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In the spring of the thirtieth year of prosperity, the snow on the European continent had just begun to melt.

The ice on the Danube River cracked and splintered as chunks of ice drifted downstream, crashing against the rocks on both banks.

In the fields, the snow had not yet melted, revealing the withered yellow grass stems underneath.

In the woods, tender green buds began to sprout from the branches.

On the walls of Constantinople, the banners of the Great Zhou Dynasty fluttered in the wind.

The red flag, embroidered with the golden character "Zhou," stood out prominently in the morning light.

Guo Wen stood on the city wall, gazing at the vast land to the west.

After three months of rest and recuperation, the 200,000-strong army has been able to recharge and rebuild its

In the military camp outside the city, the soldiers drilled every day, their shouts of battle deafening.

Inside the city's warehouses, grain, fodder, and ammunition were piled up like mountains, boxes of artillery shells were stacked neatly, and bags of flour were piled high.

In the hospital, the imperial physicians were busy preparing various medicines.

In the blacksmith's shop, the clanging and banging sounds never ceased, as various weapons were being forged.

We're just waiting for the weather to warm up before we move westward.

The news had already spread throughout Europe.

Those kingdoms, duchies, and countdoms, large and small, were all terrified.

The Byzantine Empire, so vast, was destroyed in an instant.

Constantinople, such a fortified city, was lost so easily.

The Great Zhou army is now at the city gate, numbering two hundred thousand, and they are said to possess even more terrifying weapons...

Those fire-breathing pipes can burn an entire area in one go; those exploding iron balls can blast a whole bunch apart in one explosion.

There were also massive steam warships with numerous cannons. Every time the Great Zhou fleet sailed the Mediterranean and Black Sea, the nobles of Europe would feel a chill run down their spines.

At this time, Europe was still under the theocratic rule of the Roman Empire and believed that the appearance of the Zhou army and regime was an attack by pagans.

……

Frankish Kingdom, Aachen Palace.

The royal palace, built on a high point in Aachen, is a massive stone structure with tall spires and thick walls.

At this moment, the atmosphere in the royal palace was so heavy it seemed like it could drip water.

King Charles II sat on the throne. He was in his forties, with a thick beard and sharp, eagle-like eyes.

He was dressed in a magnificent robe, draped in a purple cloak, and wearing a golden crown.

A dozen or so messengers stood before them.

Some came from the Roman Empire, dressed in heavy robes and wearing fur hats; some came from Italy, dressed in silk and with elegant manners; some came from England, tall, blond, and blue-eyed; some came from Burgundy, speaking with a heavy accent; and others came from even further afield…

For example, Spain, Hungary, Poland, Denmark, and other places.

"Gentlemen, I'm sure you've all heard about it by now?" Charles II began, his voice deep.

"Yes." The envoys nodded. "The Zhou army has 200,000 troops in Constantinople. Their crown prince is personally in command, and the Emperor of Prosperity says he will take over the whole of Europe within three years."

One of the messengers couldn't help but ask, "Your Majesty, what should we do?"

Charles II remained silent for a moment.

He rose from his throne and walked to the window.

Outside the window, the rooftops of Aachen were covered in snow, and the distant mountains were a vast expanse of white.

“The Papacy has sent messengers.” Charles II turned to look at the messengers. “His Holiness the Pope says that this is a crisis for the Christian world, and all countries that believe in God must unite.”

"A union?" The Roman envoy frowned. "How can we unite? Who decides?"

Charles II looked at him. "Me."

The Roman envoy's expression changed. "Your Majesty, what you're saying..."

“I’m in charge,” Charles II interrupted him. “The Franks are the largest country in Europe, I have the largest army, and the largest territory. I must be the commander-in-chief of the allied forces.”

The envoys looked at each other, not expecting Charles II to be so arrogant.

The English envoy said, "Your Majesty, we have no objection to your desire to be the commander-in-chief. However, the armies of each country must be commanded by each country itself."

