Medieval: Kingdom Come: Deliverance

Chapter 153 A Surprise Attack in the Rain

Itchin, located east of Troski, was founded in the mid-13th century and served as an outpost fortress against Polish invasion.

The castle is known for its sturdy basalt walls and is surrounded by fertile black soil plains that produce grapes, wheat, barley, and hops.

The hilly areas on the outskirts of the city are covered with orchards, with apples, pears, and cherries blooming everywhere. Every year, caravans from Poland and Brandenburg bring cashmere, furs, and spices in exchange for local agricultural products, wine, and fruit wine.

The annual income of the Itchin territory is approximately 8000 Grossens, with half coming from agricultural taxes and market duties, and the other half from his vineyards, orchards, and wineries. However, recent kingdom wars and border conflicts have cast a shadow over the castle's glory, and his territory has seen a surge in vagrants and bandits, with some even attacking his wineries and robbing his merchants, significantly reducing his income.

Therefore, he longed to re-establish his lordly authority through a war, to show those lowly people that he, Baron Persson Euphemia, was still the same manly man, the brave and good knight on the battlefield!

Baron Persson Euphemia touched his pumpkin-like belly and nestled in a high-backed chair with velvet cushions, thinking to himself.

He was around fifty years old, with a round face and a neatly trimmed mustache, resembling a well-groomed hamster. His plump fingers traced the engraved patterns on a silver goblet. He imagined the scene after Trostsky was divided up:

He seemed to see himself wearing a mink robe adorned with pearls, receiving the flattery of the lords around him at a banquet; he saw the emaciated bandits kneeling before him begging for mercy, but he righteously refused, and then hanged them one by one to demonstrate his authority.

His territory would gain a vast plain, with an annual income exceeding 10000 Grossens, enough to expand his castle with another winery. He had even begun to plan how to transform the newly acquired farm into vineyards and produce the finest wines in Bohemia.

"When that time comes," he murmured, a smile involuntarily creeping onto his lips, "I will raise the Golden Cup flag atop the castle tower, so that everyone will know that the Euphrates family is no longer a nobody in the North, but a wealthy and noble family."

His small eyes, sunken into his fat, gleamed with greed, and his bloated body trembled slightly with excitement beneath his silk robe. To secure victory in the battle, he had even hired a hundred-strong German mercenary group at a high price, waiting only for the rain to stop so that he could set off for Trotsky tomorrow or the day after and achieve his goal.

The rain outside the window grew heavier, as if applauding his dream.

Around four o'clock in the afternoon. The rain was still falling incessantly, soaking the whole world in a hazy mist.

Five tall horses slowly made their way along the muddy road, followed by twenty two-horse-drawn carriages. The riders, draped in black hooded tunics, were soaking wet. Yet they held aloft a well-preserved parchment scroll—the royal seal on it was still clearly visible even in the dim light.

"Open the gate! We are the king's messengers! We bring the king's decree." A loud voice from horseback pierced through the rain, carrying an undeniable authority.

The castle guard squinted, barely making out the parchment held aloft by the man at the head of the procession through the rain. After carrying the parchment up to the tower in a basket, he didn't dare delay and hurriedly went to report to the Baron.

Baron Persson hurriedly straightened his robes, his fat fingers moving erratically from nervousness.

"Quick! Open the door!" he shouted at the guards, his sunken eyes darting around in his fleshy pockets as he calculated how to please these unexpected guests. It seemed as if making them wait even a moment longer in the rain would be a grave breach of etiquette.

He didn't even consider the authenticity of the edict. Who would dare impersonate the king's messenger? They had a royal edict, a parchment edict written in Latin; how could it be fake?

The heavy oak city gates creaked open with the winch. Five knights simultaneously dismounted. Their movements were perfectly synchronized, as if they had practiced a thousand times. The moment the hoods were pulled back, Baron Paissen saw not the expected polite courtiers, but five cold, iron-like faces.

It was Peter, Black Bartosh, Tomcat Carter, and Lone Wolf Conrad, four sword masters, along with Jerry, the intelligence team leader who met them halfway.

They walked inside without saying a word, followed by twenty large trucks that filed in.

"Your Excellency, what are these carriages of yours?" Baron Persson also sensed something was amiss and asked Peter blankly.

Peter did not answer him, but simply grabbed Baron Persson's obese body with one hand and threw him into the mud behind him.

"kill!"

Peter's roar echoed in the rain, like a lion awakening. His longsword drew from its sheath in a silver arc, raindrops bursting into tiny droplets on the blade as he felled a castle guard before him.

The battle erupted instantly.

Tomcat Carter sidestepped the guard's thrusting spear, then unleashed "Rage Strike," one of Rosen's four signature moves. The blade cleaved through the rain, whistling through the air, and struck the guard precisely in the face. Blood gushed out, drawing a glaring red line in the gloomy rain.

"Hold the city gates!"

