Chapter 513: Mǎlin Dynasty

On the third day after Feisi City was captured, Zhu Xiongying stood on the palace tower, looking toward the southern horizon.

Morning mist rose from the valley, enveloping the whole city in a gray‑white shroud.

In the distance were rolling hills, beyond which lay the Sahara Desert; the largest oasis city of North Africa, Xijiermasa, lay in that direction, the most important southern stronghold of the Mǎlin Dynasty.

Capturing Xijiermasa would open the gateway to lands south of the Sahara.

"Brother, the scout has returned." Zhu Gaochi walked up from the stairwell, holding a freshly compiled report.

He wore a moon‑white robe, his plump white face bearing a gentle smile, but his gaze was focused, and ink stains clung to his fingers.

Zhu Xiongying took the report and unfolded it.

Xijiermasa lies four hundred li south of Feisi, on the northern edge of the Sahara, the southernmost important oasis city of the Mǎlin Dynasty and the starting point of the Sahara trade route.

The city's garrison numbered about five thousand; the walls were low but massive, built of locally unique mud bricks, resistant to artillery.

"Five thousand men, not many…"

"Not many, but Xijiermasa is surrounded by desert; an army crossing the desert needs huge amounts of water and grain and fodder."

Zhu Gaochi pointed to the four‑hundred‑li stretch from Feisi to Xijiermasa on the map; along the way there were only three small oases, each with very limited water, so the army could not cross unless it moved in batches.

Zhu Xiongying stared at the map, fell silent for a moment, then said, "We'll move in batches: ten thousand per batch, each spaced a day apart. When the vanguard reaches Xijiermasa, they'll set up camp on the spot and wait for the following troops before besieging."

Zhu Gaochi thought for a moment and said, "The plan works, but we must dispatch heavy troops to guard those oases; the Mǎlin Dynasty must not be allowed to sabotage the water sources."

"Send Qiong Jiong with the Vanguard Camp ahead to hold the oases."

Zhu Gaochi nodded, turned, and went to make arrangements.

At noon, Zhu Qiong Jiong led five thousand of the Vanguard Camp out of Feisi's south gate, marching along the trade route heading south.

He rode a jujube‑red horse, wore a dark‑colored battle outfit, a short sword at his waist, and carried the Wolf Fang Club that never left his side.

The twenty‑one‑year‑old youth was sun‑tanned black, his arms full of muscle, sitting upright on the horse, exuding a cold, fierce aura.

Behind him were five thousand elite of the Longxiang Army, their iron armor glinting coldly in the sun, Flintlock Guns all pointed toward the sky.

Each carried three Water Bags and five days' worth of Dry Rations, while the warhorses bore spare supplies.

After about two hours of marching, the trees on either side grew sparse, giving way to low shrubs and scattered sand dunes.

The air grew dry, and a wind from the south carried the scent of sand and dust.

Zhu Qiong Jiong reined in his horse, squinting as he glanced ahead.

A yellow line appeared on the horizon—the edge of the Sahara.

"Send word: speed up, reach the first oasis before nightfall."

The army quickened its march.

At dusk, a small oasis emerged ahead.

A few palm trees, a shallow water pool, and several dilapidated mud‑brick houses.

A handful of locals in tattered robes crouched at the pool drawing water; when they saw the distant iron‑black tide, they dropped their buckets and fled.

Zhu Qiong Jiong did not pursue, reined his horse, and halted at the oasis edge.

"Send word: set up camp, station guards at the pool, forbid locals from approaching; the water must be reserved for the following troops."

The Imperial Troops answered, and went with men.

The soldiers began pitching tents, building a Fire Pit, and cooking.

Zhu Qiong Jiong crouched at the pool's edge, cupped a handful of water.

The water was cold and clear; he took a sip and then spat it out.

It wasn't that it was undrinkable; his father, the king, had taught him that water taken abroad must be boiled first, or it would cause illness, a lesson he always remembered.

He stood, brushed the sand off his knees, and turned back toward the camp.

The Fire Pit flared up as the soldiers sat around, gnawing Dry Rations and drinking from their Water Bags.

No one spoke; the desert night was eerily quiet, not even the chirping of insects.

Zhu Qiong Jiong sat by the Fire Pit, a piece of Dry Ration clenched in his hand, uneaten.

He was contemplating tomorrow. Xijiermasa lay three hundred li to the south, with two oases in between, each with limited water, requiring careful use.

The following forces would arrive in batches; he must guard this supply line and prevent the Mǎlin Dynasty from destroying the oases.

"General, it's time to rest." an old soldier said, handing him a blanket.

Zhu Qiong Jiong took the blanket, wrapped it around himself, leaned against the camel thorn bush, and closed his eyes.

The desert night was cold; the southern wind blew sand grains against his face, stinging.

At dawn the next day, before sunrise, the unit set out.

After two more hours, a larger oasis appeared ahead.

Dozens of palm trees, several vegetable plots, and a small village.

The villagers, seeing the iron‑clad army, fled into their houses, sealing doors and windows.

Zhu Qiong Jiong did not enter the village; he set up camp on the open ground outside and dispatched men to guard the village well.

"General, a few officials in the village say they wish to see you." an Imperial Troop came running from the village.

"Bring them…"

Moments later, several middle‑aged men in robes were brought in, kneeling, trembling, muttering pleas.

Zhu Qiong Jiong didn't understand, nor cared to listen.

"Tell them the Great Ming army is assuming control of this area; there's nothing to worry about, so they should remain obedient and not stir up any trouble."

The translation was delivered, and the middle‑aged men kowtowed repeatedly, crawling back to the village.

Zhu Qiong Jiong crouched at the oasis edge, watching the pool.

The pool was small, but the water was clear enough to see the stones at the bottom.

The scenery here was pleasant; if his sister saw it, she would surely like it.

"General, someone is coming from the south," the lookout on the mast shouted.

Zhu QiongJiong stood up, walked to the edge of the camp, and looked toward the south.

A squad of horsemen appeared on the distant sand dunes, about a hundred riders, bearing the flag of the Marin Dynasty.

They halted on the dunes for a while, glanced this way, then turned and rode away.

"Scouts of the Marin Dynasty," the veteran said beside him.

Zhu QiongJiong said nothing, turned and walked back to the camp.

He knew that the garrison of Xijiermasa had already spotted them.

On the evening of the third day, the Vanguard Camp arrived outside Xijiermasa City.

The city was small, but its walls were thick, built from the locally unique adobe bricks, the gray‑yellow walls blending with the desert.

At the city gate stood several hundred soldiers in leather armor, brandishing spears; archers were on the walls, their bows already drawn.

The city's ramparts bore the Marin Dynasty's flag, green background with white stars.

Zhu QiongJiong tightened his reins, squinting as he watched for a while.

The garrison numbered about four to five thousand, modestly equipped and low in morale; the few bronze cannons on the walls showed their age, their barrels mottled with rust.