The Medieval Heretic King is Too Good at Developing - Chapter 73

WeTried Translations

Translator/Editor: Ceaseless

◈ The Medieval Heretic King is Too Good at Developing ◈

Chapter 73: The Peasant King (3)

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March. By the calendar, spring was about to begin.

Yet no matter how much winter's bite had weakened, the wind sweeping across the high walls was still sharp enough to strip flesh from bone.

The scene at the third watchpost on Prague Castle's northern wall was quite different, though.

"Phew..."

Matej let out a long breath and leaned against his spear. White vapor scattered through the air.

Unable to bear the boredom any longer, Ondřej spoke from beside him.

"Hey, Matej. How long until we're relieved? My stomach says the bell should've rung ages ago."

"Who knows. We've probably got another half day before we hear it."

Matej answered without much interest.

His eyes remained as sharp as ever as he watched the ground below the wall, but even in the biting cold, his expression looked far more relaxed than usual.

At this time of year, soldiers on the walls should have been half-dead from fighting the cold.

Their iron helmets and armor stuck to their skin, and no amount of thick clothing could stop the chill from seeping into their bones.

Medieval winters were a time when soldiers regularly lost toes to frostbite, their flesh turning black and rotting away, or froze to death while standing watch.

This year was different.

Whoooosh!

The harsh wind whipped the edges of their cloaks.

It was cold enough to freeze the flesh, yet both men looked as peaceful as cats before a hearth.

"Still... isn't this thing amazing?"

Ondřej patted his chest.

The left side beneath his thick gambeson bulged unnaturally.

"It's so warm. It feels like I'm carrying a stove against my chest."

"Be careful. If it's too hot, you'll burn yourself."

"Don't worry. I wrapped it carefully in two layers of cloth."

Ondřej slipped a hand into his gambeson and savored the warmth.

Inside was a round stone the size of an adult's fist.

It was an ordinary river stone, heated red-hot over a bonfire by the cooks and handed out during morning assembly.

Yet to soldiers who had to stand in the freezing wind, that common stone was more precious than gold.

[Attach a pocket to the inside of every soldier's uniform during winter. At every shift change, issue them stones heated over a fire.]

It was an order personally issued by the King.

In truth, wrapping hot stones in cloth and carrying them close to the body was folk wisdom quietly passed down among mountain hunters enduring severe winters.

Ulrich, however, was the first to order it systematically distributed throughout an entire army.

It did not even cost much.

All they had to do was add a pocket to each uniform, gather stones scattered along the river, and heat them over a fire.

Still, that small consideration had an enormous effect.

Soldiers no longer stood watch shivering in the cold. As their bodies warmed, so did their hearts.

Knowing that the King treated them as people rather than disposable tools, their morale naturally soared.

Ondřej let out an impressed breath.

"Most lords don't care if their soldiers freeze to death... but His Majesty is a truly unusual man. He even worries about our chests growing cold and gives us stones."

Without a word, Matej brushed a hand across his own chest.

It was warm.

Not just because of the stone.

"Come to think of it, you've been looking pretty happy lately."

Ondřej grinned mischievously and nudged Matej in the side with his elbow.

"I hear you've been going to the Fat Goose Inn like it's your own home. Things seem awfully suspicious between you and that waitress."

"...Don't talk nonsense."

"Come on, don't be shy. Her name was Lenka, right? She's quite pretty. When are you getting married?"

"It's not like that."

Matej pretended not to care, but he could not hide the faint smile spreading across his lips.

Lenka.

She was a waitress at the Fat Goose Inn in an alley behind Old Town Square, a lovely young woman whose eyes curved like crescents when she smiled.

Matej had once believed he would never be able to love another woman.

Two years ago, when an attack by the Hungarian army took his wife and young daughter, his world had collapsed. He had joined the Hussites with nothing but vengeance in his heart, living in a hellish existence because he could not die.

Then the King changed, and so did the world.

The nation grew prosperous, the city became clean, and the streets began to fill with life instead of the endless fear of war.

Holding a warm stone against his chest as he stood on the wall, Matej no longer saw Prague as gray.

'Yes... perhaps I can start again.'

If he served diligently, saved his wages, confessed to Lenka, and bought even a small house...

Would his dead wife and daughter not be happy for him in heaven?

