Medieval: Kingdom Come: Deliverance

Chapter 136 Attention from Many Parties

Meanwhile, among the members of the Kutenberg Council who supported Sigismund, von Olitz's defeat was also a cause for secret celebration.

City official Jerome Naz celebrates with several accomplices in his private study.

"Thank God, that Sigismund's lackey tried to spy on us, but he lost his soldiers and had no choice but to obediently run back to Prague!" Jerome couldn't hide his smile, his chubby cheeks glowing red.

"But we cannot rejoice too soon. Although the Prague people have been defeated, His Majesty Sigismund's Hungarian and Cuman allied forces are still stationed in Opatowicz," Executive Officer Andreas Plummer cautiously reminded. "Although that Prague hound von Olitz has run back to Prague to wag its tail and beg for mercy from its master, Count von Polgao, the Royal Steward, has remained, occupying Malesov Castle. There is no guarantee that they will not extend their reign of terror to our free city-state of Kutenberg."

Royal Mint Officer Vavank took a sip of wine and agreed, "God is my witness, I was personally appointed Mint Officer by His Majesty Sigismund, but I must say something fair: we, Kutenberg, are a free city and should not be supervised by soldiers, especially when those soldiers are the detestable Prague people."

"Why don't we rebuild an army that belongs to us, the people of Kutenberg? I think many people would be willing to contribute to this!"

"The armorer Nicholas Crandall advised."

"No, no, no, my friend. Most of our citizens are peace-loving miners, not sword-wielding warriors." Master weaver Tuchmach sighed and shook his head. "Have you forgotten that terrible siege a few months ago? His Majesty Sigismund led the Hungarians and Cumans in a storm that swept through Kutenberg, and that boastful, incompetent French commander, instead of relying on the strong walls for defense, led a night raid. As a result, our army was scattered like fallen leaves, and poor Russard's heir died on the battlefield."

"Ha, the Frenchman," the tavern owner Javier scoffed. "Who knows if he's really leading a surprise attack, or just trying to escape in the middle of the night?"

"We are the losers no matter what," said Prokop Eldris, the armorer, helplessly.

This sentence silenced everyone. They had originally intended to mock von Oliitz, but found themselves even more pathetic.

Outside the window, raindrops began to patter against the glass, as if foreshadowing the impending turmoil.

6 month 18 day.

When von Olitz returned to Prague in disarray and attempted to regroup his troops, news of his defeat spread throughout the capital.

The Prague militia was a militia composed of Prague vendors, workers, artisans, and minor nobles. For Prague, a city of 50,000 citizens, the loss of 500 militiamen, while not crippling, still caused a great uproar.

As von Olitz walked the streets of Prague towards the King's Castle, he was met with angry jeers and insults from the citizens everywhere. Even his usually stern, bald face showed signs of strain. "Did I want to lose? That red-haired Peter was too cunning! I still can't quite understand how I was defeated in just one day!"

With a heavy heart, von Olitz entered the luxurious council chamber of Prague Royal Castle, recounted the events to His Majesty Sigismund and the most distinguished members of the Bohemian noble alliance, and requested that troops be organized again to launch a punitive expedition.

The Rosenberg family representative was the first to speak: "Gentlemen, everyone has heard General Olitz's defeat speech," old Rosenberg's voice was filled with undisguised sarcasm, "Our valiant Lord von Olitz, leading five hundred elite Prague soldiers, was utterly routed by a thief baron, and now he's coming to seek comfort from his mother like a pitiful child!"

The nobles burst into laughter. They wouldn't miss any opportunity to mock Olitz, who held military power. If they could seize him, all the better. This would give their noble alliance an advantage in their dealings with Sigismundra.

A member of the Hornstein family chimed in, "This is a disgrace to our noble class! If even thieves can so easily defeat the king's army, what is the point of our king's authority?"

Snickers rippled through the room once again.

Von Olitz stood in the center of the hall, his face ashen, his knuckles white from clenching his fists. He could feel the contemptuous looks those who had once fawned over him were now giving him.

On his throne, King Sigismund listened lazily to the arguing of these people, growing increasingly impatient. Without the old man von Polgao's mediation, every meeting of the nobles turned into a noisy, chaotic marketplace, much to his annoyance.

He sensed that this critique of von Olitz and the debate over whether to re-enlist would be fruitless, even if it dragged on from morning till night.

But he couldn't recall von Polgao. Kutenberg, as a royal city and an important silver mining center, was the wealth center of Bohemia. The situation there was no simpler than that in Prague, and it required someone like von Polgao, who was good at coordination, to handle it.

However, this defeat greatly diminished the prestige of von Polgár and von Olitz, which in turn affected their own prestige.

"Completely wiped out?" Sigismund raised an eyebrow, then thought of the guy who had caused him so much trouble.

He stood up, walked to the window, and looked out. The bright sunlight gilded the city with a golden hue, but it couldn't illuminate his gloomy mood.

