The Medieval Heretic King is Too Good at Developing - Chapter 15

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◈ The Medieval Heretic King is Too Good at Developing ◈

Chapter 15: The Heretic King

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Neighhh!

Clatter! Clatter!

Thousands of hooves and hundreds of wheels trampled the earth.

The ground groaned, and amid a thunderous roar that shook the very foundations of the world, the army steadily advanced toward Sternberg.

The Hussites' second punitive force.

At its head was the one-eyed lion, Jan Žižka.

The Wagenburg force assembled this time was on an entirely different level from the one Mikuláš of Hus had led before.

Every wagon's outer walls had been thickly coated in mud, while several layers of water-soaked leather covered their roofs.

Where water barrels should have been, there were instead barrels filled with dry sand and vinegar. Every soldier wore a heavy cloak.

An axe unit had even been organized to detach wagons from the formation at a moment's notice.

Their preparations against fire were obsessively thorough.

That cursed flame would never work against the Hussites again.

Žižka's single eye burned with vengeance.

‘Mikuláš, I will avenge you myself.’

He ground his teeth as he remembered his old comrade's futile death.

At last, the Hussite army reached the border of Sternberg's domain.

"Wait!!"

A cloud of dust rose behind them as a horse, foam spilling from its mouth, charged forward madly.

The messenger riding it shouted desperately in a hoarse voice.

"Stop! Stop the advance!"

Žižka raised one hand. The Hussite army came to an abrupt halt.

The thunder that had shaken the ground only moments before ceased as though it had never been there.

"Who dares order me to halt the army?!"

The messenger reached the head of the army and practically fell from his horse. Panting heavily, he dropped to his knees before Žižka.

"General! An urgent message has arrived from Prague!"

"An urgent message from Prague? If that is all, I can hear it while we march. You stopped God's army over such a trifling matter?"

Žižka's voice boomed like thunder. The intimidating force of his one-eyed glare made the messenger's shoulders tremble with fear.

"I'm sorry! But... you must not attack Sternberg! The leadership orders you to halt the advance at once!"

"What?"

A deep crease formed between Žižka's brows. The air around them froze in an instant.

"What did you just say? Did I hear you wrong, or has something gone wrong with your tongue?"

The messenger shook his head, nearly in tears.

"Th-that is...! General, please read this first...!"

The messenger hurriedly pulled a crumpled sheet of parchment from his robes and held it out. The wax seal of the city of Prague was clearly stamped upon it.

"Hmph."

Žižka snorted and reluctantly accepted the parchment.

He could not imagine that a mere scrap of paper could stop God's army from advancing.

Yet as he began reading the first line with mocking eyes, his expression slowly hardened.

The rage burning within him only moments ago vanished, and his single eye widened in disbelief.

"What... what in the world is this?!"

Žižka snapped his head toward the messenger.

"Is what is written here truly true?"

"I'm sorry, but I do not know the letter's contents. The leadership in Prague only said that every commander, including you, General, must urgently discuss this matter!"

"Ha..."

The iron commander, who had never wavered even before Sigismund's crusaders.

Yet now, his hand trembled over a single letter.

"Damn it!"

Crunch!

The parchment crumpled horribly in Žižka's hand.

* * *

To the brave brothers in faith of Bohemia.

First, I offer my deepest regret for the bloodshed that took place beneath Sternberg's walls in recent days.

Yet I wish to make clear that this was a tragic event born not of hatred between us, but of a grave misunderstanding.

My father died at your hands in Vyšehrad, and my sword has also seen your blood.

But I have not taken up this pen to speak of the price of blood already spilled.

Instead, I ask you this. Why must we Bohemians drive blades into one another's hearts?

There is another true enemy, one who blinded us and turned brother against brother.

It is Sigismund, the lying king who has broken faith and promises.

See clearly. Sigismund is not the King of Bohemia. He is only the King of Hungary and Germany.

No one knows when crusaders from foreign lands, once again bearing the Pope's name, will ravage our land.

The moment he becomes King of Bohemia, Prague's brilliant intellect and Kuttenberg's silver mines will be exploited not for Bohemia, but solely for the Holy Roman Empire.

Sigismund's endless ambition divides us.

Brothers. We must unite.

We must become one and fight together.

For this sacred unity, I am prepared to cast aside everything.

