Medieval: Kingdom Come: Deliverance

While Peter was passionately spreading the "path of salvation" in the village of Zheleyov, the village of Trossky, dozens of miles away, was engulfed in another kind of chaos.

The village guard was almost completely wiped out in "Demon's Canyon," and news of the capture and non-return of Executor Therush had already spread, leaving the village's defenses more vulnerable than ever before. This vulnerability was keenly observed by Baron Gules, a thief who had long coveted Troski's wealth and had been entrenched in the Apollonian Mountains.

"Your chance has come, guys!"

Riding a scraggly horse and brandishing a two-handed greatsword, Gules shouted to his thirty-odd ragged but menacing bandits, "That old bastard Serush and his lackeys are finished! Troski is like a peeled egg, the yolk and silver coins inside are waiting for us to lick! Charge in, loot the merchant guild's warehouses, empty the cellars of wine, plunder all the Groschens from those commoners' homes, and take those delicate women with you!"

"Oh, oh, oh, charge in!"

The bandits let out bloodthirsty howls, like sewage bursting its banks, flooding into the unsuspecting village.

The alarm sounded, but the response was sparse and weak. The remaining few elderly and infirm guards managed to organize a defensive line, but it was instantly overrun by the bandits. Cries, screams, banging on doors, and maniacal laughter mingled together, engulfing the village.

The bandits opened the warehouses and loaded all the grain, cloth, and weapons they could carry onto wagons and packhorses. They then set fire to the haystacks and stables that they couldn't take with them, creating immense chaos and panic.

The chamber of commerce president, his face deathly pale, shut the doors tightly. Listening to the sounds of the warehouse being smashed open and goods being dragged away, he addressed the trembling merchants inside: "It's over... our goods... that butcher Gules is ten times more ruthless than the Red Griffin!"

The wealthy families hurriedly hid their valuables in cellars or hidden in walls, cursing their incompetent lord and the missing guards while praying that the mob would not find their homes.

The common people were even more desperate. Already destitute, they could only clutch their children tightly, hiding in the darkest corners, praying that misfortune would not befall them. The entire village of Troski was filled with an atmosphere of fear and helplessness, as if it had returned to a barbaric era without law or order.

Gules stood on the execution platform in front of the city hall. Not long ago, he had feared being caught by the executioner and hanged on this platform. Now, he had trampled it under his feet.

"Hahaha"

Gules laughed loudly, looking up at the sky.

As his bandits cheered after breaking into Betty's tavern cellar and discovering barrels of ale, a clear and rapid sound of hooves came from the road leading to the castle, like dull drumbeats striking everyone's hearts.

"Cavalry! The castle's cavalry!"

A villager who was keeping watch on the roof shouted excitedly.

"God help us! It's Lord Borgo's cavalry!"

The president of the chamber of commerce was almost moved to tears, peering out through the crack in the window.

As the dust rose, thirteen cavalrymen, in tight formation, rolled in. They wore uniform armor with red overcoats, their helmets reflecting a cold light in the sunlight; they were the elite cavalry of Trossky Castle—Captain Thomas's castle garrison cavalry.

Hope rekindled in the villagers' eyes, and some even mustered the courage to open their doors a crack, ready to cheer and welcome their saviors. Even the bandits who were looting panicked. Gules spat, "Damn it, how did the castle dogs get here so fast? Prepare to retreat! Grab what you've got, quick!"

However, what happened next sent everyone's emotions on a rollercoaster.

The galloping cavalry showed no intention of rushing into the village. The leader, Captain Thomas, a tall and serious-looking man, looked pained. As he approached the village entrance, he suddenly pulled on the reins, and his warhorse neighed and turned, galloping straight towards the village of Zhelyov along another side road!

The thirteen riders swept through the ravaged village of Troski like an iron torrent, leaving no trace of their presence, and the dust they kicked up covered the faces of the villagers who came out to see what was happening.

