Chapter 458: Mayan People

The water of the Vistula River glimmered with a dark golden hue in the setting sun.

Zhu Yong reined in his horse, looking at the sprawling camp across the river.

The Polish flag bore a red eagle on a white field, the Lithuanian flag a white knight on a red field, and several black cross flags from the Teutonic Order, which in the twilight resembled a flock of ominous crows.

Fifty thousand allied troops, plus the remnants of the German forces fleeing from Brandenburg and Saxony, totaled nearly seventy thousand, and they set up a linked camp along this riverbank.

"Prince, the scouts have returned," Wang Gui rode back from the front, his face marked with bloodstains from a branch.

"Speak..."

"The allied army's commander-in-chief is the Polish king Władysław II Jagiełło, the Vice General is the Lithuanian Grand Duke Vytautas, the Teutonic Order contributed three thousand men, and the troops are led by Grand Master Conrad von Rongingen."

The forces were deployed along the river for Thirty Li, divided into three Military Camps: the Poles in the center, the Lithuanians on the left wing, and the Teutonic Knights on the Right Wing.

Their cannons were positioned on the high riverbank, about two hundred pieces, stronger than the German ones, many purchased from Venice and Genoa.

Zhu Yong nodded, saying nothing.

Again the same old routine.

The Holy Roman Empire folk did the same, fortifying along the river, believing the terrain was impregnable, only to scatter after a barrage of cannon fire.

The Poles were somewhat stronger than the Germans, but not by much.

"Command, the entire army shall camp on the He Xi side, and shall not cross the river tonight."

The Command was relayed, and the eighty‑thousand strong army began to set up linked camps on the west bank of the Vistula River.

Tents stretched for several miles, and curling cooking smoke rose.

The soldiers lit fires to cook, and the air was filled with the scent of fried rice and pickled fish, mingling with the river's smell.

Zhu Yong sat on a large stone, with a freshly captured Polish map spread before him.

The Vistula River flows northward from the south into the Baltic Sea, with Warsaw upstream and Gdańsk at its mouth.

The allied forces chose this spot to defend the route to Danzig.

Once the river is crossed, the Polish interior would have no defensible ground.

Zhu Di came up from behind, sat beside him, and took two bites of a piece of Dry Rations.

"Second Prince, those scholars and Taoist priests have reached Elfort, and Mr. Kong sent a messenger saying the school has begun teaching, enrolling over three hundred students, all children of the local populace."

Zhu Yong's mouth twitched slightly upward.

Three hundred plus, not many, but enough; every beginning is hard.

"Tell Mr. Kong to teach slowly, no rush; if one generation fails, try two, if two fail, try three. They must know that Great Ming, besides cannons and steel swords, also has the books of saints and sages."

Zhu Di responded with a nod, rose, and left.

Li Wenzhong walked over from the other side and handed a list to Zhu Yong.

"Prince, the Grain and Fodder will last two months, and with supplies from the rear will last until winter. Weapons and gear are ample; each Flintlock Gun is supplied with three hundred rounds, each cannon with two hundred shells, enough for several hard battles."

Zhu Yong took the list, glanced over it, and handed it back.

"Cousin, why do you think the Poles are defending here?"

Li Wenzhong thought for a moment, pointing at the Vistula River on the map.

"The Poles think the river is a barrier, but it is also a cage; once crossed, they have nowhere to flee—east is marshland, west is us, north is the Baltic Sea, south is mountains."

Władysław II chose this spot to force a fight to the death.

Zhu Yong nodded.

"Therefore tomorrow we cross the river; we must not give them a chance for a death battle. First bombard, break their Formation, then encircle from three sides, leaving a path northward for them to run."

Let them run back to Danzig, pursue them, capturing city after city.

Li Wenzhong folded the map, clasped his fists and said, "I will make the arrangements, Prince, rest early."

Zhu Yong waved his hand, and Li Wenzhong turned and left.

The sound of the Vistula's water rushed loudly in the night.

Across the river, the Polish camp's bonfires flickered, occasionally accompanied by the whinny of warhorses and the clamor of soldiers.

He did not know what those Europeans were thinking, nor did he care.

At dawn the next day, before sunrise, the eighty‑thousand army had already completed its formation by the river.

Five hundred rear‑loaded line‑of‑sight cannons were lined up in a row, their muzzles aimed at the Polish camp across the river.

A thin mist covered the river surface, obscuring the opposite flags, yet the Horn Sound and war drums could be heard from the other side.

"Fire the cannons..."

The five hundred rear‑loaded line‑of‑sight cannons fired simultaneously.

Shrapnel shells ripped through the morning mist, trailing long tails as they slammed into the Polish camp.

Tents were blown away, powder barrels detonated, soil and debris were hurled into the air, mingling with severed limbs that fell into the river, turning the water red.

After three rounds of bombardment, the Polish camp became a sea of fire.

Zhu Yong dismounted, hefting the Double Hammers as he walked to the riverbank.

The river water was ice‑cold and biting; he waded across step by step, with the massive army marching behind him.

Across the river, the Polish Formation was already in disarray.

The cannonballs killed many, but fear spread even more.

Those Europeans had never seen such artillery; the Germans hadn't, the French hadn't, and the Portuguese even less.

Their Huogi were still stuck in the matchlock gun era with a range of less than Hundred Steps, while Great Ming's rear‑loaded line‑of‑sight cannons could hit precisely at three Li.

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

Several Polish cavalry charged with long spears; he smashed a spear shaft with a hammer, struck a horse's head, the warhorse whined and fell, and the rider was flung, breaking his neck.

