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Translator/Editor: Ceaseless

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◈ The Medieval Heretic King is Too Good at Developing ◈

Chapter 45: The Spiritual War (6)

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Rosenberg.

That name carried no small weight in the Kingdom of Bohemia.

The eight-pointed star of Sternberg.

And the five-petaled rose of Rosenberg.

Aside from the royal coat of arms bearing the two-tailed lion, they were the two banners that represented the kingdom's highest noble authority.

Yet in actual power, they were worlds apart.

While the House of Sternberg had declined amid the storms of history and barely held on to a single aging castle, the House of Rosenberg had planted deep, solid roots in southern Bohemia through remarkable political skill and immense wealth.

Rosenberg Castle, the family's birthplace, and Český Krumlov, a naturally fortified city and the hub of southern trade.

Southern Bohemia was practically their own kingdom.

And now, Český Krumlov Castle, said to be impregnable, was...

Boom! Boom!

KABOOM!

being battered by a merciless barrage of cannon fire.

"Mad... Those insane heretics!"

Oldřich II, head of the House of Rosenberg, hurled his wineglass to the floor.

Crash!

Expensive Bohemian crystal shattered, and red wine spread across the carpet like blood.

No one even thought to clear away the fragments.

The entire castle was shaking as if an earthquake had struck.

KABOOM!

Another thunderous blast pounded his ears. At the same time, the chandelier swayed dangerously overhead as white plaster dust fell like snow.

Covered in dust, Oldřich rushed to the window and glared outside.

Český Krumlov.

A natural fortress encircled by the S-shaped Vltava River, the heart of the House of Rosenberg.

Its walls rose from sheer cliffs, so imposing that even giants could not scale them. For two hundred years, no enemy had ever taken this iron fortress.

'My calculations... They should have been perfect!'

He had trusted in Český Krumlov's rugged terrain, sturdy walls, and storehouses overflowing with provisions.

Even if The Heretic King brought an army, all he had to do was lock the gates and hold out.

They could endure for a year, even two. He had been certain that that rootless peasant rabble would eventually tire and retreat.

Yet now, the walls he had been so proud of were screaming.

"What... What in the world is that?"

BOOM!

Rumble!

One of the outer towers collapsed helplessly. It was like a child kicking down a sandcastle.

The captain of the household knights shouted urgently.

"My lord! You must evacuate! It isn't safe here either!"

"Evacuate? Me? You're telling the master of Rosenberg to tuck his tail and run from those heretics?"

Oldřich shouted, veins bulging in his neck.

"This is my domain! My kingdom! Even His Imperial Majesty cannot treat me lightly here, and that country bumpkin from Sternberg dares attack me?!"

He could not accept it.

Sternberg?

It might once have been a distinguished family, but now it was nothing more than a fallen noble house drowning in debt.

And someone like that dared point cannons at him, the ruler of the south. It was no different from blasphemy.

"Return fire! Are you saving the knights to make soup out of them? Get out there and smash those damned cannons!"

But Oldřich's command was swallowed by the continuing cannon fire.

Boom! Boom! KABOOM!

Dozens of cannons roared at once.

Stone dust and fragments burst from the walls like fountains.

Crack! Rumble!

Part of the outer wall collapsed.

The archers standing atop it fell with the rubble before they could even scream.

"Ugh... Aaaah..."

Oldřich clung to the railing, trembling like a leaf.

This was nothing like the warfare he knew.

Where had sieges with ladders, boiling oil, and blades meeting blades gone?

The enemy was demolishing this impregnable fortress from afar without laying a finger on it.

The captain of the knights grabbed his arm.

"M-My lord! You have to get out! If you stay here..."

At that moment, a terrible tearing sound rang out, and a dark shadow passed over Oldřich's head.

Fweeeee!

KABOOOM!!!

A massive iron ball buried itself in the wall just steps from where he had been standing.

The solid stone wall cracked like a spiderweb, and sharp fragments flew out and grazed Oldřich's cheek.