Therefore, through this letter, I solemnly swear to all Hussite brothers.

I swear that I too shall raise the chalice with you, and that I shall make the Four Articles of Prague (freedom of preaching, communion in both kinds, confiscation of church property, and fair punishment) the law of my land.

I pledge upon my honor that I shall cast aside the corrupt order of the Roman Catholic Church and follow the true teachings of the Lord.

Yet brothers, one sad truth remains. You, gathered beneath a great cause, still lack a center to rally around.

Just as sheep without a shepherd become easy prey for wolves, an army without a banner is bound to scatter.

To restore Bohemia's glory, do we not need a noble and rightful banner that all can look to?

Only a united Bohemia can stand against Sigismund's ambition.

I earnestly hope that beside your banner of the chalice, Sternberg's eight-pointed star and Bohemia's lion banner may fly together.

The rightful heir of the House of Sternberg,

The last grandson through the maternal line of the great Emperor of Bohemia, Charles IV,

Son of Princess Eliška of Luxembourg,

Ulrich von Sternberg.

* * *

"Lord Ulrich... you are Emperor Charles IV's grandson?!"

János Hunyadi's cry made the candles in the study flicker dangerously.

I shrugged.

"Apparently. You did not know?"

"How could I possibly know that? It is not as though I go around memorizing every detail of your family's genealogy!"

János's protest was entirely reasonable. In an age when paper was precious, few people remembered every distant blood relative of an emperor or king.

Charles IV had officially married six times and had fifteen children. Once the children born to those children were included, the number became difficult even to count.

It was not because of some scheme or conspiracy. That was simply normal in medieval Europe. Children died so easily that it was natural to have many, and how much more so for an emperor?

Konrad, the chamberlain, spoke in a grave voice.

"It is only natural that János does not know. As a foreigner, he would not be familiar with Bohemia's circumstances."

"Still, I do not understand. If Lord Ulrich is Charles IV's grandson, then he is a direct descendant of the Holy Roman Emperor. Yet those Hussite bastards tried to kill you without a second thought. Something does not add up."

Konrad answered in a calm voice, as though recalling the distant past.

"That is because... the existence of Her Ladyship, Princess Eliška, was an open secret within the imperial court. Few would know of it unless they were royal chamberlains or clerks who managed genealogies. And all such people are Imperial faction officials attached closely to His Majesty Sigismund."

Konrad turned his gaze toward me.

His eyes held tangled emotions. Pity, regret, and something like guilt.

"The reason it was not widely known that my lord is Charles IV's grandson... is difficult for this old man to explain in detail. Let me only say that Her Ladyship had been almost forgotten in central politics."

I remained silent under Konrad's strange gaze.

To be honest, the original owner of this body, Ulrich, had attached no meaning to being Charles IV's grandson. He had never dreamed that he might become king.

Besides, the mother in his memories was only a woman who lay in bed with a sad expression. She was far removed from the image of a princess.

Then János suddenly lifted his head as though he had realized something.

"Ah! Then the reason His Majesty Sigismund practically left you to die was...!"

"He must have known I was a strong candidate for the throne who could threaten him. Of course, it is true that he may not have had the means to help me, but he probably also saw it as a good chance to get rid of a thorn in his side."

From Sigismund's point of view, it made perfect sense. No fool would spend money and soldiers to save a political rival.

"But Lord Ulrich, why reveal it now? If you had told them before the battle, you might have settled this without fighting the Hussites."

János's voice softened. It was a practical question, though regret for those who had died showed through it.

"No. At that time, I was the weaker side in the Hussites' eyes, facing defeat. If I had claimed my bloodline then, they would only have seen a puppet king falling into their laps, someone they could manipulate as they pleased."

My memories had been incomplete because I had only just arrived in the Middle Ages then, but even with every memory intact, nothing would have changed.

At best, it would have sounded like I was begging them not to kill me because I could be useful.

"But things are different now. I killed their commander and burned the Wagenburg they called invincible. They fear me. That puts me in a far stronger position for negotiations."

A peace offer from the defeated was begging. A peace offer from the victorious was the victor's mercy.

Then Sir Kuno, who had remained silent until now, spoke. His voice was hard and heavy as stone.

"My lord, I simply cannot understand."

"Hm?"

"The Hussites are the enemies who killed your father, are they not? Is joining hands with one's enemy truly fitting for a nobleman's honor?"

