Medieval: Kingdom Come: Deliverance

Devil's Canyon, as its name suggests, is flanked by steep, jagged, gray-black cliffs, resembling the gaping maw of a demon from hell. A narrow, winding valley path meanders through it, barely wide enough for a few people to walk side-by-side. It twists and turns, long and deep, like a labyrinth.

At this moment, however, the ridges on both sides of the canyon gleamed with the cold light of steel.

On the left ridge, Peter wore a polished plate breastplate, with the red griffin emblem painted in red on his shoulder armor. He hadn't had the chance to have a professional blacksmith carve a real family crest, so he made do with what he had. He wasn't wearing a helmet, and his short red hair gleamed in the rising sun.

Behind him, twenty heavily armored warriors crouched like mountain rocks. They held shields, halberds, battle axes, or broadswords, with maces hanging at their waists. Their visors were lifted, revealing weathered yet confident faces.

"Guys!"

Peter's voice, steady and powerful, echoed across the mountaintop: "Look at that worm below! Lord Troski's so-called army! Today, we will show that worm that Devil's Canyon is not its paradise, but its graveyard! I will make the banner of the Red Griffin shine with the glory of victory once more!"

"Roar, roar, roar!"

The combat team members responded in unison, their voices echoing through the valley.

A member of the combat team with a scar on his face grinned and said, "Sir, we didn't get to kill anyone in the last battle, so it wasn't enough. Today, my axe will have its fill!"

"They think they can win just because they have more people? What a joke!" Another young soldier wiped down a makeshift wooden crossbow made in the camp, the kind that would fall apart after only ten shots. But his eyes still gleamed with excitement.

"Lord Peter, we're sure we'll achieve great things again this time! Will you bless us again?" a newly joined combat team member asked.

"The Griffin family rewards merit!" Peter pounded his chest armor with his iron gauntlet.

"Roar, roar, roar!"

The combat team members echoed each other again.

Optimism and an unwavering belief in victory filled the air. They looked down at the enemy troops below, who were as numerous as ants, as if they were looking at a moving pile of meritorious deeds.

On the right ridge, John the Big Mouth was enthusiastically rallying the troops, spitting as he spoke. He was a burly man with a booming voice; even across the canyon, Peter could faintly hear his loud voice.

"You bastards! Get your act together! See those mercenaries dressed like they're in tin cans? Their pockets are practically beckoning us! And those militiamen, they're all spineless cowards! Throw stones at them hard, shoot arrows like crazy! Even if they climb my hill, kick their asses! If we win, Lord Peter will bless us, and I'll treat you to all the ale in the new camp!"

His soldiers burst into laughter, pounding their breastplates with dull thuds. "Boss John, just you wait! We'll turn those tin cans into rotten cans!"

"Yes! Let them taste our power!"

Confidence and a rugged sense of pride rose equally on the right-hand hilltop.

In the dark valley below, Redbeard Andrei and his twenty elite soldiers lay in wait, silent and stealthy. They wore leather or chainmail for ease of movement, and their weapons consisted mainly of short weapons and ropes. Andrei leaned against a boulder, his reddish-brown beard trembling slightly, and squinted at the light filtering in from the canyon entrance.

"They're all hidden."

He lowered his voice, "When those 'hardworking little bees' buzz in later, we'll give them a warm welcome! Remember, don't rush to kill them. Capture them alive if you can. Lord Peter said these militiamen are pitiful too, and they might even help us farm in the future."

"clear!"

The soldiers nodded knowingly, their faces relaxed and expectant, as if what was about to happen was not a battle, but an interesting hunt.

"Waaaaah~ Waaaaah—!"

The dull sound of horns tore through the battlefield. Lord Troski's army had finally moved.

"Attack! Take the hilltop! Charge through the canyon!"

Young Lord Borgo, mounted on a snow-white warhorse, brandished his sword and roared with triumph. Beside him, Sir Semi and Sir Nebakov, their faces grave, directed the oversight team.