He was only a penniless common soldier, but in this country, anyone who worked hard could hope for tomorrow.

Then it happened.

Clank, clank!

Amid the loud clash of armor, someone rushed up the wall stairs.

"Gasp, gasp...!"

It was a soldier from the same platoon. His face was flushed, and sweat poured down it.

Startled, Matej adjusted his grip on his spear.

"What is it? What's happened? Is there an enemy attack?"

"Or is it already time to change shifts? I didn't hear the bell."

The soldier shook his head hard. He was so out of breath that he could barely speak.

"N-No... it's not that... gasp, gasp..."

"Catch your breath and talk, you bastard. Is someone chasing you?"

"T-The King..."

The instant they heard that word, Matej and Ondřej's faces twisted into fierce expressions.

"What? What happened to His Majesty?"

"Don't tell me he's fallen ill?"

"Did some madmen attack him? Did those Catholic bastards finally send assassins?!"

Murderous intent flashed in their eyes. They looked ready to draw their swords for the King at once.

The soldier waved his hands in alarm at their intense reaction.

"N-No! It's nothing like that!"

"Then what is it? Stop dragging it out and tell us!"

"His Majesty..."

The soldier took one deep breath, then shouted in a trembling voice.

"H-He says he's giving us land!!"

"...What?"

Matej and Ondřej's eyes widened as if they were about to pop out.

* * *

_________

In the name of Ulrich I, King of Bohemia, I proclaim this.

For many long years, the corrupt bishops of Rome and greedy nobles have drained the lifeblood of the people while selling the name of God.

They filled their own bellies with unjust greed, while the people who toiled and cultivated the land groaned in the agony of hunger.

Therefore, I have sternly judged their sins and confiscated all lands illegally held by families that took part in rebellion and by corrupt monasteries, returning them to the Crown.

Yet the King's granary is the people's granary.

Today, I shall return these reclaimed lands to you, their rightful owners.

As King, I therefore decree the following.

Article 1. From this day forward, lands owned by the Crown shall be sold to the people of Bohemia. This grace shall be granted only to landless peasants who do not own even a handspan of farmland.

Article 2. Repayment for the land shall be determined as follows.

First. Those receiving already cultivated farmland shall repay the price in installments over twenty years by paying a portion of their harvest.

Second. Those who seek to develop rough wasteland and uncultivated land shall be commended for their labor and exempted from all taxes and repayments for the first five years. They shall then repay the price in installments over the following fifteen years.

Third. Upon the completion of repayment, full ownership of the land shall be recognized immediately.

Article 3. Priority in land distribution shall be given to those who have devoted themselves to Me and to the nation.

First. Wounded veterans and the bereaved families of fallen soldiers.

Second. Veterans who served in the Bohemian army and were honorably discharged.

Third. Households with many dependent children.

Fourth. Ordinary landless peasants.

Article 4. All independent farmers who receive land must carry out the "new farming method" designated by the Crown. Those who refuse or insist upon old customs shall be considered in breach of contract, and their land shall be reclaimed at once.

Article 5. If repayment is overdue three times or more without just cause, the distributed land shall be immediately reclaimed by the Crown.

Those who wish to own land.

Those who wish to leave their children land rather than poverty.

Inquire with your local administrator at once.

Land should belong to those who hold the plow and sow seeds upon it.

This is the King's promise, and My command to open a new age.

_________

"..."

Old Town Square in Prague.

An eerie silence hung over the place where the royal messenger had just read the decree and departed.

The people had certainly heard familiar Czech.

Yet its meaning did not immediately register.

It felt as though they had been listening to Latin.

"So... what in the world is that supposed to mean?"

A baker covered head to toe in white flour asked the person beside him with a blank expression.

"The King is lending us land? Does that mean he'll lower the rent?"

"I don't know... What does distribution mean? Is he giving us the right to farm it? Letting us cultivate the lords' land..."

To medieval peasants, the idea of owning land did not exist.

Land belonged to the King, the nobles, and the Church.

The people were nothing more than livestock bound to that land.

They spent their entire lives bending their backs on someone else's fields, giving more than half their harvest to the owner.

That was the order of the world as they knew it.

Yet now the King said he would give them land.

Not lend it to them, but give them a deed bearing their own names.

