Medieval: Kingdom Come: Deliverance

5 month 8 day.

Peter went out again, this time targeting the nomadic camp across Stone Tower Lake.

Counting the time, it has been almost a month since I last went to the nomad camp to learn swordsmanship.

Peter had long wanted to find the tomcat master to learn "Master's Reversal," but various things kept happening and he was delayed. Later, he got into a fight with the lord, and Peter was even more reluctant to go to the nomad camp, lest he bring disaster upon himself.

Now, taking advantage of the momentum of victory and the fact that the lord's troops had retreated to the castle, Peter was able to go there again to carry out some of his ideas.

Peter rode a black horse, carrying a large bundle of animal hides and some coarse salt. Old monk Martin, having heard of a swordsmanship master cat in the nomadic camp, also wanted to come and make his acquaintance.

As the two riders approached the camp, they saw a horse ranch surrounded by large wagons, next to which were the caravans used by the Gypsies during their migration. A man sat under a triangular flag; it was the groom, Miklai.

"Ah! Respected Lord Peter! It's been so long since you've visited."

When Mikkel saw the two men, he recognized Peter, and his eyes lit up as if he had discovered a gold mine.

A month ago, Peter was a "wandering knight" wearing tattered chainmail, too poor to afford sword lessons, let alone a horse.

Peter is now the famous "Red Griffin," owning his own camp and running a medicine business at the crossroads. Isn't he the same guy who sold his horses to?

"Hello, Mikkel. There seem to be a few more horses in your enclosure than before. Could it be that some wild mares have been attracted here?"

Peter greeted them warmly and exchanged a few jokes. After all, he had spent seven days learning swordsmanship at the camp and dancing and partying with everyone around the campfire at night; they were all acquaintances.

"As you know, we Gypsies come from all over the world, from different ethnic groups and with different professions. Some are good at archery, some at hunting, some at breeding horses, some at blacksmithing, some at repairing wheels, and so on. I come from the Cuman steppe, and I am very good at riding and training horses. Occasionally, one or two wild mares will come into my stable, but they will quickly become as docile as our old buddies who have accompanied us on three trips to the Baltic Sea under my training."

Miklai boasted proudly about himself.

"Alright, I know what you're capable of. Just be careful not to let anyone discover anything."

Peter knew that Mikkel also ran a side business selling stolen horses, and that he was responsible for the loss of many horses in the villages. The extra horses in the stables were probably of dubious origin.

"Thank you for your concern, Peter. I'll keep an eye on it. How about it? Would you like to go to the stables and pick out a few to take home? How can a hero like you be without a few valiant warhorses to accompany you?"

After Mikelley finished speaking, he started soliciting business again.

Any recommendations?

"Look at this unique steed! Its wise eyes reveal an indomitable spirit! Worth 500 Grosshens; and look at 'Black Wind,' look at those muscles, those lines! It could carry you through ten knightly orders! A sincere offer of 800 Grosshens; and look at this white horse, its slender frame, only a prince with your bearing is worthy to ride it, you can take it home for just 1000 Grosshens..."

The stableman, Mikkel, rubbed his hands together, his smile so bright it could melt steel. But upon closer inspection, Peter realized they were just drudges used for plowing and hauling goods.

"Youhsomt-hulo chororo dilina (You are a poor, stupid bastard)"

Peter smiled and replied in Gypsy.

"What?"

Miklai's face stiffened.

"Have you forgotten? This is a Gypsy greeting you taught me before. You also told me that when you thank someone, you can say it and the other person will be very happy. Especially when you meet Marika."

Peter shrugged and said, "At the previous bonfire party, Marika invited me to dance, and I did as you said."

"Ha ha ha ha"

Mikkel clutched his stomach, laughing so hard he almost fell over. Thinking back to the camp's most beautiful girl's reaction to those words, he couldn't help but slap his thigh and laugh out loud. He also realized that Peter had seen through the fact that the horses in his stable were all inferior.

Having finally stopped laughing, Mikkel said, "Sorry, I was just joking with you earlier. If you really want to buy, we have six extra steeds in our camp, each worth about 200 Grossens. If you'd like, you can talk to the commander."

"Alright. My camp does need some more cavalry. Goodbye, Mikkel."