Charles II sneered, "Command it yourself? What kind of allied force is that?"

He then walked back to the throne and sat down again. "No matter how many people the Great Zhou has, they only number two hundred thousand. How many people can we gather from the entire continent of Europe? Five hundred thousand? Eight hundred thousand?"

Charles II surveyed the envoys with an air of superiority, “Go back and tell your king that in three months, we will meet in Rome to form an allied army to fight against the Zhou army.”

"..." The envoys looked at each other in bewilderment, and the decision was made for them.

The Italian envoy asked in a low voice, "Your Majesty, I've heard that the Zhou army is very powerful; they have cannons, muskets, and those fire-breathing pipes..."

"So what if they're powerful?" Charles II interrupted him. "They're human too, and they'll die. We outnumber them, we'll wear them down."

The envoys fell silent, for circumstances dictated their actions; after all, Charles II was currently the most powerful man.

……

Three months later, in Rome.

This ancient city, with a history of thousands of years, has never been so lively.

Army troops came from all directions, wave after wave.

Frankish cavalry, clad in chainmail, rode tall horses and carried long spears.

Roman infantrymen wore heavy armor and carried greatswords and battle axes.

Italian crossbowmen, dressed in light leather armor, carried crossbows.

The English longbowmen were tall and carried long bows.

Burgundy's heavily armored soldiers were covered from head to toe in sheet metal, making a clanging sound as they walked.

There were also various troops from Spain, Hungary, and Poland.

Some were dressed in brightly colored clothes, some were shirtless, and some wore strange helmets.

The area outside the city was filled with camps, stretching as far as the eye could see.

The tents stretched for dozens of miles, with wisps of smoke rising from them, like a giant cloud.

Between the camps, people came and went, horses neighed and people shouted, creating chaos.

Inside the city, the Pope personally presided over the alliance ceremony.

St. Peter's Basilica is the most magnificent building in Rome, with its huge dome, tall spires, and exquisite sculptures.

Inside the church, candles were lit and incense smoke filled the air.

Those enormous candles, each taller than a person, burned with golden flames.

Wisps of smoke rose from the incense burner, releasing a rich fragrance.

Kings, dukes, and counts from various countries, dressed in their most magnificent clothes, stood in their respective places.

Some wore velvet robes, some wore pearl necklaces, and some wore mink cloaks.

The Pope stood before the altar, over eighty years old, with white hair and a face full of wrinkles, but his eyes were still so bright.

He held the Bible in both hands, his voice loud enough to be heard throughout the church: “Children of God, here come the pagans. They come from the East with evil weapons to destroy our homeland and to blaspheme our faith.”

Are you willing to sit and wait to die?

"No!" the crowd shouted in unison, their voices echoing under the dome.

Are you willing to take up arms and defend your homeland?

"willing!"

“Very well.” The Pope nodded. “God be with you. The commander-in-chief of the allied forces shall be Charles the Frankish King. All armies shall be under his command.”

Charles II stepped forward and faced the crowd.

Charles II was dressed in a magnificent suit of armor, wearing a red cloak, and with a long sword at his waist.

He walked up to the crowd, his gaze sweeping over their faces. "Gentlemen," he said, "Zhou's army has 200,000 men, while our allied forces have 500,000. In terms of numbers, we have the advantage."

Someone nodded, "But Zhou's army has cannons, muskets, and things we've never seen before. If we fight them head-on, many people will die."

Someone frowned. "So we have to use a plan."

Charles II walked to the wall and pointed to the huge map.

The map was made of sheepskin and depicted the mountains and rivers of Europe, marking the territories of various countries.

"If Zhou's army wants to advance westward, the Danube River is the only way they can cross. We will set up an ambush on the north bank of the Danube River, and when they are halfway across, we will suddenly attack and cut them in two."

His finger traced across the map. “The Frankish cavalry led the charge, attacking from the front. The Holy Roman infantry followed, flanking them from both sides. Italian crossbowmen provided cover from behind, suppressing their fire. English longbowmen provided further cover, shooting at their officers.”

