Chapter 512: The African War Begins

The Great Ming banner atop Xiuda City fluttered rustling in the morning wind.

Zhu Xiongying stood at the highest point of the city tower, gazing at the vast land beyond the walls.

The sand dunes rose and fell in endless waves, shimmering with a dark gold hue in the dawn.

In the distance were sparse thickets, farther still low hills, gray and hazy, layer upon layer, with no end in sight.

Africa.

This continent is far larger than Europe, and far more barren as well.

But he knew that beneath the desolation lay abundance.

Gold, ivory, slaves—European merchants shipped these out of Africa, each vessel bringing a fortune.

"Prince, the prisoners have been counted," Zhu Gaoshi came up from beneath the wall, holding a freshly written list.

He wore a moon‑white robe, his plump white face bearing a gentle smile, ink still staining his fingers.

Zhu Xiongying took the list and glanced over it.

Xiuda's garrison numbered 5,200, with 1,300 killed in battle and 3,900 taken prisoner.

The governor was locked in the city's main prison, and several generals had also been captured.

Grain and Fodder enough for two months of the army, the armory piled with many Sword and Spear, bows and arrows, and dozens of bronze cannons.

"Integrate the prisoners as auxiliary troops, have them build roads and mine; melt the bronze cannons and cast them into farm tools," Zhu Xiongying handed the list back.

Zhu Gaoshi responded with a nod and asked, "What about those generals? Some are nobles of the Ma Lin Dynasty—how shall we deal with them?"

"Keep them imprisoned; we'll decide after the fighting is over."

Zhu Gaoshi nodded, turned, and left.

Zhu Qiong Jiong came up from the foot of the city, blood splattered over his body, the Wolf Fang Club slung over his shoulder, blood still dripping from its head.

The twenty‑one‑year‑old youth, broad‑shouldered and massive, stood there like a blade drawn from its sheath.

He walked to Zhu Xiongying's side, braced the Wolf Fang Club against the city parapet, and bit into a piece of Dry Rations from his chest.

"Brother, where do we strike next?"

"Danjier..."

Zhu Qiong Jiong nodded and asked, "How far?"

"Fifty li; a day's march will get us there."

"I'll lead the vanguard."

Zhu Xiongying gave him a glance, a faint smile curling his mouth, and said nothing.

Zhu Qiong Jiong finished the Dry Rations, brushed the crumbs away, lifted the Wolf Fang Club from the parapet, and strode down the wall.

Zhu Shang Bing came over from the other side; the sixteen‑year‑old youth was tall, clad in iron armor, a Long Sword slung at his waist, moving with fierce vigor.

He stood beside Zhu Xiongying, watching Zhu Qiong Jiong's silhouette vanish beneath the wall.

"Brother, Qiong Jiong fights as if he has no life left."

"Just like his father..."

Zhu Shang Bing said nothing further.

At dusk, the scouts returned.

"Prince, Danjier city holds about eight thousand defenders; its walls are higher than Xiuda's, it has more cannons, and a moat at the gate that draws in seawater."

Zhu Xiongying stood before the map, his finger pointing to Danjier's location.

The city lies fifty li west of Xiuda, a coastal port, the Ma Lin Dynasty's most important stronghold on North Africa's western seaboard.

Capture Danjier, and Xiuda will be secure; moving south will pierce straight into the heart of the Ma Lin Dynasty.

"Send the orders: depart at first light tomorrow."

At first light the next day, before sunrise, the great army set out.

Eighty thousand Longxiang Army troops advanced west along the coastline. The road was rough, riddled with dunes and thickets, yet no one complained.

After about two hours' march, Danjier's outline appeared ahead.

The walls were gray and misty, casting a dull sheen in the sunlight.

Sure enough, a moat lay at the gate, about two zhang wide, its surface sparkling.

Soldiers crowded the walls, the cannons were already emplaced, their black mouths yawning toward the outside.

"Form the ranks..." Zhu Xiongying halted his horse.

The eighty‑thousand‑strong force began to array outside the city. Five hundred breech‑loading cannons lined up in a row, their muzzles aimed at Danjier's walls.

On the walls, the Ma Lin Dynasty's defenders' faces turned pale.

They had never seen so many iron‑clad soldiers, nor so many cannons.

Several generals ran along the walls, brandishing swords and shouting something, their voices trembling.

"Fire..."

All five hundred breech‑loaders fired together. Shrapnel shells ripped through the air, striking Danjier's walls.

In the first volley, several bronze cannons on the wall were blown away.

The second volley blasted a breach in the wall.

The third volley widened the gap, revealing the city's Street.

"Longxiang Army, charge with me!"

Zhu Qiong Jiong gave his warhorse a sharp cue, and the steed surged forward.

Eighty thousand troops followed close behind, hooves thundering.

The moat could not stop the Longxiang Army; the engineering corps had already erected a floating bridge.

Zhu Qiong Jiong raced across the floating bridge, surged through the breach into the city, swinging the Wolf Fang Club left and right.

A few soldiers of the Marin Dynasty brandished curved swords and charged; he swung his club, sending five or six of them flying, they slammed into the wall, their brains splattered.

Behind him, the eighty‑thousand‑strong army followed his path into the city, Flintlock Guns firing in unison, sabers chopping.

The garrison at Danjier outnumbered that of Xiu Da, but not by much.

Eight thousand against eighty thousand broke apart in less than two hours.

The defending commander fled quickly, taking a few hundred Imperial Troops southward.

Zhu Xiongying stood on the central square of the city, looking at the captured citadel.

"Send word: round up the captives and take over the city defenses."

