Chapter 521: Go Take a Look

The surface of the Congo River glimmered with a dark golden light under the setting sun.

Zhu QiongJiong stood at the bow, gazing at the increasingly dense tropical rainforest on both banks.

The fleet had been sailing upriver along the Congo River for three days.

Three days earlier, they landed at the river mouth, shattered the Congo people's first line of defense, and captured over two thousand.

But the farther upriver they went, the narrower the channel, the swifter the current, and the denser the riverside forest became.

The trees grew absurdly tall, their canopies blocking the sky and sun, letting no light through.

Decaying branches and leaves floated on the water, and occasionally a few crocodiles lay on the bank, mouths open, motionless.

"General, there's a village ahead," shouted the lookout on the mast.

Zhu QiongJiong lifted his head and looked in the direction the lookout pointed.

Ahead on the riverbank, a clearing appeared, dotted with dozens of stilted thatched huts; a few black men were drawing water on the bank, and when they saw the dark mass of the fleet on the water, they dropped their buckets and fled in terror.

"Send word, bring the ships to shore."

The vanguard boats accelerated toward the bank.

Zhu QiongJiong was the first to jump ashore, his feet landing on the wet, soft mud.

His boot sank half an inch, and when he pulled it out, it raised a clump of black mud.

"Form ranks..."

Five hundred Longxiang Army troops lined up on the bank, Flintlock Guns loaded, bayonets unsheathed.

Zhu QiongJiong carried the Wolf Fang Club at the front, with a squad of Imperial Troops behind him.

The village was empty; every door stood open, and pots on the stoves still simmered, bubbling.

A clay pot held fish soup, still steaming, the people having fled only moments ago.

"General, we found people on the back hill," a Imperial Troop reported, running back from behind the village.

"How many..."

"A dozen or so, looks like village elders, they didn't run far, hiding in a mountain ravine."

Zhu QiongJiong thought for a moment, then slung the Wolf Fang Club over his shoulder.

"Go take a look..."

The back hill wasn't high but was steep, covered with vines and scrub.

A few Longxiang Army soldiers pushed aside the grass and saw a dozen black men and women curled up in a dried creek bed, both young and old.

An elderly man with white hair knelt at the front, hands raised overhead, muttering something, his whole body trembling.

The interpreter came up from behind, listened for a while, then turned and said, "General, he says they are fishermen from the Congo River, not soldiers, pleading that we spare them."

Zhu QiongJiong looked at the shivering black men and remained silent for a moment.

"Tell them the Great Ming army does not kill civilians; let them return, fish when they should fish, and farm when they should farm."

The interpreter relayed the message.

The elder lifted his head, his eyes filled with disbelief.

He glanced at Zhu QiongJiong, then at the soldiers in iron armor, his lips quivering as he uttered a few more words.

"General, he says upstream there is a large city, its walls filled with many soldiers, and many flintlock guns bought from the whites."

Zhu QiongJiong's mouth twitched slightly.

Flintlock guns, those European matchlock guns?

"Understood, you may return."

The elder bowed three times, led the villagers out of the creek bed, and staggered back to the village.

Zhu QiongJiong turned and walked back to the riverbank.

"Send word, continue upriver."

The fleet continued sailing upriver along the Congo River.

The channel grew ever narrower, and the rainforest on both sides grew ever denser.

After about two hours' travel, a city appeared ahead.

The city was small, but its walls were high, built of Stone and wood mixed together, gray‑black, covered with moss.

The walls were lined with black soldiers wearing woven grass armor, brandishing spears and curved swords.

Dozens of soldiers also carried flintlock guns, iron barrels with wooden stocks, incomparable to the Great Ming's Flintlock Guns.

A flag fluttered atop the city, white with two large elephants painted in the center.

"The Congo people's banner," Vice General rode up.

Zhu QiongJiong squinted and watched for a moment.

The garrison numbered two to three thousand, better equipped than the previous irregulars, yet not particularly formidable.

"Form ranks..."

Five hundred Longxiang Army troops formed outside the city.

