Chapter 457: Let Them Run

The sound of the Gla River's water roared in the morning mist, like an endlessly tireless old ox softly panting.

Across the river, the Saxons' camp was still burning; the wreckage of tents billowed black smoke, and the smell of charred flesh mingled with the river's brine drifted over.

Zhu Yong stood on the high ground on the east bank of the Gla River, gazing at the eastward sky brightening.

The roundup of prisoners was still underway.

Saxons, Brandenburgers, and Hessians—flags of every color littered the ground, trampled into mud by hooves, then gathered by laborers into piles.

"Prince, the Saxon Elector Rudolf III has been captured, hidden in a village granary, found by Zhao Bao," Wang Gui rode over from afar, his boots caked in mud.

Zhu Yong turned and saw several Longxiang Army soldiers escorting a man in his sixties toward him.

The old man wore a filthy brocade robe, his hair a disheveled mix of white and gray.

When he reached the front, he lifted his head, looking at Zhu Yong with eyes mingling fear and resentment.

"Take him down, lock him up, and imprison him together with Ludwig III," Zhu Yong waved his hand.

As Rudolf III was led away, he suddenly shouted a phrase in Latin. Wang Gui translated, "He said, Germany will not submit."

Zhu Yong glanced at him, saying nothing.

Whether Germany kneels or not is irrelevant; what matters is that from today this place falls under Great Ming's jurisdiction.

Zhu Di rode back from the north, dismounted, sheathed his saber, the blood splattered on his face now wiped clean, though a stain lingered at his collar.

"Second Prince, the Brandenburg Elector fled toward Berlin; I chased fifty li, cut down over three thousand of his rear guard, yet he still escaped,"

"If he runs, let him run; we'll capture city after city," Zhu Yong said, looking at the map.

Feng Sheng rode in from the south, carrying a helmet—belonging to the Count of Hesse, its white field with a red lion still visible but now distorted.

He handed the helmet to a nearby Imperial Troop, saying to Zhu Yong, "Prince, the little princes in the south have scattered, fled southward, and slipped into the Thuringian Forest."

Zhu Yong nodded.

The Thuringian Forest is high and dense; slipping in indeed makes pursuit difficult.

But those minor lords cannot escape their territories; when the main army pushes east, they will inevitably emerge to surrender.

"Second Prince, the Saxon main force is finished; where shall we strike next?" Zhu Di walked over.

Zhu Yong's finger traced eastward on the map from Erfurt, crossing the Saale River, then the Elbe River, and stopped at the spot of a city.

Berlin, the Brandenburg Elector's stronghold, also the largest city in northeastern Germany.

"Send the order: the whole army rests in Erfurt for three days, then moves eastward after three days, target Berlin."

That night, Zhu Yong sat inside the Central Command Tent outside Erfurt.

On the table lay a freshly seized German map from the Saxon Elector's study, far more detailed than the ones they had used before.

The tent curtain was pulled back, and Zhu Qiong Jiong entered carrying a bowl of hot soup, placing it on the table.

"Father, have some soup,"

Zhu Yong took the bowl, glancing at his son.

The boy had slain many again today, but Zhu Yong no longer asked how many.

Since leaving Australia almost a year ago, the child has gone from a twelve‑year‑old boy to a warrior radiating killing aura.

Sometimes Zhu Yong, looking at him, recalled his own younger self.

But it was different; he had joined the army then to fill his stomach, whereas this child, born in Wang Fu with everything, was innately drawn to the battlefield.

"Father, the new seafood preservation method—tonight the kitchen camp used pickled fish; the taste is decent,"

Zhu Yong nodded and took a sip of the soup.

The curtain was drawn again as Zhu Di entered, holding a freshly written military report.

Zhu Yong took it, skimmed it, then said, "Got it, put it there."

"Second Prince, General Feng's side has sent someone," Zhu Di took the steaming bowl of soup.

"What matter?"

"General Feng says the scholars and Taoists have arrived, the first batch of twenty already disembarked at Bordeaux, sent by Crown Prince,"

Zhu Di drained the soup, wiped his mouth, and said, "A vessel has been dispatched here; it should arrive in ten days to half a month."

Zhu Yong's eyes brightened; once the scholars and Taoists arrive, European churches can be turned into schools.

Daoism teaches following nature; Confucianism teaches benevolence, righteousness, propriety, wisdom, and trustworthiness—more reliable than that God.

Europeans have believed in God for centuries, their minds now muddled; they need to read the sages' classics to awaken.

"Send someone early tomorrow to receive them,"

Zhu Di replied, rose, and stepped out.

Zhu Qiong Jiong crouched at the tent entrance, wiping the Wolf Fang Club with a rag.

Zhu Yong glanced at him, then said, "Rest early; we still have to march tomorrow."

"Can't sleep,"

Zhu Qiong Jiong, without looking up, said, "Father, will those English ever come?"

"They can't; Henry V has been captured, who would come?"

Zhu Qiong Jiong nodded and kept polishing the club.

At dawn the next day, the army set out from Erfurt.

The road east was easier than before; the Saxon plain stretched flat, the official road still gravel, but at least no mountain passes.

After two days, a river appeared ahead.

The river was narrow but swift; the opposite bank faintly revealed the outline of a small town.

"Prince, ahead is the Saale River, opposite is Naumburg," Wang Gui rode forward.

"Go around..." The army bypassed Naumburg and headed straight east.

After another three days, the silhouette of the Elbe River emerged ahead.