The people were collectively struggling to comprehend a decree so shocking that it broke every rule of the medieval world.

Then a scribe standing in the front row, staring hard at the notice, cried out in a trembling voice.

"No! He isn't lending it to us!"

Excited, the scribe sprayed spit as he spoke.

"Look here! It says, 'Upon the completion of repayment, full ownership of the land shall be recognized immediately'! Ownership! It means it becomes our land, like the lords have! Real land that we can leave to our children and grandchildren!"

Murmur, murmur.

Ripples began to spread through the square.

"Real land of our own?"

"Not rent, but we pay for it and buy our own land?"

"R-Right. It says that if we repay it little by little over twenty years, it becomes completely ours."

"Twenty years? That's practically giving it away! We've spent our whole lives farming other people's fields anyway!"

Doubt became certainty, and silence became shock.

Then that shock crashed over the square as a massive wave of joy.

"Aaaaaah!"

At that moment, a heart-wrenching cry burst from one corner of the square.

"Good heavens, you startled me!"

"What is it? What's happening?"

Everyone turned toward a disabled veteran missing one leg.

His crutch had fallen to the ground. He sat before the notice, stroking the paper bearing the decree as he wept.

"My land... I'm going to have land of my own..."

He had lost his leg in the last defense of Prague and been discharged. Since then, he had cursed his useless body and sustained himself day after day with alcohol.

To the man who lived because he could not die, consumed by the belief that he was only a burden to his family, the King's decree was like a lifeline sent down from heaven.

"Even without a leg... he'll give me land? A cripple like me... can have his own field?"

The dignity of being a provider.

The hope that he could feed his family once more.

Tears streamed down the man's face as he cried out the King's name.

"Your Majesty... thank you... sob, sob, long live His Majesty Ulrich!"

That desperate wail became the spark.

In an instant, the eyes of the crowd gathered in the square changed.

"Land! We need to go get land right now!"

"But what's this new farming method? It says we have to plant something."

"Who cares! He's giving us land! I'd plant shit if I had to!"

A ridiculous scene unfolded in the midst of it all.

"Damn it! Why are my legs so healthy?!"

A strong young man struck his sturdy thigh with his fist, looking close to tears.

"If I'd known this would happen, I should've at least taken an arrow on the battlefield!"

"Are you mad? You want to become crippled just to get land?"

"Wounded veterans get top priority! I need to get land even one year sooner and finish repaying it! I'll have land to leave to my children!"

Soldiers on leave embraced each other and danced.

"Did you hear? They say we'll get land when we're discharged!"

"I won't have to go back home and live as a tenant farmer! I can farm my own land!"

A strange current also ran between young lovers.

"Darling, we..."

A young farmer who had only recently promised marriage shyly took his beloved's hand.

"The decree... says the more children we have, the higher our priority."

"Oh, honestly."

The young woman blushed, but she did not pull away. Instead, she held his hand even tighter.

"The sooner we have them... the sooner we'll get land, right? Should we start trying tonight?"

"Oh, honestly! How shameless!"

Though she said that, the two were already walking toward home.

One child was practically the same as gaining a plot of farmland, so Bohemia's nights would not be cooling down anytime soon.

The front of Prague City Hall became complete chaos in an instant.

"Form a line! Don't push!"

The administrators screamed as they tried to defend their desks, but it was hopeless.

"Move! I was here first!"

"I took an arrow to the knee at Malešov!"

"I have five children! Five!"

Heat filled the front of City Hall so intensely that the winter wind meant nothing. White breath no longer came from people's mouths. Instead, desperate longing for land burst forth.

At the center of that confusion, someone overwhelmed by emotion shouted at the top of their lungs.

"Long live King Ulrich! Long live the Peasant King!"

That cry was like a spark falling onto a pile of dry firewood.

People who had just been grabbing one another by the collars to get land first suddenly began shouting together.

"Long live His Majesty Ulrich!"

"Thank you, Your Majesty!"

"O King who has given us land! May you live for ten thousand years!"

Those cries did not remain in the square before City Hall.

They spread through narrow alleys and across the fields beyond the city walls.

Before long, they swept across all of Bohemia like wildfire.

Without a single exception, with all their hearts.

All the people of Bohemia cried out as one.