The army behind followed his path into the Polish camp, firing Flintlock Guns in unison, and hacking with sabers.

The Polish Formation was torn open, and the Lithuanians attempting a flank were met head‑on by Zhu Di leading twenty thousand men.

The Teutonic Order's black cross flag swayed on the Right Wing, and was blown to pieces by Li Wenzhong's artillery fire.

Wa Di Si Wa Fu Ershi rode his horse, his face ashen, his lips trembling so that he could not speak clearly.

Wei Tao Ta Si galloped from the direction of Lithuania, shouted a few words at Wa Di Si Wa Fu Ershi, then turned his horse northward.

The king fled.

The Polish formation collapsed completely.

The soldiers dropped their weapons and knelt on the ground to surrender.

The Lithuanian banner fell, and the Teutonic Order's black cross flag also fell.

Zhu Yong stood before Wa Di Si Wa Fu Ershi's central command tent, hung his hammer back on his horse, and wiped the blood from his face.

"Send the order: gather the captives, sweep the battlefield."

Captives were marched to He Xi in groups, the tents were dismantled, and the weapons piled into small hills.

Wa Di Si Wa Fu Ershi was bound tightly, knelt before Zhu Yong, his face pallid, his lips trembling as he uttered something in Latin.

Wang Gui translated: "The Polish king wishes to submit, asking only to retain the royal title."

Zhu Yong looked at the European monarch kneeling on the ground.

"The land is confiscated, property registered, no royal titles, all noble titles abolished."

"Prince, the Polish king is willing to pay for his ransom," Wang Gui asked a few more questions, then turned and said.

"No ransom." Zhu Yong stood up and waved his hand.

Longxiang Army soldiers dragged Wa Di Si Wa Fu Ershi down.

By evening, the battlefield had been cleared.

More than twenty thousand captives, Zhu Yong ordered them conscripted as auxiliary troops, to be sent back to mine and plant cotton.

Zhu Di rode back from the north, blood still dripping from his saber.

"Second Prince, the Grand Duke of Lithuania fled north, and the Teutonic Order Grand Master Conrad also fled north."

Zhu Yong nodded, "It's fine, let them run."

"Send someone to Gdansk, tell them to open the city and surrender within ten days; if they don't, the army's artillery will come over."

On the same day the Vistula River battle ended, thousands of miles away in Central America, Chang Yuchun stood on the wall of Tenochtitlan City, watching soldiers dismantle the pyramid.

The Aztec idols exploded in the eastern rainforest, the broken stones rolled into the lake, splashing up a great spray of water.

Lan Yu came up from behind, holding a military report in her hand.

"General, the Maya city‑states have all surrendered; the last one also sent an envoy, willing to submit."

Chang Yuchun took the report and glanced over it.

"Tell them: the land is confiscated, property registered, the pyramid dismantled, the idols smashed, the populace enrolled in the household register and given land to farm; if they submit, follow the rules, if not, the army's arrival will not be a surrender."

Lan Yu replied, then turned and left.

Chang Yuchun turned around and continued watching the soldiers dismantle the pyramid.

This city will later be renamed "Mexico City," a name taken by the Crown Prince.

South of Tenochtitlan lies the Maya rainforest; north lies the Chichimec grassland; east lies the Gulf of Mexico.

West is the Pacific Ocean, and across that great ocean, his other son is at war.

Three days after the Vistula River battle ended, Gdansk surrendered.

The city gates opened wide; the defending commander knelt at the gate, holding the key above his head.

Zhu Yong rode into this largest port city on the Baltic Sea coast.

The streets are wider than Warsaw, the houses built of red brick, bearing the distinctive style of the Hanseatic League.

The air is filled with the salty, briny scent of the Baltic Sea, mixed with fish and manure odors, a little better than inland cities but still far from pleasant.

Dozens of merchant ships are moored at the dock, their sails furled, masts standing like a forest—some of the Hanseatic League, some English, and a few from the Low Countries.

"Prince, a few English ships are still in the harbor, they cannot escape," Wang Gui rode back from the dock.

"The ships are seized, the sailors locked up, the cargo on board inventoried into storage."

Wang Gui replied, and led men there.

Zhu Yong stopped in the central square, a large cathedral of red brick, its spire soaring high, a few priests shivering at the doorway.

He glanced at the cathedral, said nothing more, his subordinates already knew what to do.

Li Wenzhong rode up from behind.

"Prince, over the Polish side, a few counts are willing to surrender, but they want to keep their fiefs."

"No fiefs; the land is confiscated, property registered, people sent to Yingtian Prefecture, tell them this is already mercy; if they refuse, we continue fighting."

Li Wenzhong nodded and left.

At dusk, Zhu Yong stood on Gdansk's dock, gazing at the Baltic Sea.

The sea surface glittered, and a steamship in the distance was patrolling.

Beyond this sea lies Northern Europe—Sweden, Denmark, Norway, and the Teutonic Order's old stronghold.

Those places will be dealt with sooner or later, but not now.

Zhu Di walked over from the city side, standing beside him.

"Second Prince, Poland is secured; where shall we strike next?"

"North, the Teutonic Order; they have retreated to their old stronghold, but their Grand Master Conrad is still on the run, perhaps heading to Northern Europe for reinforcements."

Zhu Di's eyes brightened, but Zhu Yong shook his head.

"No hurry; first secure Poland, send the order to rest in Gdansk for three days, then head north after three days."