The river surface was broad and the current swift, and the opposite bank stretched into an endless plain.

Berlin lay two hundred li east of the Elbe River, the old stronghold of the Brandenburg Elector.

"Form the formation, prepare to cross the river..."

Zhu Yong halted his horse and took the Double Hammers from the saddle.

Eighty thousand troops began forming on the riverbank, five hundred rear‑mounted line guns lined up in a row, their barrels aimed at the opposite shore.

The Elbe's water was ice‑cold and bone‑piercing; he was the first to charge across, clearing the way with the Double Hammers.

Behind him, the Longxiang Army followed his trail into the Germans' Formation, firing Flintlock Guns in unison and hacking with sabers.

The fighting outside Berlin lasted less than an hour.

The Brandenburg Elector fled east toward Poland.

The defending troops scattered, and the civilians hid in their houses, too afraid to emerge.

Zhu Yong stood on the central square of Berlin, looking at the largest city in northeastern Germany.

The Street was wider than Erlfurt's, the houses were built of Stone and were quite old.

Garbage and excrement littered the ground everywhere, and a foul stench hung in the air.

A few Longxiang Army soldiers were clearing trash from a street corner, shoveling it with iron spades onto a cart.

"Prince, the Elector fled; we didn't catch any nobles," Wang Gui rode back from the front.

"If he ran, let him run! Send men to pursue; don't let him get into Poland."

By evening, Berlin was under control.

Gold and Silver were packed into a dozen or so boxes, and the provisions would feed the army for two months.

The church was emptied, the priest was locked in the camp, and lessons would begin once the Confucian scholars and Taoist priests arrived.

Li Wenzhong rode up from behind, holding a freshly received military report.

"Prince, General Chang was sent from America."

Zhu Yong took the report and unfolded it.

General Chang's handwriting was as rough and careless as always.

The Aztec Empire had been captured, its capital Tenochtitlan under Great Ming's control.

King Montezuma II was taken prisoner, the nobles surrendered, and the civilians were settled.

Gold and Silver were being counted, estimated at no less than two million taels.

The Aztecs' live‑human sacrifices were too barbaric; the pyramids and temples had been demolished, the idols smashed, and the city was being rebuilt for relocation.

Zhu Yong finished reading, folded the report neatly and slipped it into his sleeve. The progress in America was faster than he had expected, and the veteran General Chang indeed did not disappoint him.

"Prince, has General Chang taken the Aztecs?" Li Wenzhong asked.

"Captured them, now preparing to relocate," Zhu Yong turned and gazed at the eastern horizon.

There lay the direction of Poland, the direction of Lithuania, and the deeper interior of the European continent.

The road was still long, but the German main force was finished; what remained was to take city after city.

"Prince, the Confucian scholars and Taoist priests have arrived," Wang Gui entered from outside.

Zhu Yong turned and saw twenty people standing outside the tent.

There were Confucian scholars in blue robes and Taoist priests in Taoist robes.

The leading scholar, surnamed Kong, was in his thirties, a branch of the Yan Sheng Gong household, personally selected by Prince Zhu Biao.

The leading Taoist, surnamed Zhang, was in his forties, from Longhu Mountain, said to be a descendant of Master Zhang.

"Everyone, thank you for your hard work."

"Prince, you're being modest; serving Great Ming, we dare not speak of hardship," Kong bowed and saluted.

Zhang also saluted, curiously scanning the map inside the Central Command Tent.

Zhu Yong assigned the scholars and priests to each city to set up "schools".

"The church has been emptied and turned into a school; the scholars teach reading and literacy, the priests lecture on the Way of Heaven and nature.

Europeans have believed in God for centuries, their minds have become muddled; we must let them study our sages' classics."

Zhu Yong added, "All the crosses, statues and such in the church must be removed; not a single nail should remain."

Kong and Zhang responded and led the group down.

Zhu Di looked at their backs and said, "Can these scholars and priests succeed? The Europeans don't even understand our words."

"Take it slowly; first teach Mandarin, then teach reading and literacy."

Zhu Yong turned and said to his younger brother, "One generation fails, two generations—two generations fail, three generations—eventually we must let them know that God is not the only way."

News that the scholars and priests had arrived spread throughout the city.

The townsfolk watched curiously as these Easterners in strange clothing passed by.

An old woman stood at the alley entrance, cradling a child.

The child clutched a piece of black bread, its crumbs smeared all over his face.

The old woman watched the scholars and priests pass, her lips trembling as she muttered something incomprehensible.

Zhu Yong watched the scene, a faint smile curling his lips.

The people's hearts, as long as they are not oppressed, will gradually accept.

In a few months, the locals will become accustomed to Great Ming people being here.

In a few years, they will consider themselves Great Ming people.

That is the power of culture.

Night deepened, and Zhu Yong sat alone inside the Central Command Tent.

Before him lay a full map of Europe, from Portugal to Poland, from Italy to the Nordic lands.

The red arrows have already marked the army's marching routes: from Lisbon to Porto, from Porto to Toledo, from Toledo to Paris, and from Paris to Berlin.

The blue area indicates territories already under control, which now cover more than half of the European continent.

The yellow area denotes regions not yet controlled, mainly in the east: Poland, Lithuania, and the Moscow Principality.

They have been fighting in Europe for a year and three months, having set out in the 20th year of Hongwu, March, and have passed through many places.

Portugal is gone, Castile is gone, Aragon is gone, France is gone, and Germany is almost finished as well.

They have a premonition that this war will end soon.