Muster the Army and March North

Muster the Army and March North

Harukami Jiro had been a soldier for more than a decade and knew Fusang's military organization like the back of his hand. Yet he understood Great Xia's military structure even better. Whenever those old samurai spoke of that vast empire's military establishment, their faces were filled with worship and reverence.

Even Toyotomi Hideyoshi, the strongest daimyo in Fusang, had only a thousand-odd samurai. As for ashigaru, there were as many as one wanted. But a single general in Great Xia could command an army, with tens of thousands of armored soldiers beneath him.

The smallest unit in the Great Xia army was a squad. A squad had ten men and was led by a squad leader. Ten squads formed a company, headed by a company commander. Three companies formed a brigade, led by a brigade commander. Five brigades formed a battalion, commanded by a captain. Three to five battalions formed a regiment, commanded by a commandant. Above that came an army, consisting of several regiments of armored soldiers, cavalry, and a number of civilian laborers.

And now Harukami Jiro had become a company commander, with a hundred good men under him. Naturally, those hundred good men were all Fusang people. He had not gone mad enough to imagine that he could command Great Xia soldiers. Even so, he was overjoyed. His decision to be the first to answer Great Xia's recruitment had brought an unexpected reward.

"Me! Me!" Countless people surged forward. The attendants could no longer hold back the crowd, and only when several Great Xia armored soldiers emerged from the guild hall did they manage to suppress the situation. Yet even they could no longer restrain the fervor of the Fusang people. Harukami Jiro's actions and his reward had stirred them up. Many samurai and ronin who had been standing by in hesitation were filled with regret. Why had they not stepped forward first?

Watching this scene from within the guild hall, Lin Yongqian laughed to himself. He had never expected that a few bolts of Songjiang Cloth would open the way. He had initially been puzzled by the instructions of Qin Mo, the heir apparent, but now he finally understood.

His original plan had been to bring goods such as silk, cloth, and porcelain, sell them first for a huge profit, and then recruit Fusang people. But Qin Mo had disagreed, telling him to fill the ships entirely with cloth and recruit samurai directly by using cloth as settlement money.

Lin Yongqian had not understood at first, but after seeing the reactions of these Fusang people, he finally realized just how black-hearted those Fusang merchants were. They had driven the price of Songjiang Cloth in Fusang to an outrageous height.

Looks like I'll be able to head to Edo in a few days. I wonder whether the samurai and ronin there are also poor wretches who have never seen money. Lin Yongqian silently mused. Hirado and Nagasaki alone could not provide seven thousand recruits. Edo was the stronghold of Fusang ronin.

In Dayuan, Wu Mingyi panted heavily as he dragged the last soldier under his command into the barracks. The men who had arrived ahead of him did not spare a thought for greeting their brigade commander. With a boom, they rushed toward the mess hall, each scrambling ahead, grabbing bowls of rice and wolfing them down.

"Last place again." Wu Mingyi's heart was full of sorrow. He watched his three hundred young men eating plain rice, then looked at the soldiers next door, who had vegetables and meat. He bitterly cursed his bad luck. Why had he chosen the Ninth Brigade, which was almost entirely made up of recruits?

Wu Mingyi was Wu Shengze's second son. When men were selected for the north this time, his father had also sent him into the ranks. Since childhood, Wu Mingyi had studied martial arts and military strategy under Wu Shengze. He considered himself one of the most promising generals among the younger generation and held his head higher than the heavens. Even after entering the barracks, he did not know how to restrain himself. Spurred on by a few taunts, he chose the Ninth Brigade as his own command.

The three thousand men Qin Mo intended to take north had been divided into ten brigades. Qin Mo's original intention had been to mix veterans and recruits together, letting the old lead the new. But after Lin Bo, Wu Shengze, and the other household retainers discussed it with him, they ultimately decided to separate out three brigades composed entirely of veterans to serve as the main force. This left rather too many recruits, so two of the brigades were made up entirely of new soldiers.

As the most capable commander among the younger generation, Hu Mingyi was naturally assigned to lead a brigade of recruits. At the time, his father Wu Shengze had told Hu Mingyi that the recruits would set out early, ride by land to the Imperial Capital, and this had delighted Wu Mingyi for quite a while. After all, he was leading a cavalry brigade!