"Eek!"

Oldřich screamed and threw himself to the floor.

Hot blood ran down his cheek, but he could not even think of wiping it away.

That black iron ball lodged before his eyes.

Still radiating heat and giving off choking smoke, the lump of iron stared at him like a demon's eye.

'I’m going to die.'

The authority of Rosenberg? His family's history?

None of it mattered.

Before that merciless Gunpowder and steel, the Emperor, the Pope, and Oldřich himself were nothing but lumps of flesh that could be crushed with ease.

"Surrender..."

Oldřich muttered through trembling lips.

"Surrender! Raise the white flag! Now!"

He shrieked.

He could feel his trousers growing wet, but he had no time for shame.

"Tell them we'll give them anything they want! Money, land, all of it! Just make that damned cannon fire stop!"

The king of the south.

The red rose of Rosenberg withered miserably amid the thick Gunpowder smoke, reeking of urine.

* * *

Creak, clatter.

The heavy sound of cartwheels scraping across stone never stopped.

The treasury courtyard of Prague's royal palace was so crowded that there was barely room to walk.

"Your Majesty, this is the first tribute sent by the House of Rosenberg! Fifty thousand groschen in silver coins, a set of gold tableware, and..."

"Your Majesty! An envoy has arrived from the lord of Plzeň! They say they will offer the keys to the city gates and swear loyalty!"

"Someone from the House of Schwarzenberg has arrived as well! They beg you to withdraw the cannons, at least..."

Leaning against the terrace railing, I looked down at the commotion.

'This scene feels strangely familiar.'

The fall of Rosenberg.

Its impact was far greater and more immediate than I had expected.

The Catholic nobles had watched Rosenberg, once called the king of the south, collapse overnight into cannon fodder. They were terrified.

Once they fully realized that even high walls were no more than sandcastles before our army, they all began scrambling to Prague with bags of money, each eager to be the first.

Those who had spoken proudly of the Emperor's decree only yesterday were now emptying their family treasuries and begging to be spared.

And the gains did not come from the nobles' vaults alone.

With the southern nobles broken, the Catholic monasteries and churches that had enjoyed their protection also fell defenselessly into my hands.

The Church's vast wealth, accumulated by sucking the people dry while enjoying tax exemptions for centuries.

It was being reclaimed in full by the royal treasury.

"Your Majesty! This is insane! Truly insane! We've brought in twice... no, three times as much as when we confiscated Church property around Prague last time!"

Abraham was grinning from ear to ear.

It was hard to believe this was the same Royal Minister of Finance who had been fretting over bankruptcy only a few days ago.

"We can't even count all the gold and silver coins! Jewel-encrusted reliquaries, golden candlesticks, the finest textiles... We don't have enough warehouse space! At this rate, we could pay the soldiers ten years of wages in advance and still have money left over!"

Abraham looked ready to hug the ledger and dance.

I calmed him down.

"Abraham, calm down. This isn't something we can simply celebrate."

"Your Majesty? What do you mean?"

"Think about it. What do you think will happen if all this gold and silver suddenly floods the market at once?"

Abraham blinked for a moment, then put his sharp financial mind to work.

"Money will become common. Then..."

"The value of money will fall."

I nodded.

"Bohemia may be overflowing with money, but there's nothing to buy. The war has devastated the farmland, and the harvests have been poor. We could reach a point where people need to pay a gold coin for a single piece of bread."

Inflation.

Medieval people had not clearly defined the concept, but they understood the phenomenon all too well.

More money was not always better. If there were not enough goods to buy with it, the economy would collapse.

"T-Then what should we do? Put all this money back in the warehouses?"

"No. We need to spend it, just not at home."

I pointed northeast.

Abraham's eyes widened.

"Surely you mean Poland?"

"Yes. King Jagiełło sent a secret envoy, so it's time we sent a reply. Take this excess money to Poland and buy up all the grain you can find."

Poland was Europe's breadbasket.