Like a black tide, the mercenaries moved first. These desperate outlaws, clad in chainmail or iron-trimmed leather armor and wielding various weapons, began to climb the steep slopes on both sides. They were agile and experienced, attempting to seize the high ground.

Meanwhile, a large number of militiamen, amidst the whips and curses of the supervising officers, surged chaotically toward the narrow canyon entrance like a startled swarm of bees.

"They're here!" Peter's eyes sharpened. "Archers! Target—the chainmail mercenary! Free fire! Everyone else, prepare rolling stones and logs!"

call out!call out!call out!

On both sides of the ridge, archers, already prepared, calmly drew their bows and released their arrows. From their elevated position, the arrows whistled deadly, striking precisely at the mercenaries struggling to climb. Chainmail could withstand slashing blows, but offered limited protection against penetrating arrows.

"what!"

Screams echoed throughout the hillside. One mercenary, pierced by an arrow in the thigh, screamed and tumbled down the slope, knocking over several of his companions. Another was shot in the shoulder, his battle axe flying from his hand.

"Raise your shields! Damn it! Raise your shields!"

The mercenary leader roared. But the slope was steep, making it difficult to move with a shield up, and making them more vulnerable to being hit by falling rocks.

Rumble!

Huge boulders and spiked logs were pushed down the steep slope by the defenders. They rolled down with thunderous roars, leaving a trail of devastation in their wake. One unfortunate mercenary was struck on the head by a boulder, his helmet and skull instantly deformed. Another was sent flying by a rolling log, plummeting off the cliff like a kite with a broken string.

"Hold on! For the silver coins! Charge!"

The mercenaries, their eyes bloodshot, continued their ascent, stepping over the corpses and blood of their fallen comrades. Finally, a few valiant mercenaries braved the hail of arrows and falling rocks, reaching the top of the hill on the left.

"kill!"

Peter pointed his sword, and Oda, his personal bodyguard, drew his longsword and was the first to meet him. Swords clashed, sparks flying! The charging mercenaries, though fierce, were outnumbered and their footing unstable; they were quickly surrounded by Oda and the hilltop guards. One mercenary stumbled from a powerful blow to Oda's shield, then was pierced through the abdomen by a halberd thrust from the side. The battle was almost over in the instant of contact; the mercenaries who had charged up the hilltop melted away like snowflakes thrown into a furnace.

Peter calmly gave orders without actually fighting, instead calculating the attrition rate in his mind. The soldiers fought with increasing ferocity, their confidence soaring as they watched the enemy fall like dumplings in a pot.

"Give me more! I haven't even warmed up yet!"

Fear began to spread among the mercenaries.

"This is fucking suicide!"

"Boss! Let's retreat! We can't take this hill!"

As they watched their companions fall one after another, their desire for silver coins was quickly replaced by the shadow of death.

The two knights led their respective troops as overseers, preventing the mercenaries from retreating.

Sir Semih led three archers and twenty armed infantrymen recruited from his family's territory, commanded by Captain Gnali. His five poor Moravian relatives were all cavalrymen.

Sir Semih ordered his five poor relatives to drive the mercenaries back to battle. They were paid a groschen a day and were already risking their lives. Why were they running away?

Sir Nebakov led a group of over twenty men led by Jessica. He had few subjects and little income, and almost all his money was invested in building his hilltop castle. Fortunately, he encountered a mercenary group like Jessica's that required little money but was capable in combat; otherwise, he would not have been able to fulfill his feudal obligations as lord.

As Jessica watched the fierce battle raging on the hilltop, she secretly felt grateful to Sir Nebakov. Luckily, she had followed him as part of the commando team; otherwise, she would have been cannon fodder climbing the mountain. But Peter and his gang on the summit were just too ferocious!

Not only was there no progress on the two mountain peaks, but the canyon in the middle was also like a bottomless pit. So many militiamen went in, but there was no movement at all.

Lord Borgo, mounted on his horse, watched the attack falter and cursed in frustration: "Useless! All useless! Can't even take down a few bandits! Keep charging! Overseer, anyone who retreats will be executed!"