Hope freezes in an instant, then shatters.

"They...they didn't come to save us?" an old woman asked blankly, then collapsed to the ground in despair.

"Damn nobles! They only care about their own authority, not the lives of us commoners!" Betty, the tavern owner, cursed loudly from her second-floor room with the door tightly shut.

Disappointment, resentment, and the chilling feeling of abandonment quickly replaced any fleeting hope.

Meanwhile, the Gules gang, who were preparing to slip away, went from being terrified to being overjoyed.

"Hahahahaha!"

Gules paused for a moment, then burst into even louder laughter. "See that? Those noble lords' cavalry don't care about you at all! Brothers, we're safe! Keep going! Scrape the rest clean! We have plenty of time!"

The bandits' fear vanished, and their looting became even more unrestrained, with carnival-like clamor once again echoing throughout the village.

Meanwhile, at the entrance to the village of Zhelyov.

Peter had just finished his sermon, and both baskets of medicine were sold out on credit. He had also collected a full sheet of "credit fingerprints" and the intentions of more than a dozen bankrupt farmers to follow him. Peter told them to go to the crossroads on their own, where someone would meet them.

Peter and his men continued riding towards Troski village. The Thrust, who had been dragging along the way, was also treated well when they approached Troski village. With his hands tied, he sat comfortably on the sixth horse—the horse that had sold its goods was now carrying an even heavier burden.

Just as everyone was joking about how to demand the five hundred Groshen ransom, the sound of horses' hooves approached like thunder.

"My lord! There are cavalrymen to the east, many of them!"

Robert, who was on guard duty, looked into the distance and immediately issued a warning.

Peter looked up and saw a cavalry unit carrying the flying fish banner of Trossky Castle charging towards them at high speed through the dust. The tips of their spears gleamed coldly, their target clear and aimed directly at them.

"It's the castle's cavalry! They've come to capture us!"

Jerry gripped the longbow tightly.

A glimmer of hope flashed in the eyes of the bound Executor Theros, but seeing Peter and the others' calm demeanor as they instantly entered battle mode, that hope turned into unease.

"It seems the castle's 'hospitality' has arrived, just as I expected."

Peter calmly drew his longsword, sunlight streaming across the blade. "There are quite a few of you, but your formation is a bit scattered. Brother Martin, you were once the Grand Master of the Knights, mounted combat is your domain. We all obey your command."

The old monk Martin, a peasant, ventured into the world, impersonated a knight, and fought for the Red Star Cross Knights for over thirty years, achieving remarkable feats. His life story is legendary. As a commander with the golden talent of Fearless Charge (whenever he leads a knight in a charge, a fearless aura is formed, inspiring the morale of friendly forces within a hundred meters), it would be a waste not to make use of him.

"As you wish, sir!"

Since his body had recovered from old age and was back to its peak, Martin's fighting spirit had also returned. He did not refuse Peter's appointment and calmly instructed, "Lord Peter, Andrei, stay close to me. Jerry, Robert, patrol and shoot, prioritize the horses, disrupt the formation."

"yes!"

The men obeyed, and the horses began to accelerate.

"In the name of the Lord, punish injustice."

The gentle piety on old Martin's face vanished, replaced by a sharp and solemn expression hardened by the ravages of war. He ripped off his cumbersome monk's robes, revealing well-maintained chainmail beneath, and retrieved the seemingly decorative but perfectly balanced warhammer from beside his saddle. "Follow my hooves, charge fearlessly!"

Without a word or negotiation, Captain Thomas had clearly received a clear order to kill or capture. The cavalry slightly adjusted their direction and began to accelerate their charge, attempting to use their numbers and momentum to crush these five audacious men in one fell swoop.

"For redemption!"

Peter let out a low growl and slammed his boots against the horse's flanks.

"For Griffin!"

Andrei roared like thunder, holding the heavy griffin banner horizontally with both hands, the three-meter-long flagpole resembling a giant lance.

