Yizhou Island, central region.
Along the coast of the Mazhilin area.
A small village was currently fighting a desperate battle against the Dutch.
This village belonged to the Kingdom of Dadu.
The Kingdom of Dadu was a cross-tribal proto-kingdom formed by several indigenous groups of Yizhou. The Babura people, the Babuza, the Papora, and a portion of the Hoanya tribes had all gathered under one banner.
Their shared leader was called the King of Dadu.
Some people also called him the King of Daylight, or simply the Sun King.
The titles sounded extremely impressive.
Unfortunately, the kingdom itself was not.
Because the truth was painfully simple.
They were far too primitive.
The Kingdom of Dadu possessed almost no decent weapons. Most of their warriors still fought with sharpened wooden sticks, or heavy clubs made by tying stones to wooden poles.
Only a very small number of them possessed metal weapons, pieces that had been traded from the Dutch or obtained from Han Chinese settlers who had migrated to Yizhou.
And even those were rare.
With equipment like that, fighting the Dutch was practically hopeless.
In fact, the Dutch could not even be bothered to fight personally.
They sat leisurely at the rear of the battlefield, laughing and chatting while watching the fight unfold in front of them.
On the field itself, a group of African slave soldiers captured by the Dutch were battling the tribesmen with cold weapons.
The slaves were not particularly clever.
But their bodies were incredibly strong.
Life in Africa had been harsh for generations, and over countless years that brutal environment had produced people with extremely powerful physiques.
Even in this era, their physical strength surpassed most other races in the world.
Stronger bodies.
Better weapons.
Against the warriors of the Kingdom of Dadu, the outcome of the battle was almost predetermined.
The tribal warriors retreated step by step.
If one could even call them an army.
Soon the villagers were on the brink of collapse, facing the fate of being slaughtered where they stood.
Then suddenly, from the distant jungle, a loud roar erupted.
Another group of black-haired, dark-skinned islanders burst out of the forest and charged toward the battlefield.
The Dutch glanced at them and snorted with laughter.
"More natives?"
"Look at them. Torn clothes, primitive weapons."
"Send as many as you want. They are all just here to die."
But then someone noticed something strange.
Their weapons.
Something was wrong.
The man charging at the very front swung a gleaming steel blade.
Even from afar, the shine of the metal was unmistakable.
That was clearly high-quality forged steel.
He rushed straight toward an African slave soldier and shouted loudly before slashing down.
The slave reacted instinctively, raising his wooden spear to block.
A dull sound rang out.
The spear shaft split cleanly in half.
The slave's eyes widened in horror.
Before he could react, the blade flashed across his body.
Blood sprayed.
He collapsed instantly.
And that was not an isolated case.
The African soldiers soon realized with growing panic that this group of natives who had just emerged from the forest were all holding excellent weapons.
Some wielded finely forged steel sabers.
Some carried spears tipped with iron spearheads.
Others held wooden shields reinforced with iron plates.
One man even carried a Japanese katana.
These were weapons that should never have appeared in the hands of the indigenous tribes of Yizhou.
With these weapons, the new group of warriors joined the battle.
And in an instant, the situation on the battlefield changed.
The African soldiers no longer had the advantage in weapons.
As for physical strength, the difference was no longer so obvious.
After all, both sides came from fairly primitive cultures.
In close combat, primitive peoples often fought with terrifying ferocity.
Steel flashed.
Blades clashed.
The natives also had superior numbers.
Very soon the African slave soldiers began to collapse under the pressure.
The tribesmen of the Kingdom of Dadu, who had nearly been wiped out just moments ago, suddenly found themselves saved from disaster.
They shouted in excitement toward the newcomers.
"Thank you!"
"You saved us!"
"Where did you get that sword?"
One of the newcomers replied proudly.
"People from across the sea gave them to us. The ones who fly the five-colored banners."
"Oh! Them?"
"We have seen them too!"
"But we were afraid of them, so we never approached."
While the natives were celebrating happily, the African soldiers were in no mood for joy.
One slave, his arm severed, staggered back toward the Dutch officers, screaming loudly in an African dialect no one else understood.
Another pointed desperately at the excellent weapons in the natives' hands while shouting.
The scene quickly descended into chaos.
The slave soldiers were driven out of the village step by step.
A Dutch officer suddenly jumped to his feet.
"Arquebusiers, prepare!"
"Slaves, fall back!"
The moment the slaves heard the order for the musketeers to prepare, they panicked.
They knew their Dutch masters very well.
When the guns fired, the masters would not care in the slightest if the slaves were caught in the crossfire.
The slaves immediately threw themselves to the ground, rolling and scrambling in every direction.
A hundred Dutch soldiers quickly formed a firing line.
Gunshots exploded.
The smoothbore muskets were notoriously inaccurate. The bullets began drifting the moment they left the barrels.
Although one hundred soldiers fired simultaneously, only a handful of bullets actually flew toward the natives.
About a dozen islanders were hit and fell.
The casualties were not heavy.
But the warriors of the Kingdom of Dadu had long been traumatized by Dutch firearms.
The moment the Dutch muskets roared, panic spread through their ranks.
People screamed.
Some cried.
Others ran blindly.
Some jumped in fear.
The battlefield dissolved into chaos.
The momentum they had gained thanks to their superior weapons was rapidly collapsing again.
Just as the situation was about to break completely.
Suddenly, from the forest on the flank, another series of gunshots rang out.
Bang. Bang. Bang.
The natives were startled.
For a moment they thought more Dutch soldiers had arrived from the side.
But this time, the gunfire was not aimed at them.
It was aimed at the Dutch.
The musketeers who had just fired their volley collapsed almost instantly.
Several fell in the blink of an eye.
Then a figure leaped out from the forest.
A one-eyed man.
He laughed loudly.
"The great sea pirate Yao Xingjuan has arrived!"
The warriors of the Kingdom of Dadu had no idea what he was shouting.
But among the Dutch, there were people who understood Chinese.
Their faces changed immediately.
"The Ming pirate!"
"Damn it, that man again!"
"The one with the black pirate ship!"
"Return fire!"
"Hurry!"
The Dutch soldiers frantically began reloading their muskets.
But no matter how skilled they were, their speed could not match the firearms of Gao Family Village.
Before they could even finish loading their second shot.
Bang. Bang. Bang.
Another volley thundered out from the forest.
More Dutch musketeers collapsed instantly.
"Shit!"
The Dutch officer turned and roared at the slave soldiers.
"What are you waiting for?!"
"Charge into the forest!"
The slaves hesitated.
Their minds were not the sharpest.
But they still obeyed.
They began charging toward the forest.
Meanwhile, the Dutch officer quietly turned to the white soldiers beside him.
"Run."
"We retreat to the ships."
White men to the rear.
Black men to the front.
Heaven behind them.
Hell ahead.
At that moment, the paths of fate crossed.
Gunfire erupted once more from the forest.
The brave slave soldiers who had rushed forward were all cut down in an instant.
And the Dutch officer, together with the remaining white soldiers, ran as fast as they could.
In the blink of an eye, they vanished into the distance.