Chapter 459: Even Monks Fight

On the dock of Gdańsk, Zhu Yong stood with his hands behind his back, gazing at the gray, misty surface of the Baltic Sea.

The morning fog rolled over the sea, shrouding the harbor's masts in a hazy veil.

In the distance, the silhouettes of several steamships flickered in the fog, their smokestacks belching black plumes that left long streaks in the damp air.

"Prince, the fleet is ready," Wang Gui said as he walked up from behind, his boots sinking into the wet dock and producing a muffled thud.

Zhu Yong nodded, his gaze never leaving the sea.

The Teutonic Order.

These people differ from the Poles; the Poles at least have a king, while the Teutonic Order has none, just a band of monks in white robes brandishing a black cross flag, seizing territory everywhere.

Prussia, Livonia and Estonia—vast tracts along the Baltic coast—have all been taken by them.

They claim to protect the Christian world, but in truth they are just looting money and land.

Now that the Poles have collapsed, the monks are in a panic.

Commander Kang La De·Feng·Rong Jin Gen rushed back to Marburg, gathering the scattered Teutonic Order units to attack from the north.

"Second Prince, the ships are ready. The first batch of five thousand will cross the sea, land on the north bank of Danzig Bay, and charge straight for Marburg," Zhu Di said as he stepped forward.

Zhu Yong turned and looked at his younger brother.

The kid has been overexcited these past two days, bragging that the Teutonic Order is the fiercest in Europe and wants to see it for himself.

"Why rush? We'll talk when the fleet arrives."

Zhu Yong gave him a glance and said lightly, "The Teutonic Order aren't Poles; their cavalry wears heavy armor, is well‑trained, and is somewhat stronger than those rag‑tag German hordes."

"But even their strength has limits—once the plate is pierced, their swords can't cut, and the crack of a Flintlock Gun scares their warhorses."

Zhu Di grinned, "Second Prince is right."

On the dock, soldiers were boarding.

Five thousand Longxiang Army troops, bearing Flintlock Guns, stepped onto the gangplank and marched onto the steamships in squads.

The iron armor glinted coldly in the morning light, and bayonets flashed a chilling sheen through the fog.

General Feng Sheng came down from another ship, strode to Zhu Yong's side, and cupped his fists, "Prince, the Grain and Fodder have been loaded, enough to feed five thousand for a month."

Zhu Yong turned, looking at the veteran.

"General Feng, stay in Gdańsk to hold the rear. The Polish side has just been taken, the populace isn't fully settled yet, so someone must keep watch."

Feng Sheng opened his mouth to speak, then swallowed his words.

He knew the Prince's temperament; once a decision is made, no one can change it.

"Prince, rest assured, I will guard Gdańsk for you."

Zhu Yong nodded, patted Feng Sheng's shoulder, and turned to stride up the gangplank.

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

Gdańsk's outline faded in the morning mist, eventually becoming a gray line that vanished on the horizon.

The wind at sea was stronger than on land.

The steamship pitched in the Baltic's waves, the surf slapping the hull with a dull thud.

Zhu Yong stood at the bow, staring toward the northern horizon.

There lay the direction of Prussia, the Teutonic Order's old stronghold.

Marburg Castle, the largest brick‑stone fortress in Europe, the Teutonic Order's headquarters and the monks' final bastion.

"Father, those Teutonic knights really wear white robes; they think they're a white‑clad army!" Zhu Qiong Jiong burst out of the cabin, hefting a Wolf Fang Club, his twelve‑year‑old skin darkened by the sun.

"Hmm, white robes with a black cross, cross pendants hanging, just like monks."

Zhu Qiong Jiong grinned, "Monks still go to war?"

"Not only fight, but also murder and seize land; these men are harsher than any king."

Zhu Qiong Jiong nodded thoughtfully.

In the distance, a few seagulls appeared over the sea, circling above the bow.

After two days at sea, the outline of land emerged ahead.

"Prince, ahead is the Prussian coast, Marburg lies fifty miles to the south," Wang Gui said as he approached from behind.

Zhu Yong squinted and watched for a moment.

The coastline was low, barely visible, just a gray stretch of land spanning the horizon.

"Command, bring us to shore, disembark."

The command was relayed, and a dozen steamships surged toward the coast.

On the shore stood a row of low sand dunes, behind which lay flat farmland and villages.

A few local farmers were working the fields; upon seeing the looming black fleet on the sea, they dropped their hoes and fled.

Zhu Yong was the first to step off the gangplank, his feet sinking into the soft beach.

"Form up…"

The five thousand Longxiang Army formed on the beach, their iron armor glinting coldly in the sun, Flintlock Guns pointing inland in unison.

"March south, target Marburg."

The order was passed down, and the army began advancing south along the coastline.

Prussian terrain was flatter than Poland's, covered with farms and villages, occasional small patches of forest.

The army marched for about two hours, and a small town appeared ahead.

At the town's entrance stood a stone stele inscribed with a few Latin letters.

The town wall bore the Teutonic Order's flag, a white field with a black cross, fluttering with a rustling sound in the wind.

The gate was guarded by dozens of soldiers in chainmail, brandishing spears; seeing the iron‑black tide in the distance, their faces turned pale.

"Bypass it, do not attack the town, head straight for Marburg."

Zhu Yong stopped his horse and glanced at the small town.

These small towns were all territories of the Teutonic Order, their residents mostly German immigrants who farmed and herded, paying rent to the Order.

Capture Marburg, and these towns will naturally surrender.

The army bypassed the town and continued southward.

After another two hours' march, a massive castle appeared ahead.

Marburg Castle.

The castle was larger than Zhu Yong had imagined.

Red brick walls stretched along the Nogat River for several miles, tall towers stood in rows, and the walls bore over a hundred cannons, their muzzles blackened and pointing south.

A wide moat surrounded the castle, its water drawn from the Nogat River, bottomless.

The walls were packed with soldiers, about three to four thousand, wearing white cloaks with black crosses embroidered on their chests, dazzling in the sunlight.

"Form the formation."

Five thousand Longxiang Army troops began forming a line before the castle, a hundred breech-loading cannons lined up in a row, their muzzles aimed at Marburg's walls.

On the walls, the Teutonic Order's faces changed.

They had never seen an army like this, encased from head to toe in iron armor, their weapons could kill from several Hundred Steps away.

A few knights in white robes ran back and forth on the walls, brandishing swords and shouting something.

An elderly man on a white horse appeared on the tower, wearing a white cloak, a steel helm, a sword at his waist, his graying beard fluttering in the wind.

"Commander Kang Lade·Feng·Rong Jin Gen, after he ran back from Berlin, has been staying at Marburg," Wang Gui urged his horse forward.

Zhu Yong gave the old man a glance.

Rong Jin Gen was in his sixties, towering and heavily wrinkled, yet his eyes were sharp.

Having fought for so many years, becoming the Teutonic Order's commander is no ordinary feat.