Its fertile plains produced immense quantities of wheat and rye.

What we needed most was not gold, but bread to fill the people's stomachs right now.

"Import grain from Poland and release it onto the market. Bring the price of bread down to what it was before the war, no, half that. The people of Bohemia need to feel that, under the Steel King, they won't have to fear starving to death."

Abraham's eyes lit up.

"Of course! If we bring in food and control the price of bread, the people will have more money to spend, and it will flow back into the market! Once purchasing power returns, the steel farming tools we make will sell like hotcakes as well!"

"Right. And don't let the remaining money sit idle. Reinvest it in the industrial complex. Build schools and expand the hospitals. Money is like blood. If it doesn't flow, it rots."

"I'll remember that! I'll organize a trading company and leave for Poland at once. I'll make bread so cheap it may as well be dirt!"

Excited again, Abraham ran down the stairs.

That capable Jew would do an excellent job now, even without me spelling out every detail.

The immediate crisis was over.

Our finances were secure, and the people's livelihoods would stabilize.

Which meant it was time to prepare for the next step.

I turned my gaze toward a shaded corner of the terrace.

A man was there, casually peeling and eating an apple.

"János Hunyadi."

Crunch.

Even at my call, János Hunyadi leisurely put a slice of apple into his mouth and answered as he chewed.

"Yes, my lord. I'm watching. Quite a sight, isn't it? So this is what getting showered with money feels like."

"Is it good?"

"Sweet. It must be because these apples came from Rosenberg territory. The war is over, money is overflowing, and the nobles are groveling on their own... It seems all that's left is to stretch out and sleep."

"Stretch out and sleep? This is only the beginning. Pack your things. You are taking a trip."

"Where to? Poland? Or Venice? If it's an escort mission, I wouldn't mind getting some fresh air."

"Germany."

Thud.

The apple fell from János Hunyadi's hand and rolled across the floor.

He stared at me with wide, disbelieving eyes.

"...What did you just say? I heard that wrong, didn't I?"

"Germany. More precisely, the Rhine River region. Somewhere around Mainz or Strasbourg."

János Hunyadi gave a hollow laugh.

"My lord, do you know what Germany is like right now? It's a nest of crusaders desperate to hunt us down and kill us! If I so much as speak Czech, I'll be pelted with stones to death. And you want me to go there? What is this, a suicide squad?"

His reaction was only natural.

Right now, Bohemians were probably seen as devil worshippers throughout the Holy Roman Empire.

The moment he crossed the border, bounty hunters would surely target him.

Still, I calmly patted his shoulder.

"Who said I was sending a Bohemian?"

"Pardon?"

"You're Hungarian."

János Hunyadi's mouth fell open.

"You speak German, don't you?"

"Well... I can speak it, but..."

"That's enough. You aren't a Bohemian knight. To anyone looking, you're just a Hungarian mercenary wandering around in search of work."

I smiled.

"Did you forget that Emperor Sigismund is also King of Hungary? To Germans, Hungarians aren't enemies. They're practically comrades serving the same Emperor. If you speak German with a Hungarian accent, no one will suspect you."

János Hunyadi opened his mouth to argue, but my logic seemed to leave him speechless.

"...Fine. Let's say, for the sake of argument, that I can infiltrate without being caught. What am I supposed to do there? Bring back the Emperor's head? Assassinate an elector?"

"Nothing that extreme. Just bring back one person."

"A person? Who is it? An exiled noble?"

"No. For now, he's an ordinary metalworker."

I took out a parchment I had prepared in advance and handed it to him.

"His name is Johannes Gensfleisch zur Laden zum Gutenberg. Ah, he may not be using Gutenberg as a surname yet."

"...That's one hell of a long name."

János Hunyadi frowned as he examined the parchment.

"He's a metalworker? What, does he make cannons exceptionally well?"

"No."

The corner of my mouth curled up.

"But I guarantee he'll make us a weapon far more powerful than cannons."

Footnotes:

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