WeTried Translations

Translator/Editor: Ceaseless

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◈ The Medieval Heretic King is Too Good at Developing ◈

Chapter 50: The Information Revolution (3)

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The May sun showed no mercy.

The midday light stabbed down over Prague's walls like harpoons, and heat haze rose from the baked stone floor, dizzying to look at.

Their helmets were as hot as pot lids left over a fire, while suffocating heat poured through the gaps in their armor.

"Ugh, I'm roasting alive."

Ondřej grumbled as he irritably loosened the straps of his helmet.

Sweat streamed endlessly down his chin, soaking the padded garment beneath his armor.

"Hey, Matej. Isn't your back itchy? It feels like fleas are dancing all over my body. Damn, I'm going to get heat rash."

"Shut your mouth. Is whining going to make the weather cooler?"

Matej snapped at him, though he clearly looked just as uncomfortable.

Only half a year ago, they had been Taborite peasant soldiers, running across fields with pitchforks and flails in hand.

When they wore nothing more than loose tunics and trousers that let the wind through, at least they had never needed to worry about ventilation.

Now, though, they were wrapped in surcoats stamped with the royal crest, gleaming steel breastplates beneath them, and thick padded garments.

Their defense was unmatched, but under the midday sun, they were little more than walking steam baths.

"Still, this is better than before. Back then, we'd be crawling through furrows while some lord whipped us."

Ondřej knocked on his breastplate with his iron-gloved hand.

Thunk. Thunk.

The sound was dull but solid.

"Matej, have you looked in a mirror while wearing this? Honestly... doesn't it look pretty good?"

"You bastard, what mirror? You were grinning at your reflection in a puddle."

Matej answered bluntly, but his hand tightened around his spear shaft.

'I am the King's soldier.'

He was no longer a disposable tool to be used and discarded. He was part of the regular army that upheld this kingdom.

That was why the weight of the armor pressing down on his shoulders did not feel entirely unpleasant. Amid the sweat-soaked iron plates, a strange pride filled him.

To be honest, Matej had been doubtful at first.

Would the King really keep his promise?

Yet after a month in the army, he could answer with certainty.

The training was harsh, and the discipline suffocatingly strict, but the rewards were certain.

Silver coins came into his hand every week without fail, and his tray was piled high each day with steaming meat and bread.

Matej and Ondřej's once gaunt shoulders had filled out until their armor felt tight.

More than anything, though, what made Matej hold his head high was how people looked at him now.

As Taborite peasant soldiers, they had been called brothers, but they had also been rebels. People's eyes had held either fear or contempt, along with the strange inferiority they carried within themselves.

Things were different now.

Whenever Matej walked through the streets in a surcoat bearing the royal crest, Prague's citizens looked at him with awe and respect.

Matej loved those looks, that swelling feeling, more than he could bear.

"Hey, Matej. What are you going to do when you get paid this time?"

"I don't know. First, I'm getting beer at the tavern..."

Leaning against the battlements, Matej smacked his lips as he imagined a cold lager and the curvy figure of Lenka, the serving girl at his usual tavern. Then his words cut off.

Ondřej tilted his head.

"What's wrong?"

"Th-that... what is that?"

Matej pointed toward the horizon beyond the western plain.

A massive yellow-brown cloud was rising in the distance.

There was not a breath of wind today.

Which meant it was not a natural phenomenon.

It was an artificial dust storm that could only be created by thousands, no, tens of thousands of hooves and wheels crushing the earth at once.

All color drained from Ondřej's face.

"Gasp...!"

The trauma they wanted to forget came flooding back.

Only months ago, the crusaders had surged across the Letná Plain, filling it from end to end.

That overwhelming terror of death.

"Enemies! Crusaders! They've come back!"

"The bell! Ring the bell, now!"

Matej screamed and lunged toward the alarm bell's rope.

He was about to seize it and ring the bell, putting the entire city on alert.

Then the lead rider emerged from the dust cloud.

"...Huh?"

Matej froze in mid-motion.

A flag fluttered through the heat haze.

He rubbed his eyes and looked again.

It was not a cross. Nor was it the black eagle of the Empire.

Against a red field stood a silver beast roaring on its hind legs.

"Hey! Hey! Stop! Don't pull it!"

Matej grabbed Ondřej by the collar as he clung to the rope and threw him backward.

"Are you insane?! They're right in front of us!"

"No! Look at that, you idiot!"

Matej shouted, pointing beyond the walls.

"It's a lion! Our flag! The Lion of Bohemia!"

Ondřej crawled over and looked down from the battlements.

What poured through the dust cloud was not a force of killers armed with spears and swords.

It was wagons.

A seemingly endless procession of wagons filled the horizon.

A massive supply convoy rolled beneath the scorching May sun, as if it had stripped the fertile plains of Poland bare to refill Bohemia's granaries after a long winter.

* * *

"Lower the drawbridge! Open the gates!"