The camp recently purchased some cattle and horses, but you can never have too many of these strategic livestock. However, the money they've earned recently is almost gone again.

Goodbye, Lord Peter.

Miklai watched Peter and his companion continue deeper into the camp, nodding repeatedly. His gaze was sharp yet magnanimous; he was truly a remarkable man.

Peter and Martin continued deeper into the forest when a recurve bowman named Bebrek squeezed through the crowd, mysteriously drawing back his bowstring. "Lord Peter! I hear you've taken down quite a few enemies lately, well done! But next time, you need to strike from even further! Look at my darling, the 'Forest Whisperer'! It can pierce a wild boar's rear end from a hundred paces away! With it, you can use their helmets as targets before those idiot guards even find you! Want to try it? I guarantee you'll never forget the feeling after just one shot!"

He drew his bowstring taut, aimed at the sky, and startled several passing crows into taking flight.

"I really need these, both the bow and the improved arrows. But for the specific order, you'll have to talk to my combat deputy squad leader, John, at the Crossroads. I'll just pay."

Peter's camp didn't yet have a dedicated blacksmith or armorer, so many weapons had to be purchased. Finding a master craftsman who made bows and arrows was certainly not an opportunity to miss.

Seeing this, the others in the camp also came over to sell their products. There were horse whistles with peculiar sounds, tempered horseshoes, and patched armor...

Peter agreed to everything and finally got rid of the enthusiastic salesman, meeting the commander in the camp.

The weathered old Gypsy patted Peter hard on the shoulder, his voice booming, "Peter! My boy! Well done! Those arrogant fools deserved to be taught a lesson! You've given us 'unpopular' people a good beating!"

He laughed heartily, but the laughter quickly subsided as he lowered his voice, "But, child, I must remind you. We're here... well, like guests staying overnight. Our hosts haven't kicked us out, but they won't like us causing trouble either. So we probably can't openly support you, and we won't be able to offer much help. Besides, we've been here for a month; it's time to pack up our tents and head north with the wind. We Gypsies can't stay still for too long."

"I understand and sympathize with your difficulties."

Peter stated his purpose: "I've come for three reasons. First, to learn swordsmanship from Master Tomcat; second, to ask if anyone here wishes to settle down; and third, if you do relocate, could you sell me any surplus items? Of course, I've also brought some gifts for you."

Peter removed the leather from the horse's back; there were ten deer hides, ten roe deer hides, fifteen wild boar hides, and two bags of coarse salt.

"Thank you for your gift, Peter. It's a testament to our friendship. We do have extra items; you've seen plenty along the way. We can even sell you some extra horses. But as for those who wish to stay and settle down..."

Before the commander could finish speaking, a fiery red figure rushed over. It was the commander's daughter, Marika, who, like a leaping flame, stared intently at Peter.

"Peter! You've finally arrived! I hear people talking about you every day! 'Peter who defeated the lord,' 'The red griffin who established his own camp'! Fantastic! This is true freedom! To fight fiercely, to live fiercely!"

She boldly took Peter's arm, her voice filled with a dreamy longing, "Peter, take me with you! To your camp! I want to stay with you!"

Her words were direct and passionate, making Peter, who was used to the camp's rough and tumble style, feel his cheeks burning.

The two young men beside her, Guy and Tipo, were Marika's two older brothers. Their faces were filled with admiration, but then they both wilted. Guy sighed, "It's a pity we are wandering stars, unable to settle down in one place. The road to the north is calling us..."

Roma were not born with a love for wandering; rather, they were driven by the whips of war, persecution, and discrimination, like dandelions in the wind, unable to take root. Medieval Europe viewed them as "infidels," "thieves," and "wizards," and lords sometimes needed their blacksmithing, horse training, and music, and at other times issued decrees of expulsion.

Stopping often meant being targeted by the gallows or burned at the stake. The commander's words to Peter, "The master doesn't like trouble," were a summary of this painful lesson.

Moreover, Gypsies have an inherent desire for freedom and a stubborn resistance to being disciplined.

They refused to be "domesticated" by agrarian civilization, seeing the land as a constraint; they refused to be "incorporated" by the state apparatus, seeing household registration, taxation, and conscription as oppression; they refused to be "assimilated" by mainstream culture, yearning to preserve their own language, beliefs, and laws.