But he had never expected that a few days ago, Qin Mo, the heir apparent, would stroll through the barracks several times. After watching their drills, he changed the entire method of training. Formations and coordination between different troop types were all suspended. They would train only one word: "run." In the heir apparent's words, "Whether you can beat your opponent or not can wait. At the very least, you first have to be able to outrun him."

Thus began Wu Mingyi's nightmare. At daybreak every morning, the entire brigade would shoulder weighted packs and race the other brigades. The last-place brigade got only rice and no vegetables. If they came last twice in a row, even better—their brigade would clean the latrines and wash foul-smelling clothes. So long as even one soldier had not returned, their brigade could not begin eating.

Wu Mingyi had originally thought that his Ninth Brigade was full of young lads, and that they should at least be able to take first or second place. Only after racing did he realize the truth. Those uncles who were barely any younger than his father could run like the wind, each dragging a recruit along behind him. Could it be that they had all been cowardly deserters on the battlefield before?

They had come in last for two consecutive rounds again. After dinner, they would have to clean the latrines and wash stinking clothes. A bunch of old men were still standing nearby, watching the joke and making snide remarks. Yet he could not talk back. He normally called them uncles and elders—how had he never noticed before that they were so sharp-tongued and mean?

"Brigade Commander Wu, the heir apparent has convened command. You are ordered to report and receive instructions." A young, handsome messenger found Wu Mingyi and rescued him from a heap of stinking socks.

"Looks like it's time to board the ships and depart." Wu Mingyi could roughly guess it without even going to the command tent. As a second-generation military man of Dayuan, his information was always well-connected. Thinking that he would no longer have to wash foul-smelling clothes, Wu Mingyi could not feel happy at all. It seemed he would never recover his pride from this. Those people would laugh at him for the rest of his life.

Sure enough, in the command tent, Wu Mingyi received the order for the troops to set out. He and all the recruits would be reorganized into a single battalion under Wu Shengze's command. They would disembark north of Hangzhou, travel west to the Canal, then follow both banks of the Canal to the Imperial Capital, honing their riding skills along the way.

The rising sun climbed into the sky, its golden light spilling into every corner of Lianshui Wharf. There was not a trace of cloud in the sky. It was a perfect day to set sail.

The area around the wharf was packed with people. Mothers and women seeing their loved ones off had tears hanging in their eyes, quietly sobbing. No one dared cry aloud, afraid their men would scold them, and even more afraid of bringing bad luck.

Recruits and veterans boarded the ships in turn. The veterans were all silent. Their fate in the north was unknown. Aside from the young lads who had never traveled far and whose hearts surged with excitement, the veterans who had seen war could not summon even the slightest emotion. In their hearts, they had begun silently praying for Heaven's blessing.

Watching nearly twenty seagoing ships depart one after another, their sails raised as they vanished into the distance, Qin Mo felt uneasy. He did not know what result this northern campaign would bring. But he could not avoid going. The court clearly had designs on him; otherwise, it would not have refused to elevate him to prince.

Qin Mo wanted to forge an empire where the sun never set. That required three things: vast wealth, fierce manpower, and a secure rear base. The money and manpower could be acquired gradually, but whether Dayuan was secure now depended on the attitude of the Great Xia Empire. Before he had developed his strength, he still had to submit and lie low.

He shook his head hard, refusing to think about such troublesome matters. When tomorrow's troubles came, tomorrow could bear them. Turning sideways, he mounted his horse and headed for Silver Bay, where salt was dried.

Upon entering the heavily guarded Silver Bay, he spotted Ximan busy beside a ship from far away. Qin Mo's mood gradually improved. Ximan was absolutely inconspicuous among the elves—quiet, reserved, and not especially strong in combat. Yet he was Qin Mo's greatest discovery since crossing into this world.

Ximan knew alchemy. Although his skill was not high, he could make sextants that were exquisitely crafted and accurate. Ximan also understood some shipbuilding. According to him, the Elven Race was the strongest people in the world when it came to navigation and shipbuilding, while he himself had learned only a tiny fraction. But that tiny fraction was enough. Qin Mo gave him a blueprint, and he tinkered a ship into existence for Qin Mo.