Medieval: Kingdom Come: Deliverance

Chapter 155 The Sneak Attack Plan

Ambition is the spur that drives a knight forward, but it can also be the spear that pierces his chest.

December 25st, early morning.

A light drizzle fell gently on the stone walls of Itchin Castle, but it could not deter Peter's determination to return.

The loyal warriors of the Griffin Guard were busily organizing twenty-four wagons. The wagons were piled high with spoils captured from the castle: heavy wooden crates filled with silver coins and gold, sacks stuffed with grain and cured meat, and bundles of weapons and armor gleaming coldly in the rain...

The guards' faces beamed with undisguised joy. They whispered among themselves, patted each other on the shoulder, and their eyes sparkled with anticipation for the future. One young soldier couldn't resist lifting a tarpaulin from a cart, stealing a glance at the wine and spices inside, a satisfied smile spreading across his face.

According to the principle of spoils distribution, the spoils belong to the state, but after the war, Lord Peter will distribute a portion to them as a reward.

"Look at this harvest, it's enough for us to live on for several months!" an old soldier with a full beard whispered to his companion, his voice trembling with excitement.

"Yes, this is the price they pay for wanting to invade our Troski!" Another soldier raised his chin, looking contemptuously at the castle steward and castle guards who had just been released from the dungeon.

These defeated men shrank back, not daring to look these imposing Lion Guard members in the eye.

The reason Peter released these people was merely a small consideration.

His "preventative attack" was, to put it bluntly, a preemptive strike by Peter against the treacherous Baron Paessen. Those in the know, however, would mistake Peter for a bandit who robbed the castle and kidnapped the baron.

Well, while his actions certainly reflected that, Peter didn't really care what the surrounding lords thought.

However, since their status has changed, they still need to cover up their true feelings.

Peter walked toward the Persson family.

"Sir Paissen, thank you for your hospitality at Troskey Castle." Peter's voice was gentle yet resonant. He deliberately slowed his pace, imbuing each word with aristocratic elegance, and amplified his voice in front of the castle steward and guards. "I believe this trip will enhance our friendship."

"Of course, Lord Peter. It is our honor."

Baron Paessen forced a smile, the muscles at the corners of his mouth twitching involuntarily. His voice was dry, as if each word was struggling in his throat. But what could he do? Peter didn't want to be known as a bandit, and did Baron Paessen want to be disgraced?

Even though everyone present knew that his castle's wealth had been completely looted and his family had been taken prisoner, as long as he denied it, wouldn't it cease to exist?

What is the most precious thing for a nobleman? It's his noble status. As long as Peter acknowledges his identity as the lord of Itchin Castle, the lost wealth can be earned back! As long as he remains a baron, these people in the castle won't dare to rebel; they'll have to obediently wait for his return!

If I could come back!

To be honest, Baron Paessen wasn't sure himself, but what could he do? In the Middle Ages, it was considered a cardinal sin to fight a lord!

The castle steward stood to one side, his brow furrowed, a look of helplessness in his eyes. Behind him, the guards bowed their heads in silence, rain soaking their hair. None dared utter a word.

Peter waved for them to set off. The Griffin Guard began to move, the wheels churning through the mud. Sixty captured German mercenaries, tied in pairs by their ankles, were tasked with pushing the carts from behind to lighten the load on the horses.

Their faces were filled with resentment, but no one dared to utter a sound of resistance. This was the fate of mercenaries—they received the highest wages for the most arduous work. Victory brought fine wine and beautiful women; defeat brought whips and enslavement. This was not their homeland; they did not pledge allegiance to their lords, but only to their silver coins.

This is also why Peter released the castle guards to maintain order in the Ichin territory, but took all the mercenary prisoners with him.

The group slowly left the castle. Peter glanced back; Itchin Castle was gradually becoming blurry, but he knew that one day he would return and take control of this vital transportation hub.

Meanwhile, in Luowen Town.

Baron Rowan's army assembled in the darkness before dawn. Forty castle guards, two knights, twenty archers, sixty mercenaries, and more than two hundred conscripted villagers were ready to go.

Baron Rowan had long coveted Nebakov Castle. This was also the reason he was able to quickly assemble his troops.

The old baron rode a tall warhorse, his gray hair neatly combed. Although the rain soaked his cloak, he maintained his noble dignity. But the hand gripping the reins betrayed his inner anxiety.

Rowen Town is near the Izera River, but the area is characterized by Cretaceous limestone karst topography, numerous canyons, and dense forests. However, it lacks farmland. The family's inhabitants are mostly skilled forest dwellers adept at traversing mountains and valleys, but without farmland, they cannot support a large population or achieve power. Only by seizing Nebakov Castle to the north and opening a passage to the vast farmlands of Trossky can they forge a path to survival and development for their family!

"Time is money! Time is life! Time is everything! I must seize this opportunity and capture Nebakov Castle!"

Baron Rowan muttered to himself, his voice low and firm.

He knew that this battle would be an opportunity for Rowan Town to rise again, and also a chance for his Ize Rowan family to regain its former glory.

He also knew that if he failed, he would be doomed, and Red-haired Peter would not let him go. His family might be condemned to eternal damnation.

This will be a huge gamble.

Set off!"

Baron Rowan's voice echoed in the morning mist. He looked at his troops; the soldiers' weapons gleamed coldly, their footsteps powerful. The clinking of armor produced a crisp metallic sound, exceptionally clear in the still morning. This massive army gave him immense confidence.