Creeeak! Thud!

The drawbridge came down over the moat with the groan of heavy iron chains.

As Prague's tightly shut western gate opened wide, the enormous procession stretching beyond the horizon began pouring into the square.

Rattle, rattle.

Wooden wheels rolled heavily across the stone pavement.

Every wagon bed was stacked with enormous sacks ready to burst.

Through gaps in the burlap, torn open by the rough journey, golden grains spilled onto the ground.

The citizens gathered around the wagons as though entranced.

An old man picked up a grain from the ground with trembling fingers and put it in his mouth. His eyes flew open.

"W-wheat...!"

The cry spread through the crowd in an instant, like a spark falling into a dry field.

"My God... that's all wheat?"

"Grain! It's real grain!"

Cheers swallowed the square.

Life returned to the eyes of Prague's citizens, who had been hollow from hunger.

It was a feast of yellow more precious than gold bars and more beautiful than jewels.

At the head of the procession, Abraham rode into the center of the square on horseback, dressed in a black tunic and covered in dust.

Exhaustion had hollowed the skin beneath his eyes, and his beard was a mess, but he could not hide the pride in his expression.

'You did it, Abraham.'

With a smile on my lips, I walked into the crowd with my escorting knights.

"His Majesty the King is arriving!"

At Konrad's cry, the crowd parted like the Red Sea.

I had deliberately left off both a splendid crown and an imposing cloak.

I should not be the main character here.

Abraham leaped down from his horse the moment he spotted me and hurried over.

Without even taking the time to straighten his dirt-covered clothes, he moved by habit to kneel before me.

"Your Majesty! Your servant Abraham, having carried out Your Majesty's command, has now..."

Before his knees could touch the cold stone ground, I firmly grabbed his forearm.

"Y-Your Majesty?"

"Rise. How can a victorious general kneel so easily?"

I pulled him to his feet. Abraham stood there in confusion, unsure what to do.

"A-a victorious general? That's impossible! I am nothing but a lowly merchant who can count. I have never even swung a sword. How could I..."

Instead of answering Abraham's flustered protest, I reached out.

Then I brushed the thick dust from his shoulders.

"...!"

The noise around us stopped for an instant.

It was a shocking sight, the king of a nation personally brushing dust from a Jew.

I could feel the citizens holding their breath.

It was a calculated performance.

At the same time, it was completely sincere.

"You are wrong. Today, you have won a victory greater than any general."

I looked directly into his trembling eyes.

"A general wielding a sword protects the country by killing enemies, but you brought bread and saved my people. Every grain of wheat you brought is the life of a child who might have starved to death tomorrow."

"Your Majesty..."

Abraham's eyes reddened. He bit his lip, trying to hold back his tears.

All the sorrow of a lifetime spent being pointed at as a Jew who cared only for money, as one of the people who sold Jesus, melted away at those words like snow.

I seized Abraham's hand while he stood there dazed.

It was a rough, unpolished merchant's hand, callused and stained with ink.

I raised it high for everyone to see.

"Citizens of Prague! Look!"

My voice rang across the square.

"Who brought the bread that will fill your hungry bellies? Who saved your children from starvation?"

The citizens' eyes turned to Abraham's hand, held aloft in mine.

"It is Abraham, my Royal Minister of Finance and your brother!"

"Waaahhh!!"

A thunderous cheer erupted.

Before its heat could fade, I shouted again.

"And I promise you! From today onward, the price of all bread in Prague will be cut in half! No one in Bohemia will ever starve because bread is too expensive!"

Halving the price of bread.

It was a blessing that struck directly at the people's stomachs, more powerful than any lofty political slogan.

The square became a cauldron of frenzy.

"Long live King Ulrich! Long live Abraham!"

The cries became a vast wave that rang through the entire city.

"Ulrich! Ulrich! Ulrich!"

"Abraham! Abraham! Abraham!"

Thousands of Christians were chanting the name of a Jew alongside the name of their King.

In that moment, the walls of hatred and discrimination built over long years crumbled before the scent of freshly baked bread and the joy of survival.

Abraham stared at the crowd in disbelief.

People waved as they called his name.

Their eyes held gratitude and respect, not contempt.

Thick tears streamed endlessly down the old Jew's cheeks, soaking his beard.

Still unable to pull his hand free, he looked at me and muttered in a trembling voice.

"Your Majesty... I... I have no lingering regrets. In all my life, I never imagined the day would come when the name of a Jew would be spoken with such honor..."

"No lingering regrets? Isn't that too soon? This is only the beginning."

I held Abraham by the shoulder and smiled back at him.

Abraham nodded with a tear-streaked face.

This loyal minister looked ready to bring his ledger and follow me willingly, even if I told him we were going to Hell to make a deal with the Devil.

The cheers in the square showed no sign of stopping.

That day, the smell of baking bread rose from every chimney in Prague.

Footnotes:

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