Lone Wolf Conrad roared, his longsword drawing a perfect semicircle, forcing back two charging guards. His swordsmanship was concise yet deadly, each swing executed with the precision of muscle memory.

From the caravan at the rear, eighty heavily armored Lion Guards surged forth like a tide. Their heavy iron boots clattered on the slippery stone slabs with a chilling sound. Rainwater streamed down their armor, forming a flowing film of water on its surface.

The castle guards were caught off guard and were powerless to resist the warriors' attack. The city gates quickly fell to the enemy.

The baron's obese body trembled violently, his silk robe soaked with rain and mud, clinging tightly to his bloated frame, while Peter's sword tip was already pointed straight at his throat.

"No...don't kill me..." His voice trembled with fear, sounding as helpless as a hamster being choked by a cat.

Ace the Hound burst in from the side, unleashing a "Knee-Breaking Strike" with his longsword. A guard who tried to resist screamed and fell to his knees. Ace followed up with a "Hoop Strike," and the guard collapsed limply to the ground.

"Charge into the city and take control of those mercenaries!"

After capturing Paison, Peter led his men straight to the inner castle without hesitation. They encountered Jerry on the way and learned that the castle was guarded not only by sixty guards but also by a mercenary group. A swift victory was now even more crucial.

The German mercenaries, who had been drinking, playing dice, and boasting inside, were suddenly caught off guard by the sudden battle. Many had just risen from the warm fireplace, not even having had time to put on their leather armor. Caught off guard, their weapons proved clumsy and ineffective. They were forced back into the house by the Griffin Guard.

The difference between those with armor and those without was particularly stark at this moment. The cramped, helpless space was filled with the sounds of swords chopping and axes striking, and the sight of blood spurting everywhere.

The battle lasted for half an hour before ending. The castle guards and mercenaries who dared to resist were executed, and the remaining eighty-odd prisoners were bound and thrown into the dungeon. The steward, servants, cook, blacksmith, carpenter, and others were kept inside the house.

The rain washed away the bloodstains on the ground, diluting the crimson into a pale pink. But it could not diminish the fear of the people inside the Itchin Castle.

Inside the castle's banquet hall, flames leaped in the fireplace. Peter and some generals dried their wet clothes and armor by the fire. Rain and blood dripped from their armor, forming a small red puddle beside the fireplace.

Baron Persson and his family were brought in. The baron's wife—a beautiful but now pale noblewoman—clung tightly to their two young children. The children's large eyes were filled with fear, like frightened fawns.

"Who exactly are you? And why did you attack my castle?"

Baron Persson was still completely bewildered; the battle had unfolded and ended far too quickly. He had no idea why the king's envoy had suddenly become the enemy.

Peter also felt the battle had gone too smoothly. He had prepared two contingency plans: if the plan to impersonate an envoy was discovered, he would use gunpowder barrels wrapped tightly in waterproof tarpaulins inside the wagon to blow open the city gates. But Baron Persson's foolishness was beyond his expectations, allowing them to easily enter the city and capture it.

So Peter decided to introduce himself to the baron.

"You've gone to such lengths to carve up my territory, yet you don't even recognize me?" Peter asked.

"You...you're that red-haired Peter?" Baron Persson had obviously also noticed Peter's striking red hair. After his initial surprise, he found it absurd. Their plan to jointly divide Trotsky hadn't even been implemented yet, so why had the other side come knocking on their door?

His voice trembled, and his fat hand pointed at Peter, "Your actions have tarnished the honor of the nobility! How dare you invade a nobleman's territory without cause!"

He also learned to turn the tables on others without any instruction.

Peter smiled kindly. "If I hadn't come today, wouldn't the troops you recruited and the mercenaries you bribed be heading to the Trotsky territory the day after tomorrow?"

"Of course, I can't just keep them around for nothing..." Baron Paison started to say, then suddenly realized the atmosphere was tense. Peter and several generals were glaring at him, so he immediately changed his tone, saying, "But I haven't done anything yet, have I? Your unauthorized intrusion into another lord's territory violates the Golden Bull issued by His Majesty Charles IV. I'm going to report this to the King!"

Peter slowly raised his head, the flames reflecting in his blue eyes with flickering light. "Which king?" His voice was eerily calm.

"King Sigismund!" Baron Persson stiffened his neck, trying to maintain his last shred of dignity.

"Bang!"

Peter slammed his hand heavily on the table.

"As a vassal of His Majesty Wenceslaus, how dare you complain to the Kingdom of Hungary?" His voice suddenly rose, each word a furious rebuke. "You disgrace to the Kingdom of Bohemia, a traitor to the nation, a collaborator among the nobility, a coward among men! How dare someone like you complain!"

This barrage of insults left Baron Paessen completely bewildered. As a lord, he had always heard flattery and sycophancy from his servants; he had never heard such a scathing rebuke. The crucial point was that Peter stood on the moral high ground, leaving him speechless for the moment.

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