The rain at Nebakov Castle gradually stopped.

Redbeard Andrei, the renowned second sergeant of the Lion Guard, was leading his soldiers on a patrol of the castle's defenses. Over two meters tall and imposing, his heavy armor made him appear like an iron tower. His face was filled with vigilance, and his piercing eyes were fixed on everything around him.

His heart was filled with loyalty to Peter, and he remembered Peter's instructions when he left—to defend the castle and guard against a sneak attack.

"Cheer up, everyone!"

Andrei's voice boomed like thunder, echoing throughout the entire castle.

His twenty soldiers, each clad in heavy armor and wielding longswords, axes, and shields, possessed resolute eyes. They were the elite of the Lion Guard, Lord Peter's most loyal warriors, and the first line of defense for the castle.

"Something's wrong! Troops are approaching from the direction of Rowan Town!"

A sentry came running, panting, to report. But his voice was full of longing; battle meant honor. They weren't afraid of casualties, only of not getting a chance to stand out!

"Damn it, the adults were right! That old crow really did come to ambush us!"

Andrei grinned bloodthirstyly. "Pass down the order: prepare for battle!"

The militia from Semi and Shidir villages, who were defending the castle, also quickly assembled. They were equipped with four-meter-long spears and two-meter-long flails. Although their equipment was rudimentary, they were equally fearless, because the merit system applied to them as well.

They were fearless in their pursuit of military merit and for the sake of Lord Peter.

But Andrei ordered them to remain as reserves under the city wall and not show themselves yet.

The army from Rowan Town soon came into view.

Baron Rowan rode at the head of the procession, his face grim, muttering a curse, "Damn it!"

From the moment Baron Rowan saw the crowd thronging the castle, he knew his raid had been discovered beforehand. Now, a direct assault was the only option.

Behind him stood a densely packed army, their ranks crooked and uneven, yet their sheer numbers gave them an imposing presence. The mere twenty men on the city wall could not quell their thirst for victory and riches.

"Attack!" Baron Rowan had no way out. With a command, the army began to advance.

The mercenaries, carrying siege ladders, charged towards the city walls, launching the first wave of attack. They were paid the highest wages, so naturally they had to do the most dangerous work.

On the city walls, the Griffin Guard archers drew their bows, aimed at the enemy below, and moved with practiced speed and precision. Arrows rained down, and mercenaries fell one after another, some dead, some wounded. Screams and wails echoed across the battlefield. It took a long time before they finally managed to climb the ladder.

Andrei stood atop the city wall, brandishing his battle axe and hacking away enemy after enemy. Soldiers used halberds to topple ladders, sending enemies screaming as they fell.

"Militia, charge!"

Baron Rowan gave the order, his voice tinged with urgency. Two hundred disorganized conscripted militiamen, armed with a motley crew of weapons, surged forward like a tidal wave. This was a common tactic used by lords—reckless mercenaries would open up the battlefield, cheap peasants would swarm in, and then the elite troops would reap the rewards.

The twenty griffin guards faced two hundred conscripted peasants without flinching. Their shouts and the clash of weapons created a deafening roar. The thud of arrows hitting shields, the shattering of stones falling from the city walls, and the cries of the wounded—all these combined to form a bloody symphony.

Andrei laughed, his voice booming like thunder: "Come on, you cowards! Behold the griffin's claws!" He used a side slash to cut down an enemy who had climbed onto the wall.

The other Lion Guard members were also covered in blood, their heavy armor stained red, yet they stood firm.

"My knight, charge!"

Baron Rowan was truly desperate. So many useless peasants couldn't even break through two thousand castle guards. It seemed he had to use his elite troops to decide the outcome!

Baron Rowan's two knights, leading forty heavily armored guards and under the cover of archers, charged forward. Their iron boots pounded in the mud. When they reached the city walls, they pushed aside the peasants still on the ladders and climbed up with their shields raised.

The battle intensified. The Griffin Guard, facing two waves of attacks, had sweat dripping from their foreheads, carrying a salty taste; the stench of blood filled their nostrils, making them nauseous; sweat streamed down their armor, they were exhausted, but they persevered.

"Attack! Attack! They're almost done for!"

Baron Rowan saw a glimmer of hope for victory and loudly rallied the troops below the city walls.

But just then, two groups of militiamen who had been hiding inside the castle rushed out. Eighty militiamen thrust out their four-meter-long spears and swung their two-meter-long flails. One militiaman's flail struck an enemy's helmet with a dull metallic clang. The enemy's head buzzed, and just as he was about to look up, several more flails followed in quick succession. His head slumped and he slid off the city wall.

"How could this be? Impossible! They still have so many soldiers hidden away!"

Baron Rowan watched from afar, panicked. His plans were falling apart step by step, while the enemy seemed to have been prepared all along. Faced with the sudden influx of fresh troops, the attacking forces could no longer withstand the onslaught and scattered in disarray. The two knights could not stop the tide of defeat either, and fled back in a sorry state.

The rain gradually subsided, and sunlight shone through the clouds, illuminating the earth. Nebakov Castle still stood firm. Baron Rowan, however, felt utterly hopeless; he knew his raid had failed.

"No, I still have hope. If Count Turnov receives my letter last night and launches his attack today, everything will be alright!"

Baron Rowan murmured incessantly with trembling lips.

He believed he had grasped the reins of fate—but little did he know that the other end of those reins was tied to his own noose.