Chapter 453: Victory Without Bloodshed

The day after the fall of Worms, Zhu Yong stood on the dock on the east bank of the Rhine River, watching the imperial city across the water still billowing smoke.

The breach in the city wall was still shedding bricks and stones outward, and occasionally a Longxiang Army soldier stuck his head out of the gap and waved toward us.

A few German boats blown to pieces floated on the river, their planks scattered, masts broken, bobbing up and down in the murky water.

"Your Highness, the fleet is ready," Wang Gui came up from behind, holding a freshly written river‑crossing plan.

Zhu Yong took it, glanced over it, and handed it to Zhu Di beside him.

"According to this plan, we cross the river in three waves: the first of five thousand to secure the east‑bank position, the second of twenty thousand to push north and cut off Mainz's link with Worms, the third, the remaining troops, to cross and storm Mainz directly."

Zhu Di finished reading, nodded and said, "Alright, I'll lead the first wave across."

"No rush..."

Zhu Yong turned, looked at his younger brother and said, "Over at Mainz, the Archbishop of Cologne has already fled; the city likely has few defenders, but there are still a few scattered troops outside that must be cleared first."

Zhu Di pulled out a map and spread it on the horse's back.

Mainz lies fifty li north of Worms, also on the east bank of the Rhine.

The city is small but strategically placed; it is the seat of the Archbishop of Mainz and one of the imperial cities along the Rhine.

"The Archbishop of Cologne fled quickly; what about the Archbishop of Mainz? Did he flee?" Zhu Yong asked.

Wang Gui stepped forward and said, "Scouts report the Archbishop of Mainz also fled eastward, claiming he headed for Frankfurt."

Zhu Yong's mouth twitched upward slightly.

These archbishops run faster in war than anyone.

"Command, the first wave across the river."

The Command was passed down, and five thousand Longxiang Army began boarding.

Steamships lined up on the river, their smokestacks belching black smoke, whistles echoing through the morning mist.

Soldiers shouldered Flintlock Guns, stepped onto the gangplank, and marched onto the ships in squads.

Zhu Yong stood on the dock, watching those familiar faces pass before him.

These troops had followed him for a year, fighting from Portugal to Castile, from Castile to France, from France to Germany.

Many bore fresh wounds on their faces, yet the light in their eyes remained.

"Second Prince, it's time to board," Zhu Di walked over from the side, laughing.

Zhu Yong nodded, then cast one last glance at the camp on the He Xi bank.

Tents stretched for miles, their cooking smoke curling upward.

The soldiers were still packing up: some dismantling tents, some loading carts, some feeding the horses.

The camp was quiet, no one speaking, yet everyone knew the next stop was Mainz, then Frankfurt, and further east, Nuremberg, Regensburg, Vienna.

He turned, strode onto the gangplank.

The roar of the steam engines grew louder as the fleet slowly pulled away from the dock toward the opposite bank.

The river water slapped the hull, raising successive white waves.

The Rhine's water was turbid, carrying upstream‑silt that glimmered a dull yellow in the morning light.

When the ship reached the river's middle, Zhu Yong stood at the bow, gazing at the eastern shore.

There lay the heartland of the Holy Roman Empire, the old stronghold of the German princes, and the last stretch of European continent not yet trodden by Great Ming's iron hooves.

Portugal is gone, Castile is gone, Aragon is gone, France is gone, Burgundy is gone, and England's foothold on the continent is gone as well.

Now it is Germany's turn.

When the ship docked, a line of Longxiang Army soldiers already stood on the eastern shore's sand.

They were the first wave, already formed a formation on the shore.

Their iron armor glinted coldly in the morning light, Flintlock Guns pointed inland with a swish, bayonets flashing coldly under the sun.

Zhu Yong stepped down from the gangplank, his feet sinking into the soft sand.

"Form up, advance north..."

The Command was passed down, and five thousand Longxiang Army began marching north along the east bank of the Rhine.

The road was rough, strewn with rubble and brush, yet no one complained.

After about an hour's march, a village appeared ahead.

The village was small, a few dozen households, houses of mixed wood and stone, walls peeling to reveal dark wood underneath.

A few farmers were working in the fields; seeing the iron‑black tide in the distance, they dropped their hoes and ran toward the village.

"Command, bypass it, do not attack the small village, head straight for Mainz..." Zhu Yong halted his horse.

The army bypassed the village and continued north.

After another hour's march, the outline of Mainz appeared ahead.

The city walls were gray‑hazy, casting a dull glow in the afternoon sun.

The gate stood empty, a hanging bridge high above, the doors tightly shut.

The Archbishop of Mainz's banner fluttered on the wall, but no one stood beneath it.

"All fled..." Zhu Di spurred his horse forward.

Zhu Yong said nothing, lifted the Double Hammers and walked to the gate.

The gate was wooden, sheathed in iron plating that had rusted.

He raised the hammer in his right hand and struck down.

The first blow rattled the gate, the iron plating cracked, wood splinters flew.

The second blow snapped the latch, and the gate collapsed inward.

Zhu Yong stood at the breach, looking at the empty streets inside.

"Enter the city."

Five thousand Longxiang Army troops poured in like a school of fish; the flintlock guns were loaded and bayonets drawn from their scabbards.

The streets inside the city of Mainz were narrow, flanked by stone houses with tightly shut windows, and not a single person was on the street.

Zhu Yong kept walking toward the city center, his steps never ceasing.

In the central square stood a massive cross of pure copper, its surface glowing a dark gold in the sunlight.

"Prince Wang Gui, the city is empty, the civilians have fled, the garrison has fled, and the church is empty as well," Wang Gui said, returning on horseback from ahead, cupping his fists.

Zhu Yong nodded.