The military and businessmen hid far behind in a safe place, whispering among themselves.

"Tsk, looks like business isn't going to be good today."

"Young Master Borgo is still too young. This battle is... uncertain."

"Look over there at the canyon! Where are the people who went in? They look like they've been swallowed up!"

This is true.

At the entrance to the canyon, militiamen were still being driven by the supervisory team, pouring into the dark "devil's mouth" in an endless stream.

The militiamen, who rushed into the canyon, were initially relieved to have temporarily escaped the whips of their supervising officers. The canyon was dimly lit and full of jagged rocks. They cautiously made their way forward, praying to get through this dreadful place as quickly as possible.

Suddenly, the person at the front started coughing violently.

"Cough cough... What's that smell?"

"It's so pungent! Cough cough cough..."

"Smoke! It's smoke! Where did the smoke come from?"

Deep within the canyon, thick, acrid smoke was rapidly billowing out! This was the work of Redbeard Andrei—wearing "masks," they lit pre-prepared, deliberately damp branches and leaves. The wet wood burned incompletely, producing large amounts of thick smoke containing irritating particles. Furthermore, they had obtained some special herbs from the herbalist, making the smoke even denser and more pungent.

"Cough cough cough! My eyes! I can't see!"

"Cough cough... My throat hurts so much! Cough cough..."

"Who pushed me? Don't push! I can't see where I'm going!"

Thick smoke quickly enveloped the entire middle section of the canyon. The militiamen were instantly thrown into chaos. Most of them were farmers, and had never experienced anything like this before. They were choked by the thick smoke, their eyes stinging and burning, unable to open them, let alone or tell which way to go. Panic spread like wildfire.

"Ouch!" A militiaman tripped over a stone.

"Don't step on me! Cough cough... Help!" Another person was knocked down by the chaotic crowd.

"This way! The exit is this way!" One of Andrei's men, suppressing a laugh, shouted through the smoke, pointing, of course, towards the trap.

"Quick! Run that way!" The panicked militiamen rushed off in the wrong direction like headless flies.

Andrei and his men, wearing simple, damp masks, moved like ghosts through the smoke.

"Hey buddy, this way please!"

A soldier chuckled and patted a militiaman on the shoulder who was rubbing his eyes. While the militiaman was still dazed, two other soldiers pounced on him and skillfully tied his hands with rope.

"Don't move, friend, you've been captured! Don't worry, we'll provide meals!"

Another soldier easily tripped a stray militiaman, pressing his knee into his back.

"Ouch, be gentle! I surrender! I surrender, okay? This smoke is too much!" the captured militiaman cried out with a mournful face.

The militiamen who entered the canyon were herded into the trap like obedient sheep. Andrei watched his men easily harvest the prisoners as if picking mushrooms, and his mustache twitched with delight: "Haha, that little rascal Borgo, he's brought quite a few gifts! Tie them up tight, don't let them escape!"

Outside the canyon, young Lord Borgo and his entourage craned their necks to look at the entrance.

"What's going on? How many people went in? Why hasn't anyone come out?" Young Master Polgar paced back and forth in frustration.

Sir Semi frowned. "Young Master, something's wrong. Even if there was resistance, there should have been defeated soldiers retreating, or the sounds of fighting. Right now, it's eerily quiet inside, only... only some strange coughing?"

Sir Nebakov sent a daring scout to investigate near the entrance. The soldier had barely poked his head in when he was choked by a thick cloud of smoke, his eyes watering. He scrambled back, coughing, "Reporting, Sir! It's...it's full of smoke! It's suffocating! I can't see anything! And I haven't seen any of our men!"

"Smoke?" Young Master Borgo looked bewildered. "Could they be cooking in there? Or... is it haunted?" A sense of foreboding rose in his heart, but he felt more anger at being fooled.

They had to order a halt to the militia's assault on the canyon. This also brought a sigh of relief to the sheriffs of the five villages. Watching their villagers go in one by one and disappear was truly terrifying.

Is Devil's Canyon really like a demon that can devour people?