Zhu Gaochi rode up from behind, notebook in hand, beginning to inventory the supplies, recording each item meticulously.

Zhu Xiongying turned and gazed at the southern horizon.

That was the direction of Feisi, the capital of the Marin Dynasty.

"Brother, shall we attack Feisi next?" Zhu Qiong Jiong stepped forward.

"No rush; first secure Danjier, then strike south."

Zhu Qiong Jiong nodded, leaned the Wolf Fang Club against the wall, crouched, and wiped the blood from its head with a rag.

By the time the news of Xiu Da and Danjier's fall reached Feisi, three days had already passed.

The Marin Dynasty's Sultan Abu Hassan sat on the palace throne, clutching the battle report, his face ashen.

He had not expected the Ming forces to arrive so swiftly, nor that Xiu Da and Danjier could not hold out even a day.

"Sultan, the Ming army numbers at least eighty thousand, well‑equipped, their artillery immensely powerful; our walls cannot stop them."

Abu Hassan rose and paced within the hall.

He had fought his whole life, never having seen such an enemy.

From the east came not Arabs nor Turks, but forces from far beyond.

"Send word: gather the nation's troops, and settle a final battle with the Ming army at Feisi."

Four days later, outside Feisi.

Zhu Xiongying tightened his reins, looking at the distant city.

Feisi is the capital of the Marin Dynasty, one of North Africa's largest cities.

The walls were tall, gray‑hued, glimmering with a dull light under the sun.

Soldiers lined the walls, the artillery already positioned, the muzzles blackened and aimed outward.

Beyond the walls lay an open plain, dotted with a series of camp tents.

Abu Hassan mobilized every combat‑ready soldier in the nation, and with remnants fleeing from across the lands, amassed roughly fifty thousand men, forming a Formation outside the city.

"Fifty thousand, that's rather bold." Zhu Shangbing rode up.

Zhu Xiongying remained silent, raised his saber in his right hand. "Form up."

The eighty‑thousand army began to form. The Longxiang Army took the front, artillery on both flanks, cavalry on the wings.

Five hundred muzzle‑loading cannons were lined up in a single file, their barrels aimed at the Marin Dynasty formation opposite.

The opposing Formation began to stir.

Front‑line infantry gripped their spears tightly, rear archers drew bows and nocked arrows, and the wing cavalry trotted their horses.

"Fire..."

The five hundred cannons fired simultaneously.

Shrapnel shells ripped through the air, striking the enemy Formation.

"Boom—boom—boom…"

Explosions rose and fell, severed limbs soaring into the sky.

Cavalry were blown so that horse and rider were thrown about, infantry scattered in panic.

After three rounds of bombardment, the opposing Formation was completely in disarray.

"Longxiang Army, charge with me."

Zhu Qiong Jiong pressed his grip on the horse's belly, and the warhorse surged forward.

The eighty‑thousand army followed closely, the hoofbeats thundering.

He led the charge, swinging the Wolf Fang Club left and right; a Marin Dynasty knight charged at him, he smashed his spear shaft with one strike, then struck the horse's head with another, the warhorse whinnied and fell.

Behind him, the eighty‑thousand army followed his path into the enemy ranks, Flintlock Guns firing in unison, sabers slashing.

Fifty thousand broke apart in less than two hours.

Abu Hassan fled the fastest, taking a few hundred Imperial Troops southward.

Zhu Xiongying did not pursue, tightened his reins, and watched the captives kneeling on the ground.

"Send word: round up the captives and enter the city."

At dusk, Zhu Xiongying stood on the steps of Feisi's palace, looking at the largest city in North Africa.

The Street was wider than Xiu Da's, the houses were built of Stone and were aged.

The ground was littered with trash and excrement, the air thick with a foul stench, much like European cities.

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

"Prince, we captured a few Marin Dynasty nobles," Zhu Gaochi said as he came up from behind.

"Confiscate the land, register the assets, send the people to mine."

"Yes..."

Zhu Gaochi responded with a nod and turned away.

Zhu Xiongying turned, gazing at the southern horizon.

That was the direction of the Sahara Desert, the direction of the Mali Empire.

"Brother, the Mali Empire is in West Africa, thousands of li from here, separated by the Sahara Desert; the army can't move easily." Zhu Qiong Jiong stepped forward.

"So there's no rush; first secure North Africa, then go around by sea."

Zhu Qiong Jiong nodded and leaned the Wolf Fang Club against the wall.

"Brother, you said this Africa—how long will it take to finish the campaign?"

"If fast, two years; if slow, three years."

Zhu Qiong Jiong grinned.

He fought two years in Europe, and another two years in Africa—just right.

Night fell, and the lights of Fes City flickered on one by one.

Zhu Xiongying stood by the palace window, watching the conquered city.

At dawn tomorrow, the army will push southward, targeting the oasis cities on the northern edge of the Sahara Desert.

Those places are the buffer zone between the Mali Empire and the Marin Dynasty.

Capture those oases, and the gateway to West Africa will open.

He turned, walked back to the desk, picked up a pen, and began writing a letter.

The letter is addressed to Zhu Biao, recording the battles of the past few days.

"…Father, Fes has been taken, the Marin Dynasty is destroyed, Abu Hassan fled southward, likely into the Sahara Desert.

Huda and Danjir have also been taken; the captives are being incorporated as auxiliary troops; the Grain and Fodder will last two months; the soldiers' morale is high. Qiong Jiong has killed many more, just like Second Uncle."

After finishing the letter, he sealed it and handed it to the Imperial Troops: "Send it back to Great Ming."

"Understood."