"That red-haired Peter..." Sigismund muttered to himself, "He could never be Wenceslaus's son! How could my incompetent brother have fathered such a brave and courageous descendant?"

Twenty miles northwest of Prague, far from the political turmoil of Seydrec Castle, Count Wojtek Seydrec is having lunch with his only son, George Seydrec. Sunlight streams through the windows, casting slant shadows on the portraits of past Seydrec family members on the walls.

The old count was over seventy years old, his silver hair neatly combed, deep wrinkles etched with the marks of countless trials he had endured. His hand trembled slightly as he picked up the parchment on the table, which detailed Peter's victories at Trostich.

"Father, do you really think..." The middle-aged heir hesitated, his face strikingly similar to that of the old count in his youth, only lacking some of the fortitude and possessing more of a volatile temper.

"Yes, I'm sure," the old count's voice was low and hoarse, "but I never imagined he would display such military talent at such a young age?"

His gaze involuntarily drifted northward, his thoughts returning to that winter nineteen years ago.

He would always remember the biting cold wind that day, the baby's loud cries, how his daughter Selena named the child Peter after giving birth, exhausted yet joyful, and the tearing pain in his heart when his daughter died.

"I originally thought that deliberately distancing myself from him would keep him away from the center of power and allow him to live an ordinary life, which would be the best protection for him," the old count said with deep regret. "But now it seems that the blood in his veins is destined to shine on the battlefield."

George asked worriedly, "But now all the surrounding lords are coveting Trossky. Can he withstand them?"

A sharp glint suddenly flashed in the old count's eyes: "It's time. My son, tomorrow you will lead a troop of cavalry north to Troski under the pretext of purchasing marble."

"But Father, won't this arouse Sigismund's suspicion?"

"Let Sigismund have his doubts!" ​​The old count suddenly straightened his back, as if the brave Seidletz of the past had returned. "That boy has proven his worth. Now, it's time for the family to stand behind him."

And at this time, Trossky...

Peter was unaware that he had become the focus of attention for various forces, and he was busy with the construction and defense of his territory.

After the first rain of the summer rainy season, the two wooden fortresses outside Lion Canyon were finally completed.

Peter gathered all the Lion Guard members and stood in the castle, filled with the scent of pine wood, nodding with delight.

Climbing to the highest arrow tower of the fortress, he could see the entire canyon: tents and wooden houses scattered throughout the valley floor, with wisps of smoke rising from their chimneys; on the hillsides on both sides, two newly built fortresses stood like two nails, firmly wedged into the earth; further away, the cultivated fields gleamed brown in the summer sun, and figures were busy working on the ridges between the fields.

The fortress was smaller than originally planned, but more sturdy. The walls were constructed of double-layered logs, filled with rammed earth and rubble; an ordinary axe could only leave shallow marks. Four arrow towers stood in the corners, each capable of holding three archers, their firing ports cleverly designed to cover all routes approaching the walls. In the center of the courtyard was a well, its opening sealed with a newly made wooden cap; on one side was a storage room, already stocked with some food and weapons; on the other side were barracks, simple but at least providing shelter from the wind and rain.

"From today onwards, each fortress will be permanently garrisoned by fifteen people."

Peter's voice echoed through the wooden walls, "East Fortress will be under Ace's command, and West Fortress under Klaus's command. The garrison will rotate every seven days. Next time, Carter and Conrad will take over. Your duties during your garrison period are: vigilance, training, and maintaining the fortifications. If enemy troops are spotted, immediately light a signal fire—use wet firewood to create thick smoke during the day and dry firewood to start a fire at night. Do not engage in battle; your task is to delay and relay messages."

Peter walked to the well and patted the wooden cover over the wellhead: "There's enough water to drink for a month. There's enough food for twenty days, but if we're careful, it can last a month. Each person will be issued sixty arrows and three crossbows."

"Save arrows," added Carter the tomcat, who was unusually wearing a full set of leather armor today. "We use training arrows during practice, but in a real battle, we have to aim carefully before releasing each arrow."

People spoke in hushed tones, examining every detail of the fortress. Klaus was testing the gate—it was made of three layers of thick oak planks, covered with an outer layer of iron, and required two strong men to push it open or close it.

"This door can stop a hammer," Klaus said, unusually satisfied. "At least for a while."

Ace squatted in the corner and picked at the soil filling the cracks in the wood with his fingers: "Next spring, we can plant some ivy or other vines here to make the wall look older and less conspicuous."

"You still want to beautify the environment?"

"Thinking about how to live longer."

Ace stood up, dusted off his hands, and said, "The more inconspicuous the fortress, the more likely the enemy is to underestimate it. Those who underestimate their enemies are prone to making mistakes."

At noon, everyone gathered in the open space in the center of the camp at the canyon entrance. A large pot of wild vegetable stew with meat was cooked, and bread was unlimited. People sat around the campfire, holding wooden bowls, their conversations and laughter echoing through the canyon.

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