Five riders against thirteen riders, a direct confrontation!

Brother Martin took the lead. His horsemanship truly lived up to the "Golden Talent" reputation; man and horse seemed to become one. At the last moment before the two sides were about to collide, he suddenly swerved his horse's head, and the warhorse skillfully cut diagonally into a tiny gap in the enemy's charging ranks, while his warhammer drew a deadly arc. "Bang!" A castle cavalryman's shield and arm shattered with a teeth-grinding sound, and he screamed as he fell from his horse.

Peter followed closely behind the opening Martin had created, his longsword flashing like a silver streak. He didn't pursue flashy swordsmanship, but rather maximized the concise and deadly techniques honed on the battlefield: parrying, thrusting, and slashing. A cavalryman's lance was deflected by his sword, and then Peter's horse knocked him off balance. Peter retaliated with a swift stroke, slashing at the joint of the man's shoulder armor, blood spurting out.

Andrei was like a human chariot. He possessed immense strength, wielding the griffin banner as a heavy blunt weapon, sweeping and slashing. The banner fluttered, obscuring the enemy's vision, and the iron-clad flagpole head slammed into armor with a dull thud and the sound of bones shattering. A cavalryman attempting to attack Peter from the side was swept off his horse, shield and all.

Just as the three riders were slicing through the cavalry formation like butter with a hot knife, Jerry and Robert displayed the terrifying power of their "master" archery. The two riders moved like ghosts along the edge of the battlefield, and wherever their bowstrings twanged, they would find a target.

"Whoosh!" An arrow pierced precisely into the gap under the armpit of a cavalryman who was about to throw a short spear.

"Thud!" Another arrow struck a warhorse in the chest, causing it to rear up and throw its rider off its back.

Their arrows were not only aimed at men, but also focused on horses. Cavalrymen who lost their horses were like lambs to the slaughter in high-speed mounted combat.

The castle cavalry were stunned. They had thought it would be an easy capture mission, but they had run into a brick wall. Although the enemy was outnumbered, their teamwork was superb, and their individual combat strength was ridiculously strong. The red-haired Peter, the elderly monk, and the giant carrying the banner were simply monsters on the battlefield. And the arrows of the two rangers were like the Grim Reaper's signature.

Captain Thomas was both shocked and furious. He tried desperately to regroup his troops, but their formation was broken and their morale was low. Peter's squad, on the other hand, fought with increasing ferocity, using their superior mobility to constantly divide and attack isolated enemies.

The battle ended faster than expected. Of the thirteen castle cavalrymen in the two charges, seven fell from their horses. In the third charge, Martin struck Captain Thomas off his horse with a single blow, and Peter and Andrei each knocked one of their men off. Only three, seeing the situation was dire, and relying on their still-intact horses, bravely scooped up Thomas from the ground and fled back towards the castle without looking back.

"Stop chasing."

Peter stopped Jerry and Robert, who were about to give chase with bows drawn. He pointed to the thick smoke rising from burning houses in the direction of Trossky village and said, "Something's not right there. Let's go check out the village."

Peter and his men were not unscathed either; everyone was wounded, their armor bore new cuts, their clothes were stained with blood, and their horses were panting heavily. But the five men still stood firm, and the red griffin banner, though tattered and stained with blood, still flew high in Andrei's hands.

"Heal the wounds!"

The medicine was sold out, but Peter had a dozen jars of Pepper sauerkraut. The five of them ate the sauerkraut in this strange way on the battlefield littered with corpses, crunching and crisp.

Therush, mounted on horseback, watched the brief but intense cavalry battle up close, his mouth agape, wide enough to fit an egg. His long-held awe of the castle lords shattered, and the image of Peter the Red Griffin became a new mountain in his heart—"How could he be so powerful? I actually thought I could wipe them out with just twenty militiamen and mercenaries?!"

After his wounds were healed and his health was fully restored, Peter rode quickly towards the direction from which the smoke was rising.

