Medieval: Kingdom Come: Deliverance

Peter recalled the side quest storylines from the game.

The old hermit's real name was Martin. Thirty years ago, he was just a villager in Troskey. Martin and his brother John both fell in love with Margaret, the village beauty. The two brothers even fought over her, but in the end, Margaret chose to marry another wealthy man.

John, unable to accept this, challenged the man to a duel, but accidentally fell off a cliff and died. Margaret and her husband, fearing punishment from the sheriff, lied and claimed John had committed suicide by jumping off the cliff.

According to Christian doctrine, those who commit suicide will go to hell. Even if they die, they cannot be buried in the graveyard guarded by gravediggers. Their souls will suffer in hell and will not be able to find peace or redemption.

Martin, the older brother, refused to believe his younger brother would commit suicide, but while searching for clues to the truth, he was falsely accused of burglary and forced to flee to another country. Later, Martin went to Prague, where he adopted the alias Ambrose and joined the Knights of the Church. He diligently practiced swordsmanship, participated in numerous wars, and distinguished himself with piety and fearlessness. Eventually, he became the Grand Master of the Knights of the Church, in charge of the Inquisition.

Last year, however, King Sigismund of Hungary imprisoned the King of Bohemia and led his army into Prague to usurp the throne, which the upright old hermit could not tolerate. After the old commander's death, the new commander became obsequious to Sigismund, and the old hermit resigned in anger and returned to his hometown to live in seclusion.

At the same time, she is secretly investigating the mystery of her younger brother John's death thirty years ago, hoping to bury him in the church cemetery to achieve redemption.

Unfortunately, thirty years had passed, and everything had changed. Not only had he failed to solve the mystery, but he didn't even know where his brother was buried. Then the old hermit fell ill and died without fulfilling his regrets. After his death, he was hastily buried by his disciple Conrad under two birch trees, without being placed in a cemetery.

Just like his brother, his life was truly miserable!

The only concern is that he has entangled himself with the Church, the Knights, and heretics.

In the Middle Ages, getting involved with the Church was a serious matter. A Church with its own direct knightly orders was even more problematic.

At the height of the Church's power, the Pope could even excommunicate the Holy Roman Emperor, directly removing him from the clergy. Fortunately, the Vatican is currently in a period of great schism, with two popes on either side, attacking each other as heretics. This has led to a situation where archdioceses, dioceses, and sub-dioceses have carved out their own territories, resulting in numerous factions that constantly accuse each other.

In short, things were in complete chaos, and the church's power weakened due to the divisions.

Peter, familiar with the plot, secretly pondered how to use his foresight to gain an advantage.

Following the path he remembered, he meandered through the mountains and finally found the hermit's hideout in a mountain stream near the Apollonian quarry. There was a dilapidated hut there. Pushing open the door, a musty smell of herbs wafted out, and a emaciated old man was curled up on a tattered bed covered with dry grass, groaning.

Peter saw the old man's sunken cheeks, his cheekbones protruding like jagged rocks, and his face as pale as death, and a bad feeling crept over him. "Damn it! Has the plot's timeline moved forward? Or has my arrival triggered a butterfly effect? ​​He was supposed to see Henry one last time when the main storyline begins two months later, so why does it seem like..."

Hearing the sound, the old man struggled to turn over in bed, opening his cloudy eyes that were sunken deep in their sockets, reflecting the dim light of the stove fire in the gloom.

"Take whatever you want, cough cough, take it and get out of here..."

The old man's voice was weak, yet it held a stubborn defiance of death. After speaking, he coughed violently on the bed, trying to reach for the bowl of water beside him, but he lacked the strength to do so.

Peter quickly stepped forward, helped the old man up, and gave him some water.

The old hermit finished his drink, panting heavily. His cloudy eyes glanced at Peter, showing no surprise, only relief: "You're different from those stray dogs that came before… but you've come to me, probably for that thing too, haven't you?"

"I am Peter, Peter Griffin, a wandering knight. I don't know who those wild dogs you speak of are, but what I'm looking for is indeed a Toledo steel sword."

Peter gently laid the old man on the bed and frankly admitted it.

"You're too late. I've already destroyed that sword."