"As long as we win this battle, Zhou's army will not dare to go west anymore, and we will be able to drive the Zhou army out of the Middle East."

The crowd immediately began to discuss it.

Some nodded, some frowned, and some were worried.

No one objected, since the Great Zhou wouldn't give them much time.

Thus, the 500,000-strong European coalition was formed.

……

When the news reached Constantinople, Crown Prince Gauven was discussing the route of the invasion with his brothers.

Inside the command tent, a huge map was spread out on the table.

Guo Wen stood in front of the map, surrounded by Guo Zhi, Guo Wu, Guo Gong, Guo Qian, and Guo Qiu.

Other military leaders included Cao Bin, Wang Yanjun, Yang Ye, Gao Huaide, and Murong Yanzhao.

A scout rushed in, knelt on one knee, and presented a secret report with both hands. "Your Highness, news from Rome."

Guo Wen took the secret report, unfolded it, and read it through.

Then he smiled and said, "Five hundred thousand allied troops? You think too highly of us."

Guo Wu said, "Brother, let me play as a striker. I promise I'll be the first to break into their formation."

Guo Wen waved his hand, "No rush."

He walked up to the map and looked at the line of the Danube River. "They will definitely set up an ambush on the Danube. They will suddenly attack when you are halfway across the river. This kind of trick has been written about in books for hundreds of years."

Guo Zhi asked, "Then what do we do?"

Guo Wen smiled and said, "Let them wait."

"wait?"

“Yes. Wait a month, two months, three months.” Guo Wen tapped his finger on the map. “With hundreds of thousands of people crammed together, how many days will the food last? Those kings, none of them are willing to submit to anyone else, how long can they be united?”

Guo Wu scratched his head. "Brother, you mean they'll get into trouble on their own?"

“It’s bound to be chaotic,” Guo Wendao said. “The Franks want to be the leader, but the Roman Empire is not convinced. The Italians are closest to us and are most afraid of being attacked, so they might secretly negotiate. The English are across the sea, so whether or not we fight won’t affect them much, and they might not be willing to fight to the death. As for the smaller countries, they all have their own agendas.”

He turned to his brothers and said, "Order all troops to rest where they are. Send out scouts to keep an eye on the Allied forces. Once they get impatient and start to panic, then we'll make our move."

The brothers nodded.

“Also,” Guo Wendao said, “send people to the Allied forces’ side to find those who are dissatisfied with Charles. The Franks want to be the leader, but the others may not accept it. Sow discord and let them fight amongst themselves first.”

Guo Qian laughed, "Big brother, that's a sneaky trick..."

Guo Wen also laughed, "In war, we don't talk about cunning or treachery. We only talk about winning."

……

The allied camp outside Rome was packed with 500,000 men, stretching as far as the eye could see.

But these 500,000 people are not all of one mind.

The Franks looked down on the Holy Romans, calling them barbarians.

The Holy Romans looked down on the Italians, calling them spineless.

Italians find the English rude and say they speak like crows.

The English thought the Burgundians were arrogant and smacked their lips while eating.

Those from Spain, Hungary, and Poland were even more marginalized; nobody took them seriously.

Charles II sat in his command tent, a pile of messy military reports in front of him. "What? We're running out of supplies again?" "Yes, Your Majesty," the logistics officer replied, bowing his head. "The Italians say their supplies haven't arrived yet, and they want to borrow ours first."

"Borrow?" Charles II sneered. "Will you return it?"

"..." At this moment, no one could answer Charles II's question.

"What about the Hungarians?"

"They're arguing with the Poles again over water, and they almost came to blows," the lieutenant said. "Both sides used knives, and three people died."

Charles II rubbed his temples.

Half a million people gathered for only half a month, and so many things have happened.

If we really wait a month or two, who knows how chaotic things will become.

