Medieval: Kingdom Come: Deliverance

Chapter 166 Awards Ceremony

This wasn't their first time on stage, but each time they went on stage, they had a different feeling.

These militiamen have now become the military cornerstone of the Troskii territory. They are at the forefront of battle, doing the hardest work and enduring the most brutal beatings. After the battle, they are responsible for the tedious cleanup tasks.

Therefore, Peter gave them the same reward as the Griffin Guard, 30 Groshin each. Combat performance was calculated separately.

"The militia defends our homeland, and our homeland reciprocates with glory!"

Peter gave each militiaman thirty Grossens, a short sword, and a set of sturdy iron armor.

"Victory belongs to Peter, glory to Griffin!"

They too stepped down from the stage amidst shouts of slogans, clutching their rewards tightly as if embracing a newborn version of themselves. Gasps and envious whispers filled the air below.

Just as they were about to step down, Peter drew his sword and ordered them all to kneel.

"Oh my goodness, is Lord Peter going to bless the militia too?!"

"Long live Lord Peter!"

The militia were just semi-full-time farmers. They could not compare with the full-time Griffin Guard in terms of strength, speed, combat skills, or will. But how could the generous Lord Peter be willing to bless these farmers?

Peter held his sword level and, with the cold blade, lightly swept it across the head, left shoulder, and right shoulder of each guard in turn. He also opened the character panel for the militiamen whose affinity reached 60 points and added points to them as well.

With the exception of a very few individuals, almost all of the more than 300 militiamen had their character panels activated.

May God give you strength to uphold your beliefs; may God give you courage to face all challenges.

May God grant you wisdom to distinguish between loyalty and treachery, good and evil.

After the three-part blessing, a warm current flowed through their bodies, causing the militiamen, receiving the blessing for the first time, to tremble uncontrollably. Some even knelt completely on the ground, bowing deeply to Peter. This blessing was even more gratifying than the 30 silver coins they had received.

"Hail, Lord Peter!"

"To die for Lord Peter!"

The cheers and exclamations of the militiamen, who had just recovered from their blissful state, swept across the entire area like a tsunami.

George and his cavalrymen looked at the reveling crowd with curiosity and confusion, unable to understand why they were so excited. Just then, a voice came from the stage.

"Sir George, please come up to the stage with your cavalry brothers."

George and his cavalrymen were taken aback; they hadn't expected that they, as foreign soldiers, would also receive a reward.

They went up somewhat hesitantly. Peter gave each of them thirty groschen, a longsword, and a set of half-plate armor.

"Sir George, you are not my vassals, yet you have come from afar to aid me in this war, and two of your brothers have even fallen in battle. This is your reward. As for the two fallen brothers, I will offer each of them 100 Grossens as a token of my condolences; please do not refuse," Peter said gently.

George and the Seidleitz cavalry thanked their leader, this respect and recognition touched him far more than mere material gifts.

Peter sat on the wooden platform, his gaze sweeping over the excited crowd below, over the neatly lined-up militia and the griffin guards.

"The regular rewards are over. Next is the special merit reward section."

The awarding ceremony was held again. This time, it was witnessed by all the people. The soldiers who had performed special military service were called out one by one and went up to receive extra rewards, fine armor, and the best woolen cloth from Peter.

Or a full jug of strong liquor.

The families of the fallen soldiers were invited to the stage, where Peter personally handed them generous compensation and solemnly promised to take care of their lives.

"Thomas the young, son of old John the blacksmith, has distinguished himself in holding the trenches, felling two heavily armored infantrymen with his flail!" the messenger shouted.

A young man, amidst the envious glances of his companions, strode onto the stage, almost stumbling with excitement. Peter handed him 20 Grossen coins and a finely decorated battle axe, clearly the work of a master craftsman.

"With this battle axe, continue to fight for Trotsky!" Peter encouraged.

"I'm willing to die for you, sir!" Thomas's voice was choked with sobs as he gripped his battle axe tightly, as if he were holding onto the highest honor.

Each name was read aloud in public, and each reward was distributed, filling people with unparalleled joy and pride.

Even Istvan, Eric, and Blackbatos, who had only recently surrendered, were called up to the stage and publicly rewarded by Peter for their outstanding military achievements. This gave them a strange feeling they had never experienced before.