Betrayal and confusion mixed across Sir Kuno's face.

As a vassal who had pledged loyalty to the former lord, his question was only natural.

There was only one thing I could say to him.

"Was the reason my father died truly because of the Hussites, Sir Kuno?"

"Of course it was...!"

Sir Kuno began to shout by reflex, then swallowed his words.

My eyes pierced him, colder and sharper than any blade.

"Sigismund summoned the crusaders, and my father marched to fulfill his duty as a noble. How did Sigismund repay that loyal servant? Did he not ignore the rescue plea of Petr's son, me, and practically send me to my death?"

"That must have been part of His Majesty's grand design! It was an unavoidable sacrifice to strike Prague, the heart of heresy. He never intended to abandon you, my lord...!"

"No."

There was no doubting Sir Kuno's loyalty, but the direction of that loyalty was the problem.

"Sigismund started this war in the first place. He lured Jan Hus out with vile lies and had him burned at the stake, then tried to crush the people as heretics when they rose in anger. Is that the conduct of a proper king? All he cares about is Bohemia's crown. The people of this land mean nothing to him."

Sir Kuno hesitated, then spoke in a voice that lacked even his own conviction.

"...A king's duty is to protect the Church! The path of a ruler is to heed God's voice, not the voices of the people! Even if that path is harsh, it is a vassal's duty to follow it!"

Sir Kuno's voice was desperate. He was trying with all his strength to stop his lord from crossing an irreversible line.

Perhaps in medieval Europe, Sir Kuno's beliefs might have been right.

But I was not a man of the Middle Ages, and my decision had already been made.

"My father's true enemy is not those peasants fighting for their faith and survival. It is Sigismund, the man who drives them to their deaths for his own greed, to seize the crown and silver."

Sir Kuno was left speechless by my reply, so firm and certain. For a long time, he could not continue.

But he did not back down. Instead, he raised the most fundamental and deadly issue.

"Even... even if everything you say is right, my lord, the Hussites are heretics! The moment you accept them, His Holiness the Pope will excommunicate you! Do you truly not know what excommunication means in the Catholic world?!"

Along with sincere concern, Sir Kuno's voice carried fear born of faith rooted deep in his bones.

In this age, the Pope was God's representative, and a declaration of excommunication meant an eternity in hell.

Nor was that all. The vassals of an excommunicated lord were released from their oaths of loyalty. Any Catholic prince would gain cause to attack the excommunicated person's lands.

Because in the Catholic world, someone excommunicated by the Church was no longer considered human.

"Not only your soul, my lord, but Sternberg itself will become the enemy of every Catholic power!"

I smiled faintly.

It was neither contempt nor mockery. It was only a sincere question directed at an old, worn-out belief.

"Sir Kuno. If the Pope orders you to go to hell, will you truly go to hell?"

"Of course..."

"Heaven and hell are not decided by any one man, but by God. If I can stand with a clear conscience before God, what does it matter if everyone in the world points at me and calls me a heretic?"

Once again, everyone present widened their eyes in shock at words that shattered common sense. János's mouth fell slightly open, while Konrad let out a faint groan.

"Ah..."

Sir Kuno continued with his head bowed deeply.

"My lord walks a path no one has ever walked... no, a path no one has even imagined."

At that moment, he looked at me not as a young lord, but as the son of his former master.

"Even calling it a path of thorns is not enough. My lord intends to walk into hellfire of his own will."

"I know."

Of course I knew. How could I not?

But this was the only way I could remain myself in medieval Europe.

Sir Kuno nodded, his expression set with resolve.

"...I swore before the remains of the former lord that I would protect you no matter what happened, yet this disloyal servant has been blind and foolish. My lord, please punish me."

"There is no need. Repay your sin by serving me and protecting this land."

A choked sob escaped him.

Sir Kuno bowed his head and shed hot tears.

Once the heavy mood had eased somewhat, János cautiously asked, reading the room.

"So, my lord. Do you truly intend to become King of Bohemia?"

"Who knows? That depends on how they respond."

"What kind of irresponsible answer is that?! What will you do if they say they will not make you king?"

János jumped in alarm. I smiled calmly at him.

"That is possible. But one thing is certain."

My eyes gleamed mischievously.

"By now, Prague has probably been thrown into complete chaos, war or no war."

My prediction was correct.