Is Marika's yearning for a "passionate love" a longing for the anti-establishment freedom represented by Peter, or a desire for a stable life? Peter cannot yet discern.

Why do fairy tales always end with "the prince and princess lived happily ever after"? Because if the story of the prince and princess continues, it may involve the fading of passion, the mundane matters of daily life, children inheriting the family business, and then the breakdown of their relationship, resulting in a messy and dramatic ending.

Peter also worried that if he asked Marika to give up her Gypsy identity and settle down, the love might fade over time.

Peter couldn't bear to give up the pursuit of such a beautiful and unrestrained girl because of his vanity.

My dream is to have three wives and four concubines like the emperors of ancient China!

Unable to make a decision immediately, Peter first appeased the enthusiastic Marika and politely declined Guy and Tipo's offer to follow. This calmed the commander, whose face had darkened, and the two sides reached an agreement on the trade of six nags. Peter also received some promises from the commander.

"Our homeless camp is a big family. Everyone has their own story and the freedom to come and go. If you can attract them to stay and provide them with a stable life, I wholeheartedly agree and will never set up any obstacles."

"Thank you for your open-mindedness."

That's enough; the rest depends on your own abilities. The camp Peter established emphasized equality, dignity, and material security, which some saw as a "free utopia." This would be somewhat attractive to the Gypsies. It would be a waste to settle them down for farming; if they were to establish industrial workshops, theater troupes, or traveling caravans, these Gypsies would be a wealth of talent.

Peter decided to test the waters first. He found the receiver, "Whitebeard," in the northern corner of the camp, near the cliff.

The white-bearded old man was in his sixties, and people could sell all the stolen goods to him. Then, he would repackage and repaint the stolen goods in his blacksmith's workshop and sell them as new.

The blacksmith's workshop was ablaze with fire, the clanging of metal never ceasing. Old Man Whitebeard, the skilled and humorous old blacksmith, was shirtless, hammering a red-hot iron bar, sweat streaming down his bronze skin.

"Hey! Isn't this our great hero Peter? What brings you to this shabby place of mine, full of coal dust and sparks?"

The old man stopped hammering, wiped the sweat with the towel hanging around his neck, and smiled heartily.

"Old Whitebeard, I have a camp that is in dire need of a blacksmith as skilled as you."

Peter got straight to the point, extending a sincere invitation and offering generous terms, including a private blacksmith shop, ample materials, a stable food supply, and... a group of eager farmers waiting for him to forge tools.

After hearing this, Old Man Whitebeard burst into laughter. He patted Peter on the shoulder and said, "Hahaha! Peter, I appreciate your kind offer! It certainly sounds like a great place to retire!"

Just when Peter thought he had a chance, his father abruptly changed the subject, his eyes becoming cunning and profound: "But you see, son, look at this beard of mine." He stroked his long, white beard, "It's been with me through countless roads and mountains. It's struck countless pieces of iron with my hammer. It knows the breathing of the bellows, the heartbeat of the anvil, the dance of sparks… but it doesn't know the word 'stop'!"

The old man picked up the hammer and gently tapped the anvil beside him, producing a crisp sound: "The souls of us Gypsies are like this red-hot iron; only on the road, in the fire, can they retain their shape and brilliance. Stop? Then it cools, hardens, and becomes a dead lump of iron!"

He winked at Peter. "Besides, the girls in the North are more passionate, the wine in the North is stronger, and the lords in the North... well, they're more likely to get a beating."

Peter tried to persuade him further: "Dad, the camp really needs you..."

"need?"

The old man interrupted him, picked up a freshly forged, gleaming dagger, and shoved it into Peter's hand.

"Here, you might need this more. Consider it my investment in your camp. Take it, protect your territory, hunt more wild boars, and fatten them up! Who knows, one day this old man might get tired of wandering and want to find a place to warm himself by a fire and have a bowl of hot soup, so he'll just follow the smoke to your place for a meal! Don't complain if I eat too much then! Hahaha!"

Looking at his father's hearty and resolute smile, Peter knew that this highly skilled blacksmith's heart, like his hammer, already belonged to the never-ending road of wandering. He could only smile wryly as he accepted the dagger, pondering the camp's blacksmith problem; he would have to think of another solution.