Medieval: Kingdom Come: Deliverance

Chapter 148 Psychological Games

As the door to the command room was pushed open, a gust of wind carrying the smells of damp wood, old sheepskin, and metal rushed into the room.

Peter turned around, his gaze calmly landing on the two people who had entered.

Istvan and Eric stood in the doorway, raindrops dripping from them and spreading dark stains on the gleaming wooden floor. Istvan appeared more hunched over than he remembered, his once meticulously styled hair now plastered to his forehead, streaked with a few glaring gray strands; Eric, on the other hand, was like a fully drawn bow, his muscles taut, his eyes scanning every corner of the room with a vigilant gaze—the instinct of a swordsman, seeking out potential threats even when unarmed.

Peter observed them closely.

Istvan's fingertips trembled slightly, but he deliberately hid them behind his back to try and hide it; his chin was slightly raised, trying to maintain his dignity, but his flickering eyes betrayed his inner unease.

Eric was more direct; his right hand unconsciously clenched as if searching for a non-existent sword hilt, his Adam's apple bobbing occasionally, revealing his tension and vigilance.

People really do need to experience the harsh realities of society before they truly understand life.

István Toth

Peter's voice broke the silence, his tone steady, "I heard you have something important to report to me?"

He walked slowly to the head seat and sat down, his movements unhurried. The guards silently closed the door, shutting out the noise of the rain, and stood by the door with their swords drawn. But these actions added some psychological pressure to Istvan and Eric.

For a fleeting moment, Eric even considered taking Peter hostage and escaping the camp, but he quickly dismissed the thought. Every morning when the prisoners went to work, they would see Peter practicing his sword at the door. His bearing and the power to cut through the air made Eric realize that he was no match for him.

Peter was also pondering the value of the two men.

Undoubtedly, these two were dangerous double-edged swords. Istvan's cunning had shaken the entire region of Rattay: the destruction of Skarlitz was due to Istvan's advance infiltration, which allowed him to ascertain the garrison's deployment and the location of the granaries; the counterfeit currency case nearly overturned Bohemia's economic order; and the attack on Talmuburg almost allowed him to gain a foothold and dismantle the royalist alliance. He was a true viper, adept at launching fatal attacks from the most unexpected angles.

But it was this failure of the venomous snake that showed Peter the possibility of taming it.

István was too clever, so clever that he couldn't bear to have his wisdom buried; he was too proud, so proud that he would rather bow to the enemy than rot in the mud. But Eric—Peter's gaze turned to the young warrior. He was a pure weapon, devoid of right and wrong, driven only by the instinct to repay kindness. Used well, he could be a sharp blade piercing the enemy's heart; used poorly, he would wound himself.

Kill them? It would certainly eliminate the threat forever, but it would be too wasteful—such minds are a scarce resource throughout Bohemia.

Letting them go would be tantamount to releasing a tiger back into the mountains.

So the only way out is to tame him. But before taming him, you must first shatter his unrealistic fantasies. Make him understand that surrendering to you is his only way out, his last hope.

As Peter pondered, Istvan stepped forward, his voice slightly hoarse with nervousness.

"Lord Peter, I have observed military movements in the territory, and it seems you are launching another military operation."

"I—" He paused, as if choosing his words carefully, "Eric and I hope to serve you."

Peter did not respond immediately.

He picked up the wooden cup on the table and took a sip of mead. The sweet liquid slid down his throat, bringing a pleasant sensation. This mead was the territory's newest specialty. It was made from high-quality honey from the beekeeping house at the bottom of the valley west of the Lower Semi Mill, combined with improvements made by the tavern owner, Betty, based on the recipe. What might be just a uniquely flavored sweet wine to others was a miraculous drink for Peter, capable of restoring health and energy.

Outside the window, a bolt of lightning flashed across the sky, briefly illuminating Istvan's pale face. In that instant, Peter saw the calculation hidden deep in his eyes; this venomous snake had not completely given up its intention to bite.

"Effectiveness?"

Peter gently set down his cup, the bottom of which made a crisp sound as it struck the wooden table. "Istvan, you're a smart man. But the biggest mistake smart men make is overestimating their own worth."

He stood up and walked over to the two men. "Tell me," he said, "when von Polgar offered to pay nine years' worth of ransom for his son, did he mention your name? Did Sigismund send even a single messenger after your capture?"

Istvan's body stiffened visibly. His lips parted slightly, but no sound came out. Memories that had been deliberately suppressed surged forth like a tide—the days he waited for rescue in the darkness, the pleas for help that went unanswered, the ignored loyalty—a bead of sweat slid down his temple.

"I didn't—" Istvan's voice wavered for the first time, "I didn't expect—"

"You've got it," Peter interrupted him, his tone still calm but carrying an undeniable force. "You just don't want to admit it—to Sigismund, you're just a worn-out tool; to the Borgo family, you're just a troublesome ally."

He stopped in front of Istvan, his gaze piercing. "Right now, you have no land, no title, no ransom value. Your only asset is that still-functioning mind—provided it's actually useful."

The starting point of PUA tactics is to belittle the opponent to the point of worthlessness, making them doubt their own value and thus put them in a weak position.

Eric couldn't help but speak up: "But we have the ability! I can fight for you, and Godfather can advise you!" The young man's voice trembled with excitement, his fists clenched so tightly that his knuckles turned white.

Peter turned to Eric. Dealing with such a simple-minded warrior couldn't be done like the torment and suppression of a complex strategist; instead, it had to be like coaxing a child. His gaze softened slightly: "I believe in your abilities, Eric. But strength needs direction, and loyalty needs an object."

He took out two wooden cups, poured two cups of mead from the earthenware pot, and gave one to Eric first. Eric hesitated for a moment, glanced at his godfather, but still accepted it. Then Peter gave the second cup to Istvan, who was still feeling lost.

This differential treatment made István's thoughts even more complicated.

"Let's raise a glass and drink! To moisten our throats."

Peter sat back down and raised his glass to the two men. Istvan and Eric, completely led by Peter, also raised their glasses and took a sip. The sweetness filled their mouths, the alcohol warmed their stomachs, and a feeling of happiness welled up inside them. The bliss of this high-end drink, which they hadn't tasted in a long time, almost brought them to tears.

After finishing their drink, the two were still somewhat reluctant to stop.

Peter set down his wooden cup and took a roll of parchment from a drawer. "This is the Ten Points System of Trossky Territory—here, no one is born noble. Farmers can acquire land through military merit, and soldiers can earn titles for bravery. Even you," his gaze shifted between the two men, "can obtain the same opportunities if you are truly loyal."

Istvan's fingers trembled slightly as he received the parchment. His gaze quickly swept over the terms—soldiers were awarded military merit according to their actions: killing the enemy, charging into battle, being the first to scale the walls, capturing the flag, and beheading the general. Killing one armored soldier earned 1 point; capturing one armored soldier earned 2 points. Being the vanguard in a battle earned 4 points; being the first to scale the walls earned 6 points. Capturing an enemy flag earned 8 points; beheading or capturing an enemy general earned 10 points. Corresponding merits were rewarded with corresponding benefits, including fiefdoms, lands, and titles.

—The more he read, the more rapid his breathing became. This system had overturned his understanding! There was no distinction between nobles and commoners, only naked merit and reward. At that moment, he seemed to hear the sound of the old world's foundation crumbling.

"This—this is insane—" Istvan murmured. "You are declaring war on all traditional nobles."

"No."

Peter shook his head. "I am building a new world. In a world where a person's worth is not based on birth, but on contribution; not on bloodline, but on merit." His voice carried an almost religious conviction. "And now, you have the opportunity to become a part of this world."

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