Fifty mortar tubes were aligned in a row, their muzzles aimed at the wall.

These were far lighter than the rear‑mounted breech cannons, suitable for jungle warfare; though the shells were small, their power was considerable.

On the walls, the Congo defenders' expressions changed.

They had never seen such an army, encased from head to toe in iron armor, their weapons capable of killing from several hundred paces away.

The few soldiers bearing flintlock guns fumbled to fire, and before the guns were raised, the shells were already raining down.

"Fire..."

Fifty mortars fired simultaneously.

Shells ripped through the dusk, striking the wall.

Boom—boom—boom…

The city wall was a mix of Stone and wood, unable to withstand the barrage of cannonballs.

One round of bombardment left a breach in the wall.

Two rounds widened the breach.

Three rounds and the defending troops on the wall fled.

"Longxiang Army, charge with me."

Zhu QiongJiong clipped the horse's belly, and the warhorse surged forward.

Five hundred troops followed closely, their hooves thundering.

He rushed through the breach into the city, swinging the Wolf Fang Club side to side.

A few Congo soldiers charged forward with long spears; he swept his club across, sending five or six flying into the wall, their brains splattering.

A soldier lugging a matchlock gun trembled as he primed it, the barrel aimed at Zhu QiongJiong.

"Bang..."

The matchlock gun cracked; the bullet struck Zhu QiongJiong's breastplate and pinged off.

The soldier froze.

He had never seen a person that a bullet could not pierce.

Zhu QiongJiong walked over and smashed his head with a club.

Behind him, five hundred troops followed his path into the city, firing Flintlock Guns in unison, sabers slashing.

To the Congo, the matchlock gun was a joke compared to the Flintlock Gun.

It loads slowly, has short range, and cannot be used in rain.

Great Ming's Flintlock Guns could kill at two Hundred Steps, while their matchlock guns couldn't hit accurately even at eighty Hundred Steps.

In less than half an hour, the defenders scattered.

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

Zhu QiongJiong did not pursue; he halted his horse and stood on the central plaza.

"Send word: round up the captives, take over the defenses, dispatch messengers to the riverbank, the vanguard has secured it."

Meanwhile, on the Northern Region front.

Zhu ShangBing led ten thousand men from Bole Nu, pushing south.

Along the way they passed a tropical Grassland, the road far easier than the rainforest.

After five days they entered the northern border of the Congo Kingdom.

The Congo forces here were few, a handful of outposts totaling under two thousand.

Zhu ShangBing eschewed artillery, leading cavalry in a direct charge.

Ten thousand iron‑clad cavalry thundered across the Grassland, hooves like thunder, dust clouds blotting the sky.

The Congo had never seen such a display; they fled before the cavalry even reached them.

"Chase..." Zhu ShangBing clipped his horse's belly.

Five thousand cavalry pursued, cutting down over a thousand and capturing five or six hundred.

The rest fled into the rainforest, vanishing as they disappeared within.

"Prince, still pursuing?" Vice General rode up on horseback.

Zhu ShangBing halted his horse, staring at the pitch‑black rainforest.

"No chase. Send word, set up camp here, await the elder brother's news."

At dusk, Zhu JiXi led a fleet up the Congo River.

Three hundred engine‑powered boats crowded the river, the diesel engines' roar shaking the water itself.

Zhu GaoChi stood at the bow of the first boat, ledger in hand, performing the final check.

"ChiEr, how long will the Grain and Fodder last?" Zhu JiXi came up from behind.

"Enough for fifty thousand troops for four months; plus what we seized from the Congo, it can sustain half a year."

Zhu GaoChi closed the ledger, drew a map from his sleeve, and unfolded it.

"From here the Congo River winds upstream, the channel narrowing; large vessels cannot pass, we must switch to smaller boats."

Zhu JiXi glanced at the map.

Indeed, the upper Congo River has several narrow stretches; large ships cannot pass, but small boats can.

"Switch to small boats; rafts will do, as long as we can transport the Grain and Fodder up there."

Zhu GaoChi nodded, turned to command the unloading.