"Ding, Istvan's loyalty +3."

"Ding! Eric's loyalty +3"

"Ding! Black Bartosh's loyalty +3"

The sunlight seemed even brighter, shining on every face brimming with happiness and hope.

The air was filled with the aroma of roasted meat, the rich scent of beer, and the excited smell of sweat, all blending into a scent that evoked feelings of "victory" and "belonging."

Sir George stood beside Peter, watching all this unfold before him, his heart filled with a myriad of emotions.

He looked at Peter, the nephew he had thought needed protection, who had now grown into a beloved young man.

A ruler with exceptional skill.

He not only won the war, but also won the hearts of the people.

Just as the city of Troski was immersed in the jubilation of victory, several shrewd eyes belonging to merchants took in all of this.

Wolfgang, a fur trader from the south, was one of them. He had been secretly commissioned by Baron Seinitz Rosenberg to gather intelligence on Trotsky in preparation for the impending invasion.

.

However, what he saw was not the war-ravaged towns and fearful people he had imagined, but an unprecedented unity, prosperity, and high morale brought about by victory and rewards.

"Oh my God, he not only defeated three knights, but also captured his main castle almost without bloodshed—"

Wolfgang muttered to himself, cold sweat beading on his forehead. He had witnessed firsthand how Peter had generously rewarded his soldiers, how he had appeased the people, and he had seen the mountains of spoils and the army's soaring morale.

"This is no pushover; it's clearly a young griffin baring its fangs!"

He dared not delay, secretly slipped out of the celebration venue, immediately mounted a fast horse, and rushed back to the south overnight.

The other scouts also fled in a panic, reporting the horrific scene that had unfolded to their respective lords.

That night, in Baron Seinitz Rosenberg's castle, the short, stocky baron, known for his cunning, turned ashen-faced after hearing Wolfgang's detailed report.

He originally thought he had bought a quality asset from von Polgar at a bargain price. He believed he could take advantage of Peter's war with the northern lords and the resulting vulnerability in his rear, and seize Trossky as an opportunity.

But this unexpected turn of events occurred.

His fingers trembled slightly as he took a few deep breaths, trying to calm his wildly beating heart.

Ichin and Rowan were swiftly defeated, and now even the powerful Count Turnov has been utterly defeated!?

"My God—how is this possible—Red-haired Peter is so ruthless! Just because he suspected someone might be hostile, he attacked their castle and invaded their territory... Does he even respect noble etiquette?!"

He murmured, as if he could see the red-haired young man looking at him with an unstoppable sharpness.

A chill ran up his spine. His original plan to "take advantage of the chaos" now seemed like nothing more than "a moth drawn to a flame."

"Damn von Polgar, why didn't he warn me sooner that Red-haired Peter is that kind of person!"

Attack? With what can he attack? The small force he has is probably no match for the militia Peter deployed on the border.

Not attack? How would they explain that to their master? Where would their pride be? — No, pride wasn't important; what mattered was preserving their territory and their lives! That Peter was ruthless towards his enemies!

He rushed to his desk, grabbed a quill pen, dipped it in ink, and began to write furiously, writing a letter to his patron in the Rosenberg family.

The quill pen scratched across the parchment, mirroring the turmoil in his mind.

"—Your Excellency, the situation has changed. Peter of Trossky is far more courageous and cunning than we previously anticipated."

He wrote, his handwriting slightly illegible: "He has defeated and captured Count Turnov in the field and occupied his main castle. At this moment, his army is at its peak, morale is high, and he has amassed a great haul, greatly increasing his strength. A hasty attack now would be futile and likely result in unbearable losses—therefore, I implore you to either abandon this operation or—send at least twice the planned force, equipped with sufficient siege equipment; otherwise, we have no chance—"

After finishing writing, he summoned his most trusted servant and sternly instructed him: "Set off immediately and personally deliver this letter to the master of the house! Quickly!"

Watching the servant's hurried departure in the middle of the night, Baron Seinitz slumped weakly into his high-backed chair, wiping the cold sweat from his forehead.

For the first time, he felt that the southern wind carried a hint of chilling killing intent from the north.

Hopefully, it's not too late.