Medieval: Kingdom Come: Deliverance

Chapter 135 Impact Diffusion

6 month 16 day.

Summer rains have increased, beginning to ravage the Bohemian hills. Dark clouds gather, and the wind swirls and falls, much like the ceaseless power struggles on this land. News of the change of ownership of the Trotsky Territory spread like wildfire among the nobles, igniting three pairs of greedy eyes.

In the tower of Itchin Castle on the east side, Lord Pesen Yuf was tracing the location of Trossky on the map with his short, fat fingers. He was a stout man around fifty years old, with a round face and a neatly trimmed mustache, resembling a well-groomed hamster. His small eyes, sunken deep in his fat, gleamed with shrewdness, and his silk robe clung tightly to his bloated body, making him slightly breathless with each step.

"My great-grandmother was a daughter of the Seidleitz family," he muttered to himself, his voice shrill like a mouse's squeak. "By blood, I am more entitled to inherit the Trostsky mantle than that thief!"

A sudden gust of wind swept in from outside, rattling the tower windows and letting in some dampness. Persson frowned in annoyance, his inner turmoil as intense as the unexpected gust—he had long coveted the fertile valleys of Trossky, and now his opportunity had finally arrived.

Meanwhile, at Turnov Castle on the west side, Karel Turnov was pacing irritably in the council chamber. The lord, in his prime, was tall and imposing, a gruesome scar running from his left forehead to his chin, making his already rugged face even more menacing. Even within his own castle, he preferred to wear plate armor, as if always ready for battle.

"That red-haired bastard!" He slammed his fist on the oak table, making his wine glass rattle. "A thief doesn't deserve such fertile land! That old good-for-nothing von Polgao still owes me ten thousand Groschens from when he bought Troski Castle, and that debt should be settled with Troski now!"

Meanwhile, in Rowenburg to the southwest, Lord Ize Rowen appeared much calmer. This nearly sixty-year-old nobleman was thin, his gray hair meticulously combed, and his deep-set eyes held a pair of raven-like grey eyes. He stood by the window, gazing in Trossky's direction, his fingers lightly tapping the windowsill.

"Our Rowan family and the Nebakov family both belong to the Raven lineage," he whispered to the scribe beside him. "As a relative, I have a right of inheritance to Nebakov Castle. Since the old man lost the castle himself, according to tradition, our Rowan family can directly inherit it."

In reality, this so-called "tradition" is nothing more than an excuse for relatives to fight over inheritance. But in this chaotic situation, any excuse can become a reason to send troops.

Dark clouds gathered on the horizon, a storm was brewing. The three lords, without prior agreement, had their scribes pick up quills and begin writing letters to their neighbors. They all understood that confronting the red-haired Peter, who could defeat von Polgár and von Olitz, alone was too dangerous, but the combined might of three hungry wolves was enough to tear apart even the fiercest prey.

"It is time to hold a meeting," Paissen wrote in a letter to the other two lords, "for our common good."

Senitz Castle, 40 miles south of Trossky.

Lord Seinitz Rosenberg is writing furiously.

Seinitz Rosenberg, a middle-aged lord in his early forties, possessed the Rosenberg family's signature dark brown curls and an overly broad forehead. His smile always lingered perfectly at the corners of his mouth, rarely reaching his calculating eyes. At this moment, he was writing a letter to Henry III, the patriarch of the Rosenberg family.

Last night, Count von Polgau and von Olitz fled into his castle under the protection of thirty cavalrymen.

Out of aristocratic courtesy, Seinitz warmly received them and also learned a startling piece of news from them—Itrostsky had fallen and was being occupied by a bandit baron known as Red-haired Peter.

Upon hearing the news, Seinitz Rosenberg was so happy he almost jumped for joy, but he showed a regretful expression, as if he were his closest old friend.

"My dear Count, please don't be too sad," Senetz's voice was gentle and pleasant. "At Senetz Castle, you will always be my most honored guest."

von Polgao forced a smile, his wine glass trembling slightly. The defeated old count seemed to have aged ten years overnight, his eyes puffy and his gaze dull. Beside him sat von Olitz, his face grim, silently cutting the roast meat on his plate—this Prague nobleman had never suffered such humiliation.

After the banquet, early the next morning, von Polgár and von Olitz set off again, continuing their southward journey to Kutenberg.

After seeing them off, the amiable smile on Seinitz's face vanished instantly, replaced by undisguised greed.

