By then, it will no longer be a question of surrender or not."

Wang Gui translated, and the envoy's complexion turned pale.

He opened his mouth to speak, then swallowed it back, bowed repeatedly, and hurried away with his party.

Zhu Yong watched his retreating back, turned and walked toward the Central Command Tent.

"Send the order down: the whole army prepare, we will cross the river in three days."

Three days later, on the banks of the Rhine.

Before dawn, the eighty‑thousand strong army had already completed its formation on the He Xi bank.

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

Heavy fog hung over the river, obscuring the opposite walls; only the Horn Sound and war drums could be heard from the far bank.

The Germans were evidently prepared as well.

Zhu Yong rode his horse, gripping two Double Hammers; the twelve‑hundred‑jin hammers glimmered a dark gold in the morning light.

Zhu Di rode beside him, his saber already drawn, the blade flashing coldly in the mist.

Zhu Qiong Jiong bore a Wolf Fang Club, riding a deep‑red horse, staying close behind his father.

The twelve‑year‑old boy stood upright, his eyes shining terrifyingly.

"Fire the cannons..."

All five hundred cannons fired simultaneously.

Shrapnel shells tore through the morning fog, trailing long tails, striking Worms's city wall on the opposite bank.

Bombs burst into flowers...

"Cross the river..."

Zhu Yong clamped his reins, and his warhorse surged into the river.

The river water was ice‑cold and biting, not reaching the horse's belly. The warhorse whinnied, its four hooves paddling powerfully, splashing huge sheets of water.

The eighty‑thousand troops followed closely, their iron armor glinting dimly in the water; Flintlock Guns were raised overhead, bayonets flashing coldly in the dawn.

On the opposite bank, the Germans began to unleash arrows.

Arrows rained down toward the Ming forces in the river, but striking the plate armor they clanged and bounced off, not even bruising the skin.

Flintlock gunners fired while crossing, rows of bullets shot toward the wall, and German archers fell in droves.

Zhu Yong was the first to charge onto the opposite bank, swinging his Double Hammers left and right.

A few German soldiers lunged forward with spears; he swept a hammer across, sending five or six men flying into the wall, their brains splattering.

Another knight charged on horseback, his spear thrust at Zhu Yong's chest; Zhu smashed the spear shaft with one hammer and struck the horse's head with the other, the warhorse whined and fell, the knight was flung and broke his neck.

Behind him, Zhu Di led the Longxiang Army through the breach into the city, Flintlock Guns firing in unison, sabers slashing.

Worms's garrison numbered twelve thousand, but after one round of bombardment two to three thousand died; the remainder, terrified by the charge of the eighty‑thousand, broke and scattered in less than an hour.

Zhu Yong stood on the central plaza, gazing at this imperial city on the Rhine banks.

The streets were narrow, the houses built of black stone, their walls peeling to reveal mottled stones beneath.

Garbage and excrement littered the ground, the air thick with a foul stench, much like French towns, no better than those in Portugal.

A few Longxiang soldiers were clearing a pile of trash at a street corner, shoveling it onto a cart with iron spades.

Lu De Wei Xi San Shi was bound in thick ropes, kneeling on the ground, his complexion ashen.

His Gold Crown was crooked, and his cloak was stained with mud and blood.

Zhu Yong looked at him and was silent for a moment.

"Take him down, lock him up, then later send him back with Cha Li Liu Shi and the others to Yingtian Prefecture."

When Ludwig III was being led away, his legs trembled.

Zhu Di rode in from another street, flipped off his horse.

"Second Prince, Worms has been taken; Germany's western gate has been breached."

Zhu Yong took out a map and spread it on the horse's back.

East of the Rhine lies the heartland of the Holy Roman Empire.

Mainz, Frankfurt, Nuremberg, Regensburg—imperial cities dot the vast plain.

The road is still long...

"Send word: rest two days at Worms, then head east toward Mainz."

"Understood."

At dusk, news came from outside the city.

The garrison of Mainz fled.

The Archbishop of Cologne, hearing that Worms had fallen, withdrew east overnight with his troops, leaving an empty city behind.

Zhu Yong stood on Worms' city wall, gazing at the eastern horizon.

The setting sun turned the whole plain a golden hue.

In the distance, toward the Danube, ragged troops could be seen fleeing east.

They were Germans.

The Holy Roman Empire, the largest nation on the European continent, boasted the slogan "neither holy nor Roman, nor an empire."

Each of the seven electors harbored secret ambitions, none yielding to another.

The war hadn't even begun, yet chaos already reigned.

A country like this would fall apart without a fight.

"Second Prince, what are you thinking?" Zhu Di asked as he approached.

Zhu Yong shook his head and said, "Nothing, just wondering how long this war will last."

"You once said, if fast two years, if slow three; it's only been a year, still plenty of fighting left."

Zhu Yong remained silent, only watching the eastern sky.

There the Danube, Vienna, and the Hungarian Plain all lie in that direction.