Let them run; they can run away, but a monk cannot run away from a temple.

Mainz was the archbishop's seat, with piles of gold and silver treasures like mountains; no matter how fast those priests fled, they could not carry away that much.

"Search… clear out the church, move the gold and silver, search the priests' residences as well, not a single grain of rice may be left."

Wang Gui responded with a word and led his men away.

Zhu Yong stood on the square, looking at the cross.

It was pure copper, finely cast, and the statue of the Crucifixion was vivid and lifelike.

If this were taken back to Great Ming, it could be melted to mint a large number of copper coins.

"Second Prince, we found a few priests who didn't escape in the north, hiding in the church's basement," Zhu Di rode over from the north.

"Bring them over…"

After a short while, several Longxiang Army soldiers escorted three priests in black robes over.

The three knelt on the ground, trembling all over, muttering something.

Zhu Yong didn't understand, nor did he intend to listen.

He waved his hand, and the soldiers dragged the three down.

Mainz was taken without a drop of blood.

But Zhu Yong knew the real hard battle lay ahead.

The German princes would not concede so easily; they were surely gathering forces somewhere, preparing to fight Great Ming to the death.

"Second Prince, where shall we fight next?" Zhu Di rode over.

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

East of Mainz lies Frankfurt, the coronation site of the Holy Roman Emperor and a frequent meeting place for the German princes.

Further east of Frankfurt are Nuremberg, Regensburg, and Vienna.

"Head east, attack Frankfurt."

That evening, the army rested in Mainz.

Zhu Yong sat on the cathedral steps, watching the soldiers haul things out of the church.

Piles of gold and silver vessels were stacked on the square, the holy statues smashed, the cross toppled, the stained‑glass windows knocked down, forming a small hill.

These items, if taken back to Great Ming, could be melted into many silver ingots.

"Prince Wang, dinner is ready," Wang Gui said, carrying a tray over.

Zhu Yong took it—a bowl of rice, a dish of pickled vegetables, and two pieces of braised meat. He ate two mouthfuls, then suddenly remembered something.

"Wang Gui, how are the seafood preservation methods sent from Australia working?"

Wang Gui was startled for a moment, then laughed: "Prince, that method is truly useful—pickling, smoking, sun‑drying, all sorts of techniques; sea fish, shellfish, cuttlefish, squid, as well as kelp and nori, all can be preserved."

The coastal fishermen tried it and said it can last several months without spoiling, and the taste is still good.

The reward for signing in on the first day of the Spring Festival in the twenty‑first year of Hongwu.

At that time he was in Yingtian Prefecture, standing in the courtyard of Wu Wang Fu, a flood of information rushing into his mind.

Pickling, smoking, sun‑drying, salting, and various other seafood processing methods—from sea fish to shellfish, from cuttlefish and squid to kelp and nori—formed a complete, crystal‑clear preservation technique.

Back then he thought this would be perfect for ships, improving the navy's rations.

He didn't expect it would first be used in Europe.

"Then that's good; have the fleet carry more—sea fish, shellfish, kelp, nori, all of them, far better than dry rations," Zhu Yong said, taking another bite of rice.

Wang Gui responded, turned, and went to make arrangements.

Zhu Yong finished his meal, handed the bowl to the nearby Imperial Troops, stood up, and walked to the square.

The gold and silver vessels were still being moved out, soldiers coming and going, busy to the point of sweating profusely.

"Second Prince, news has come from Frankfurt," Zhu Di entered from outside, holding a military report.

Zhu Yong took it and unfolded it.

The report, delivered by scouts, said that about twenty thousand troops of the German Confederation had gathered in Frankfurt, mainly the forces of the Saxon Elector and the Brandenburg Elector.

The commander was the Saxon Elector Rudolf III, a man in his sixties who had fought his whole life, considered one of the more capable German princes.

"Twenty thousand men, plus the routed troops fleeing from Mainz and Worms, make thirty thousand without trouble," Zhu Di said beside him.

Zhu Yong folded the report away and was silent for a moment.

Thirty thousand, not many.

However, Frankfurt's terrain was more complex than Worms; the Main River there joins the Rhine, with a maze of waterways and numerous bridges, making a siege inconvenient.

"Send the order: tomorrow at dawn head east, target Frankfurt."

At first light the next day, the army set out from Mainz, marching south along the east bank of the Rhine.

After about two hours of marching, a small town appeared ahead.

The town was small, with roughly a hundred households; at its entrance stood a stone stele inscribed with "Wiesbaden."

"Send the order: bypass it, do not engage."

The army bypassed the town and continued south.

After another hour of marching, a river appeared ahead.

The river is not wide, but the current is swift, the water roaring, and its sound carries far across the open plain.

"Your Highness, ahead is the Main River; beyond the river is Frankfurt." Wang Gui rode up from behind, urging his horse.

Zhu Yong halted his horse, squinting his eyes for a moment.

On the opposite bank lay a plain, and on the plain stood a city; its walls were grayish, glimmering with a dull light in the sun.

Various flags fluttered atop the walls—some of Saxony, some of Brandenburg, and a few of minor lords.

"Form the ranks."

The 80,000-strong army began to form ranks.

Five hundred breech-loading cannons were lined up in a single file, their muzzles aimed at the Frankfurt city across the river.

On the walls, the German defenders' expressions changed.

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

Several nobles on horseback ran along the walls, brandishing swords and shouting something.

Zhu Yong raised the hammer in his right hand.

"Fire."

The five hundred breech-loading cannons fired simultaneously.

The shrapnel shell tore through the air, trailing a long tail, striking Frankfurt's walls.

"Boom—boom—boom…"

The explosions rose and fell, bricks and stones shattered, and smoke billowed into the sky.