When Peter's five riders, covered in blood and still exuding murderous intent, and Serlush, with his hands bound and riding on horseback, appeared in Troski village, the looting was still ongoing, but the Gules bandits clearly did not expect the cavalry to return so quickly.

For a moment, both the villagers and the bandits were stunned.

Gules' eyelids twitched as he looked at Peter and the others' blood-stained armor, their tired but sharp eyes, and the blood-stained griffin banner.

What's going on? Where's that cavalry unit from the castle?

He forced a smile, spurred his horse forward a few steps, and said, "Hey! Look! It's another bandit baron, 'Red Griffin' Peter! Well done! You even brought Therush back? Want to demand a ransom, huh? You even took care of the castle's cavalry? Impressive! So, interested in joining forces? This piece of meat, Troski, is a bit too much for one family to handle. Let's work together, scrape it clean, split the wealth, and the women too… uh?"

He didn't finish his sentence.

Peter raised his hand to stop him, his cold gaze sweeping over the ravaged village, the crying women, the old man lying on the ground with a broken head, and the bulging bags of loot in the bandits' hands. His voice wasn't loud, but it carried clearly through the suddenly silent square:

"Gules, I know you, but you've got a few things wrong."

"First, I am not the 'Thief Baron.' I am Peter Griffin, a knight seeking redemption."

"Secondly, my sword is not aimed at civilians struggling for bread and dignity. The camps I have established are for clearing land, cultivating crops, and making medicine, to give those who have nowhere else to turn a job and a piece of land that they can cultivate themselves, not to plunder and destroy innocent civilians."

Third, you and I will never be on the same path.

Peter slowly pointed his longsword at Gules, the tip of which was particularly dazzling in the sunlight.

"Now, I'll give you two choices: put down what you've stolen and get out of here with your men; or I'll send you to where you belong—the gallows, or hell."

Gules' smile froze, replaced by astonishment and humiliation. He glanced at the four spirited knights behind Peter, then at his own cowardly and demoralized rabble. He had no doubt that his side would crumble quickly once the battle began.

But he cannot back down; if he retreats before the red griffin, no forest hero will ever respect him again.

"Red-haired Peter! I used to be an ally of John the Big Mouth. I even gave him a congratulatory gift after the Battle of Devil's Canyon. Don't you have any feelings for me?"

Gules quietly stepped back two steps, pulled everyone to his front, and shouted.

"Big Mouth John has reformed and cleansed himself of his sins under God's witness. Yet you remain unrepentant. Attack!"

Peter, too lazy to waste any more words with these robbers, spurred his horse forward. Martin, Andrei, Jerry, and Robert, five warhorses, charged towards the thirty-odd foot robbers. Blood splattered everywhere, the robbers cried out in despair, and scattered like birds and beasts.

The villagers, survivors of the ordeal, watched as the Gules bandits fled in disarray. They grabbed hoes and sickles from their homes and joined the pursuit, chasing them all the way to the Apollonia Pass, several miles east of the village, before returning victorious. The stolen goods were also recovered during the chase. Unfortunately, Gules, the bandit leader, cunningly disappeared without a trace.

The villagers searched excitedly for their stolen belongings, then looked at Peter and his five riders, covered in blood but standing in the village, preventing further looting. Their feelings were incredibly complex. As their fear subsided, an indescribable emotion welled up inside them.

They had initially thought that the guards who had defeated them and captured their loved ones, known as the "Thief Baron" and the "Red Griffin," were a more ruthless and powerful band of thieves. But to their surprise, it was precisely these same bandits who stepped forward to rescue them when they were at their most desperate... A redemptive knight who doesn't plunder civilians?

It's unclear who was the first to put down their stick or farm tool and bow slightly in Peter's direction.

Immediately afterwards, more and more people lowered their heads or stared at them. The hostility and fear in their eyes gradually turned into doubt, gratitude, and... a vague sense of reverence.