What he didn't know was that a hand was quietly pushing things along amidst this chaos.

……

In the Allied camp, there was a servant specifically responsible for feeding the horses.

His name was Pierre, he was in his thirties, of average appearance, spoke kindly, and worked diligently.

Their daily work consisted of feeding the Frankish cavalry horses, brushing their hair, and cleaning the stables.

No one knew that Pierre's true identity was actually a spy for the Imperial City Guard.

Five years ago, Pierre had already infiltrated Frankfurt.

He started as a lowly stable boy and gradually made his way into the royal stables.

Pierre could speak Frankish, imitate the Franks, and drink, swear, and joke like them.

Therefore, no one ever doubted him, nor could anyone have imagined that the intelligence work he was engaged in was so powerful.

When the allied forces were formed, Pierre went to Rome with the Frankish cavalry.

When Pierre was working, he kept his ears perked up, listening for any intelligence that might appear at any time.

"I heard those Italians want to negotiate separately again?" A Frankish cavalryman leaned against the stable and chatted with his companion.

“That’s right, they’re closest to Zhou’s army and they’re most afraid of being attacked,” another cavalryman said. “Yesterday I saw their envoy secretly go to Zhou’s army.”

"real or fake?"

"Really. I saw it with my own eyes."

"Pah, spineless Italians."

Pierre lowered his head, feeding the horse, a slight smile playing on his lips.

That evening, these words reached the Italian camp.

The messenger was a merchant who delivered vegetables to the Italian military camp.

His name is Marco, he's in his forties, chubby, and always has a smile on his face.

Every day, they would drive a donkey cart, carrying fresh vegetables, in and out of the military camp.

Marcos speaks fluent Mandarin and knows the streets and alleys of Rome like the back of his hand.

He sold vegetables in Italy for three years and got to know a lot of people there...

There were officers, soldiers, cooks, and general laborers.

"Have you heard?" Marco said in a low voice to several Italian officers, "The Franks say you are spineless and want to negotiate separately."

The Italian general's face turned green. "Who said that?"

“Hey, you horse feeders, Franks over there. They also said that your envoy secretly went to Zhou's side.”

"Nonsense!" the Italian general slammed his fist on the table. "When did we send an envoy?"

Marco shrugged. "I don't know. That's what they said anyway."

The next day, the Italians and Franks had a big argument and almost came to blows.

Pierre continued to feed the horses as usual, and Mark continued to buy his groceries.

Nobody noticed this insignificant person.

……

In the Allied Forces' armory, there was a blacksmith named Hans.

He was a Roman, in his forties, burly, with a full beard.

Because of his skill and strength, he was highly respected in the armory.

If someone's knife is dull or their sword is chipped, they all come to Hansius.

During breaks from work, Hans liked to chat with the soldiers who came to repair weapons.

“Your English arrows are too soft; they bend at the slightest touch,” Hans said, tapping the anvil.

"Nonsense!" an English longbowman exclaimed, his face flushed. "Our longbows are the best in the world. Piercing your armor is child's play for us."

"Number one in the world?" Hans laughed heartily. "Back when we were fighting France, we still couldn't take them down, could we?"

“That’s…that’s…” The longbowman was immediately rendered speechless.

"What is that?" Hans blinked. "It just won't work."

The English longbowmen stormed off in a huff.

Hans continued to miss shots.

Noisy and chaotic, day after day.

But after each argument, Hans would secretly write down the names, unit numbers, and military units of those people.

English longbowmen, Frankish cavalry, Italian crossbowmen, Burgundian heavy infantry.

It's memorized, and no one will notice.

Every few days, this information would be delivered to a small church outside the city by an old man who collected scraps.

An old man, hunched over, pushed a broken cart around the Allied camp.

The old man collected scrap metal, rags, and all sorts of unwanted things.

No one paid attention to him, and no one knew that he passed by that little church every day.

The priest in the chapel was a kind-looking middle-aged man who spoke softly and was kind to everyone.

