Medieval: Kingdom Come: Deliverance

The setting sun, like blood, bathed the towering towers of Trossky Castle in a golden-red hue. Along the winding dirt road, a silent and menacing army slowly advanced.

At the head of the procession, Peter Griffin rode his magnificent warhorse, clad in his signature scarlet griffin cloak, though his armor had been replaced with the gleaming suit of armor captured from the young lord of Borgo. He wore no helmet; his short red hair fluttered in the evening breeze, revealing a smooth forehead and handsome face. His back was ramrod straight, like an unyielding lance, but his face held no post-victory arrogance, only a deep, profound calm that seemed to bear the weight of the entire territory.

Behind him stood sixty Griffin Guards, as imposing as iron towers. Their heavy armor was covered with scratches and dents from battle; the bloodstains had been roughly wiped away, yet they still exuded a strong, pungent stench of blood and rust. Their steps were perfectly synchronized; the heavy soles of their boots pounded on the dry earth with a dull "thump...thump...thump..." sound, like the heartbeat of a giant, striking the chest of every onlooker.

Behind them were three hundred militiamen. They were poorly equipped with spears and flails, and clad in blood-stained cloth and chainmail. But in each of their eyes burned an unprecedented light—the dignity forged in the crucible of blood and fire, and an unwavering trust in the figure ahead.

"They're here! They're back!"

Someone shouted at the village entrance, and like cold water being poured into a boiling oil pan, the entire village of Troski instantly erupted in excitement.

Villagers poured out of their simple houses—men, women, the elderly, and children—like a flood bursting its banks, surging towards both sides of the road. Their eyes eagerly searched the marching procession, and soon, shouts of joy rose and fell.

"Look! It's my family's Pitt! He's still alive!"

"Daddy! Daddy's here!"

"Thank God, Mr. Peter has brought our son back!"

This is a miracle. The group includes their sons, fathers, husbands, and neighbors. Just a week ago, they were a group of timid farmers, grooms, and laborers; now they return as victors.

Their loved ones crowded forward, trembling as they touched the soldiers' blood-stained uniforms, tears mingling with laughter, streaming down their weathered faces. This was an army truly composed of civilians; their victory was the victory of every civilian.

Not only Troski village, but also people from several surrounding villages came to watch and welcome them, because these militiamen came from various places such as Griffin Camp, Draviko village, Zheleyov village, Takhov village, Apolonia village, and Semi village.

Among the crowd, even the two bards who frequented the coachmen's post stations—the portly Michael and his partner George—had already found their spots. George strummed the strings of his lute, while Michael, with his booming voice, sang a song he had spontaneously composed, "The Song of Victory":

Red Griffin, oh Red Griffin, your talons tear through the night!

Your sword is the edge of justice;

Your shield represents the wishes of the people!

Oh ho~ Oh ho~

You drove away the greedy count;

You have broken the heavy chains!

Under the sky of Trossky, the winds of freedom blow!

The lyrics were simple, straightforward, even somewhat vulgar, yet they perfectly captured the feelings of everyone present. A burst of good-natured laughter and even more enthusiastic cheers erupted from the crowd. Several bold village girls tossed woven flower garlands to Peter on horseback, their cheeks flushed, their eyes sparkling with undisguised adoration and worship. He was not only strong and handsome, but more importantly, he brought peace and unprecedented hope to their fathers and brothers.

"What a handsome man!"

"A mighty knight!"

Peter nodded slightly. You see, this "handsome man's" talent has just been acquired and it's already starting to take effect.

He warmly greeted the crowds lining both sides of the road. His gaze swept over their excited faces, and his heart surged with emotion. He saw not only support, but also a heavy responsibility. This cheering, this trusting gaze, was stronger than the walls of any castle, and sharper than any sword. To protect them was to protect the very foundation of his power.

The last rays of the setting sun, like a spotlight on a stage, shone precisely on Peter and the red griffin banner fluttering in the wind behind him. They crossed the sea of ​​cheers and headed towards the castle, which had changed hands. The castle gates opened wide, like a giant beast meekly opening its heart to welcome its true master.

"My lord! Welcome to your Troskii Castle!"

Old Brother Martin, young Semiodda, intelligence team leader Jerry the Rat, intelligence team members Vashek, Mikhail, Barbara, Thomas's sister Diana, and others greeted them at the door.

"Thank you for your hard work, everyone."

Peter laughed as he dismounted. Behind him, Carter the Tomcat, Conrad the Lone Wolf, Henry, Goodwin, Jessica, and others also dismounted and walked together, leading their horses up the winding road.

"Sir, is this your first time visiting the castle? Let me introduce you to the place..." Oda enthusiastically introduced the scenery along the way and the composition of the people in the castle.

Troski Castle is built on a prominent rocky mountain composed of ancient basalt, with a fortress on each of the east and west summits, blending perfectly into the rock.

The castle is divided into three layers: the outer perimeter, the outer fortress, and the inner fortress. The outermost perimeter has towers, barracks, and labor camps; after spiraling up to enter the outer fortress, there are stables, blacksmith shops, granaries, and soldiers' training grounds; continuing forward into the inner fortress, there are two tall towers, one for a young girl and one for an old woman, connected by a corridor.

The priest, the blacksmith Osina, the cook Mainta, the bathhouse owner, the stable boy, the servants, and others waited respectfully in the courtyard. Now that the castle had changed hands, they too were anxiously unsure of their own fate.

Peter waved them away without making any major changes, only instructing Jerry to conduct another round of checks, and those who passed could remain.

"Victory without celebration cannot illuminate the land. Issue the order: tomorrow night, a grand bonfire party will be held in the central square of Troski village, with free wine and food. Everyone from the entire territory is invited!"

"Yes, sir."

the next day.

Peter ordered a victory feast for everyone, and the order spread like wildfire throughout the territory: Griffin Camp, Dravico Village, Zheleyov Village, Takhov Village, Apolonia Village, Semi Castle, Nebakov Castle, Shdir Western Farm, the two mills... People from all directions gathered here as if on a pilgrimage.

The packhorses that died in battle were butchered; barrels of cheese, dried meat, flour, and honey stored in Trossky Castle were moved out; Peter funded the purchase of almost all the wine stored in the cellars of the three taverns within the territory; and a large number of cooks, organized by the logistics team, set up a centralized kitchen in the street...

In the open space in the center of the village, dozens of makeshift grills sizzled as whole horse legs and pork ribs roasted, golden fat dripping into the fire and bursting into enticing bursts of flame and a rich, smoky aroma. Meanwhile, stew simmered in large pots, the fragrance of onions, cabbage, and chunks of meat mingling with the richness of ale, creating a vibrant, primal scene of celebration.

Barrels of treasured ale and wine were carried out and piled up like small mountains in the square.

"Tonight, there is no distinction between lord and peasant! Only victors and brothers!"

However, in the heart of this sea of ​​joy, a discordant shadow quietly rose—the gallows, made of rough wood, cast a twisted and grotesque shadow in the flickering firelight.

It stands in stark contrast to the bonfires and laughter in the square, silently reminding everyone that feast and judgment, reward and punishment, new life and death will all unfold together on this night.