As he spoke, the old man's withered fingers trembled as he pointed to the corner of the wall, to the two-handed greatsword broken in two by a stone. "This sword was something I acquired during the Spanish Civil War. It accompanied me through the Naples War, the Ottoman War, and the Polish War, never suffering any major damage, yet in the end, I personally broke it with a stone. Its fate was like mine: born from the ordinary, experiencing glory, and finally broken because it refused to fall into the hands of evil... Now, it can no longer be used to kill."

Peter followed the old man's finger and indeed saw two broken swords. But they were still different from others. The blade bore an ancient and beautiful pattern, like frozen water. The dark metal inlaid at the end of the hilt, despite the wear and tear of time, still stubbornly gleamed with a cold, eerie light. Intuition struck Peter like lightning—Toledo steel! Those unique patterns, layered like clouds and flowing like water, existed only in legends, marking the pinnacle of forging.

Peter's heart skipped a beat. No swordsman doesn't love a fine sword, and this sword was worth far more than he had imagined, even though it was broken!

Toledo steel is renowned for its origin in Toledo, Spain. Craftsmen create its unique texture by repeatedly folding and forging iron and steel bars 365 times, making it particularly suitable for crafting European greatswords. It is comparable to Damascus steel from the Ottoman Empire.

A good Toledo steel sword is worth four or five hundred Grossens, and a two-handed greatsword would be even more expensive. No wonder it attracts the covetous eyes of others.

Peter examined the sword with great delight, saying, "It is indeed a fine sword! It can not only kill, but also carry and transmit the art of smelting. Even if the hilt is broken, it does not diminish its value."

Medieval European technology had its barriers, and Bohemian blacksmiths dreamed of studying this Spanish steel to improve their forging skills. And now, the opportunity had arrived! No wonder the blacksmith in Takhov was so enthusiastic.

The old hermit was somewhat surprised by Peter's answer, and said, "You are indeed different from those wild dogs. They only wanted to seize the sword to rob and kill. But you recognized the sword's exceptional material and craftsmanship. You say you are a wandering knight?"

"Yes, I am, God is my witness."

He told so many lies that he even lied to himself.

"Very well, you have gotten what you wanted, Sir Griffin, without armor, without a horse, without a family crest. May you leave now? Please close the door behind you when you go, so that this old man can die in peace."

The old hermit seemed to see through Peter's lie, but he didn't want to get involved now.

Thank you.

Peter put the broken sword away; the blacksmith's task was complete. But instead of leaving immediately, he looked around the dilapidated hut: the extinguished fire, the moldy mushrooms, the earthenware pot with only a few grains of oatmeal remaining…

"Why aren't you leaving? I don't have anything valuable left here. If you want it, take it all."

The old hermit seemed resigned to death. In fact, given his current serious illness and lack of food reserves, he wouldn't last more than a few days; he would either die from the illness or from starvation.

Peter didn't say anything, looked left and right, and finally pulled out a small cross with beads from under the old hermit's pillow.

"No, you can't take this!"

The old hermit used all his strength to hold down Peter's hand.

Why?

Peter was familiar with this side quest and naturally knew that the small cross was a key quest item, but he still asked the question knowingly.

"It's just an ordinary wooden carving, with a string of ordinary grass beads added as a cross. It's worthless. I'll leave it to this old man as a final memento of my life."

The once stubborn old hermit now carried a hint of pleading.

Peter forcefully pried open the old hermit's hand, examined the small cross in his hand for a moment, and said, "It is anything but ordinary. Because within it, I see a soul that cannot be redeemed."

"What?!"

The old hermit, as if experiencing a sudden burst of energy before death, looked intently at Peter and said, "How could you? No, do you know something? Have you heard my story? Or did someone tell you something that made you come to find me?"

"I am a wandering knight blessed by God, seeking the path to salvation. If you must say who sent me to find you, you can consider it the Lord's will."

Peter started acting mysterious again. Hong Tianwang could claim to be the Second Prince descended to earth, Joan of Arc could claim to be Saint Michael in a dream, so what if I, Peter, claim to be blessed?