The priest also celebrated Mass for the Allied forces.

Every Sunday, soldiers come to the church for Mass.

They knelt on the bench, heads bowed, listening to the priest preach.

After Mass, they would confess to the priest.

"Father, I killed someone, will I go to hell?"

“Father, I miss home, I want to go back.”

"Father, can we really win?"

The priest always gently comforted them and gave them blessings.

But no one knew that their words would reach the places they were meant to go.

……

In the city of Rome, there lived an old woman who sold bread.

She was in her sixties, with a face full of wrinkles and gray hair, and had been selling bread on this street for twenty years.

She knew exactly which family's child liked sweets and which housewife preferred to buy large items.

The Allied officers also often came to her shop to buy bread.

Frankish, Holy Roman, Italian, English—they've all been here.

The old woman always smiled and gave them an extra one, saying, "Take it, it's hard being a soldier."

The officers thought the old woman was a nice person, and sometimes they would chat with her for a while.

"Why do you Franks love war so much?" the old woman asked as she wrapped bread.

A Frankish officer sighed, "It's not that we like it, it's that Charlie insists on fighting."

"So you don't want to fight?"

"Whether we want to or not, what can we do? If the higher-ups order us to fight, we have to fight."

The old woman nodded and continued kneading the dough.

In fact, her son had been working in the Imperial City Guard for eight years.

There are many people like this.

They were the eyes and ears of the Imperial City Guard in Europe, yearning for the paradise-like Central Plains and capital city.

Now they not only receive generous and continuous rewards, but the distant capital and the Central Plains have also become their spiritual home.

A bartender in his early twenties, a smooth talker and quick-witted man, who could chat with anyone.

A shoemaker in his fifties, who repairs shoes on the street, is skilled and well-liked.

A postman who delivers letters to nobles travels through the streets and alleys of Rome every day.

A woman washing clothes by the river could hear the gossip of other washerwomen every day.

They were scattered throughout Rome, in the allied camps, and in the kingdoms large and small.

No one would notice them because they were so ordinary that no one would suspect anything.

But what they did was something earth-shattering.

……

New conflicts arise every day in the Allied Forces' camp.

Today the Italians and Franks quarrel, tomorrow the English and Holy Romans hurl insults at each other, and the day after tomorrow the Hungarians and Poles fight over water.

Sometimes it's a verbal argument, sometimes it's a shoving match, and sometimes it's a knife fight.

Charles II was overwhelmed, dealing with more than a dozen disputes a day. "Investigate! Investigate! Who's stirring things up behind the scenes!"

But no matter how much I searched, I couldn't find anything.

Those who stir up trouble are all too ordinary.

It was so ordinary that nobody noticed it.

……

Constantinople.

Crown Prince Guo Wen of the Great Zhou Dynasty sat in his command tent, looking at the secret report sent by the Imperial City Guard, and almost burst out laughing.

The secret report was thick, more than a dozen pages long, detailing every conflict, argument, and clash within the Allied forces' camp.

And the names, code names, and missions of those spies.

"Brother, what's making you so happy?" Guo Wu asked.

Guo Wen handed him the secret report.

After reading it, Guo Wu laughed, "That's a ruthless move! Letting them fall into chaos on their own is more effective than us attacking them."

Guo Wen nodded. "Order all troops to continue resting. Tell the Imperial City Guard to put in even more effort and make the fire burn even brighter."

He stood up and walked to the map. "We'll make our move after they've calmed down enough."

Guo Zhi asked, "Brother, how long will it take?"

Guo Wen thought for a moment, "One month! Let's wait another month."

Guo Wu said, "Brother, what if they don't cause any trouble?"

Guo Wen laughed, "No way. Five hundred thousand people, dozens of countries, hundreds of nobles, thousands of different thoughts. Wouldn't it be chaotic? Impossible."

Outside the window, the sun is setting.

A new round of arguments began in the Allied Forces' camp.

...(End of this chapter)