He immediately wrote a secret letter to his Rosenberg family, who were serving as the Earl of Prague in the capital. His pen flew across the parchment: "...Trowski is far wealthier than we imagined; its territory is three times the size of Seinitz's. Although the family's roots are in the south, they should also establish a presence in the north as soon as possible. Now that von Polgao has lost all his vassals and is desperate, it is the perfect opportunity for us to acquire his claims at a low price. I estimate that only 50,000 Groschens will be enough to get that old fool to sign and seal the agreement..."

After finishing writing, Seinitz gently shook the silver bell on the table, and a small, thin servant appeared silently in the doorway.

"Send the messenger immediately, day and night," Senitz sealed the wax seal, a cold smile playing on his lips. "Tell the family that if we don't act quickly, that piece of fat meat will be divided up by the wolves of the north."

6 month 17 day.

von Polgár and von Olitz arrived in Kutenberg. But news of their defeat spread rapidly through Kutenberg's noble circles, becoming the most amusing and popular topic of conversation.

That night.

In the banquet hall of Laboch Castle, where nobles opposed to Sigismund's rule often gathered, laughter and jeers rose and fell. Boseck, the head of the Kustatt family, known for his sharp tongue, raised his glass and loudly proclaimed, "My dear friends, let's drink to that old dog von Polgao! He not only lost his territory, but also the reinforcements Sigismund sent!" His chest trembled with laughter, and his fleshy face was piled up, making him look old and ugly.

Kutenberg parliamentarian Hamann Alder chimed in: "I've said it before, siding with Sigismund will not end well. God is just!"

"You're right, God has done us some justice through that red-haired Peter." Sir Rutherford, whose son had died while resisting the invasion of the Sigismund army, took a hearty gulp of wine.

Just then, the banquet hall door opened, and John of Liechtenstein walked in. This diplomat, known for his wisdom, took off his rain-soaked coat and found a seat at the table.

Lord Martin Odrin, the castle's lord, this serious and silent man, offered him a glass of red wine.

"You're talking about that red-haired Peter?" John took the mulled wine offered to him, his eyes gleaming with interest. "I think someone who can defeat two experienced noble generals in a row is no ordinary person."

Sir Aldrin's son, young Christopher, agreed, "I also think he's very capable. He seems younger than me, yet he possesses such skill. Mr. John, you have the best connections; do you know his background?"

"According to my intelligence network, he is an illegitimate child." John raised his glass to Christopher.

"An illegitimate child?" Christopher became even more curious.

"The illegitimate son of the unmarried daughter of the Count of Prague, he is known as Peter the Red because of his striking red hair," John explained.

"Oh, so it was him."

Everyone nodded in agreement. Count Seidleitz was an old nobleman who was far more illustrious than these new nobles. The scandal from back then was the most popular anecdote in noble circles.

"But why would he seize Trostsky? Did Count Seydletz regret selling the castle?"

"No way, the Seidletz family has a very good reputation."

"Who knows? Everyone's having a tough time right now. The Seidlec family are staunch supporters of His Majesty Wenceslaus IV, and they're reportedly being targeted by Sigismund, who's based in Prague."

"If it were me, I would also retaliate angrily. Don't underestimate the power and resources of a centuries-old family! Perhaps the actions against Sigismund's loyal henchman, von Polgao, are the Seydletz family's counterattack!"

In a corner of the banquet hall, the young widow Anna listened quietly to the discussions. This noblewoman, barely twenty years old, possessed stunning beauty—her long, golden hair flowed like honey, her azure eyes resembled the Danube, and her slender figure was even more captivating in her deep blue velvet gown. She took a small sip of wine and said to the young girl beside her, "We may be wealthy, but we lack a true protector." Her gaze drifted involuntarily northward, towards Trostsky's direction. "And that red-haired Peter is exceptionally brave..."

Her voice was soft, yet it resonated with several people. In this turbulent era, a strong and upright protector was more desirable than any gold or jewels.

Seeing the widow Anna praising someone else, the fifty-year-old Borsek was instantly consumed by jealousy. He scoffed disdainfully, "He's just a bastard who's fallen into thieving descent. We are nobles; do we need someone like that to protect us?"

John gently swirled his wine glass, a meaningful smile playing on his lips. "My dear Borseck, speaking of the thief baron... that drunkard Heinicke, who was arrested yesterday for his heinous crimes in the Coutenburg region, seems to be your cousin?"

The crowd erupted in even louder laughter. Boshock's face turned from red to pale, his lips trembling, but he couldn't utter a word. This was indeed a stain on their family; who could have imagined that the incredibly wealthy Kustatt family would produce a bandit? It was utterly disgraceful to their clan!

!