"Bullshit! I've believed in God for fifty years, and devoted myself to the church for thirty, and now all I'm left with is a body full of illness, utterly alone, and I've never seen anyone receive a blessing. How could someone as full of lies as you possibly be?"

The old hermit was shrewd and experienced, with a wealth of knowledge. Peter's deceptive rhetoric seemed to have little effect on the old man.

Peter decided to try a different approach, so he calmly began to tell a story: "Once upon a time, a devout Christian was caught in a storm at sea and drowned. He clung to a plank of wood and prayed to God, asking the Almighty to rescue him. Three or four passing fishing boats offered him help, but he refused them all, saying, 'I have so sincerely asked God for help; the Lord will surely come to save me.' He ended up drowning. When he reached heaven, he angrily confronted God, demanding an explanation. He said, 'I have been a devout believer in you all my life, why didn't you come to my rescue when I drowned?!' God shrugged helplessly and said, 'I sent rescue boats to you four times in a row. It was clearly your own fault for not boarding the boats; why blame me?'"

The old hermit scoffed, "Are you saying that your arrival is God's blessing upon me?"

Why not?

Peter began to display his "eloquence," saying, "You, gravely ill, could have died of illness or starvation, or been bitten to death by intruding wolves, or been hacked to death by bandits who coveted your sword. But none of these terrible things happened. Instead, I, full of love and justice, found you first. Isn't that a blessing?"

"If you consider ransacking my cottage, taking my sword, or even trying to steal a souvenir cross as a blessing, then all I can say is thank you~"

The old hermit was so angry that a slight blush appeared on his pale face. This was not a good sign.

"You're welcome."

Peter shamelessly accepted the other party's gratitude and replied, "The Griffin family motto is: 'Repay kindness and settle debts.' I was guided by the Lord to find you, and from you I received the Toledo steel sword and the small cross, so of course I won't accept your kindness for nothing. Perhaps, I can do something for you."

"Can you really see the souls waiting to be redeemed on the cross?"

The old hermit seemed to be wavering.

"I can't see it. I made it up."

Peter shook his head decisively.

"Bullshit! Is it fun to toy with an old man who's about to die? How dare someone with such a despicable character claim to be blessed by God?! You should be going to hell!"

The old hermit's defenses were breached.

Peter shrugged, unconcerned. The worst thing in communicating with people isn't exchanging insults, but rather being ignored and met with cold indifference. Look how good things are now; even the old hermit, who was originally contemplating suicide, is now cursing in anger.

"Although I can't see any souls, I know there must be an unforgettable story behind this cross. Why not tell me this story? Wouldn't it be a great pity to let it be lost to the world and unknown to anyone?"

"A story? Yes, it's such a pity and a shame that this past has disappeared without a trace. Since you're willing to listen, I'll tell you, you wretched fellow."

The old hermit pondered for a moment and felt that Peter's words made sense, so he struggled to lean his upper body against the wall and recalled the past.

"Wait a minute! I'm afraid you'll only get halfway through your story. Drink this soup first."

Peter took a wooden bowl full of mushroom soup from his bag and held it out to the old hermit. It was from the pot of mushroom soup Bojina had made that morning, which Peter had put into his backpack for a field meal. Now, not a drop had spilled, and it was still warm from that morning.

"what?"

The old hermit watched Peter magically produce a bowl of soup, looking around in surprise. His dilapidated house didn't even have the facilities to cook, and it was even more unrealistic for the other man to have climbed over mountains and valleys to get here with a bowl of soup. What was going on?

"Drink up, I want to hear your story after you finish."

Peter then took out a wooden spoon and handed it to him, urging him on.

The old hermit, who was originally weak, was angered by Peter and regained some strength. He drank the mushroom soup in a fit of pique.

"Don't rush, have another bowl."

Peter took back the empty bowl, and with a flick of his wrist, filled it to the brim again.

This time, the old hermit was neither surprised nor refused, and drank another full bowl. When he wanted another bowl, Peter stopped him.

Peter had already figured it out: the old hermit's illness was just a common ailment, with an infection from a wound sustained in the fight with bandits, and his body was weak from not eating for a long time.

So, using reverse psychology to get the other person to drink some soup to replenish their nutrition can be considered a form of dietary therapy.