WeTried Translations

Translator/Editor: Ceaseless

Discord: https://dsc.gg/wetried

◈ The Medieval Heretic King is Too Good at Developing ◈

Chapter 8: The Siege of Sternberg (2)

──────

I unfolded the letter the Hussite messenger had left behind.

The formal but stiff handwriting immediately caught my eye.

My expression did not change as I read the first few lines.

A recommendation to surrender, religious persuasion, the usual rhetoric exchanged on battlefields in this era. It was all exactly what I had expected.

Yet as my gaze moved down the page, my face gradually hardened.

The moment I read the final condition, an incredulous laugh escaped me.

"Heh, hehehe."

János Hunyadi, who had been anxiously watching beside me, carefully asked, "My lord? What could possibly be in that letter?"

"If you're curious, read it yourself."

The moment János took the letter, his face filled with shock.

"Th-this is...!"

The Hussites' "merciful" terms of surrender were as follows.

First, open the castle gates, accept the Four Articles of Prague, and declare the abandonment of the Catholic faith.

Second, withdraw loyalty from Sigismund and swear obedience to the Bohemian noble alliance in Prague.

Third, confiscate all church property within the domain, offer it to the Hussites, and continuously contribute funds for the war.

Fourth, as proof of that loyalty, lead the remaining troops at the vanguard of the next attack against the Imperial faction.

Sir Kuno's beard trembled with rage as he read the letter with János.

"Those wretches are worse than dogs! My lord, there is no need to heed such words! If you give the order, this Kuno will fight to the death before ever kneeling like a coward!"

"Calm yourself, Sir Kuno. Save that energy for the battle ahead."

Of course, I had no intention of surrendering.

The first and second conditions, I could understand. Medieval people were willing to die over religion, so they would obsess over whether someone was Catholic or Hussite, condemn one another as heretics, and point fingers.

But from the perspective of someone who had come from the modern world, the difference between Catholicism and the Hussite faith felt no greater than the difference between a church and a cathedral.

Honestly, it wasn't as though they were asking me to convert to Buddhism, so what did it matter? Besides, I had never intended to swear loyalty to the cowardly and petty Sigismund.

The third and fourth conditions were another matter entirely.

'Give them all my money, then lead my men at the front of their next attack? Are they insane?'

It was no different from telling me to choose between dying now or becoming their dog and being dragged around until the enraged emperor killed me. Either way, I would be branded a traitor.

After considering it, I walked over to a nearby bonfire. Then, before everyone, I tossed the Hussites' parchment of mercy into the flames.

Whoosh!

The parchment curled black in the bonfire and crumbled into ash.

Looking down at the messenger waiting for an answer below the walls, I shouted, "Go back to your lord and tell him this! Dying in battle is easy, but living as a slave is hard!"

My voice rang clearly across the battlements.

The Hussite messenger spurred the horse and immediately returned to the Hussite camp with a grim expression.

A dreadful silence settled over the walls.

There was no turning back now. This was not some war seen in a textbook or on a monitor. A real war, where people truly died, was right before us.

I slowly looked over the soldiers.

There was little hope on their faces. Like prisoners who had been handed their death sentences, they stared blankly ahead, frozen with fear.

The soldiers who had returned alive from Vyšehrad especially looked as though they wanted to throw down their weapons and run at any moment.

I sensed it instinctively. At this rate, they would collapse from within before they could even fight.

With a sigh, I lowered my head.

"Haah..."

To be honest, I was afraid too. I had no idea how things had turned out this way.

Only days ago, I had been enjoying a pleasant, comfortable trip through Europe. Who could have imagined that I would suddenly fall into the Middle Ages, holding a sword atop a castle wall? Every part of me wanted to run.

Still, I was a noble. If I found a way to save myself, perhaps I could somehow endure. They said life was better than death even if one had to roll around in a field of dung. Wouldn't that be better than dying here?

It was then, as I slowly raised my head.

János. Sir Kuno. Every soldier in the castle.

Everyone atop the walls was looking at me.

Every gaze was fixed upon me, their lord, as if I were their only hope.

"..."

The instant I felt the weight of those stares, I moved without realizing it.

Clang!

Beneath the Sternberg banner, its golden eight-pointed star standing out against a blue field, I shouted in a booming voice.

"Raise your heads, soldiers of Sternberg!"

The soldiers looked toward me weakly. Their eyes were filled only with fear and resignation.

The moment I saw that, I felt as though my mouth was moving on its own.

My heart pounded harder and harder, and the blood in my body seemed to boil.

"Do you remember what we have done over the past few days? We went without sleep to build mangonels, and we burned our hands making firebombs! What have we been preparing for? Did we do all that just to tremble before them?"

I pointed to the Wagenburg and Hussite camp stretched below the walls like a giant centipede.

"I know. Some among you see that red chalice banner and waver, while others are devout believers who think Roman Catholicism alone offers salvation!"

At those words, several soldiers flinched and looked away.

"But look at them!"

An unknown fury churned violently within me.

Were these Ulrich's emotions?

Or Park Kang-jun's?

I did not know. I only poured that emotion into an even louder voice.

"Do they see us as Hussite brothers? Do they respect us as devout Catholics? No! In their eyes, we are nothing but property to plunder and trophies whose heads they can hang from their walls!"

"Here and now, we are neither Catholics nor Hussites! We are Sternberg! We are the people of Sternberg, who must protect this castle, our families, and ourselves!"

The people of Sternberg.

At those words, determination slowly began to appear on the soldiers' faces.

"I will not promise you victory. I will not guarantee that you will return alive."

"But I promise you this. I will be the first to stand atop these walls, and I will fight beside you until the very end! If we do not see tomorrow's sun, then I too will be buried beneath these walls with you!"

"So choose! Will you kneel like cowards and live as slaves for the rest of your lives? Or will you stand proud and fight beneath the name of Sternberg until the moment you die?"

In answer to the young lord's stirring cry, Sir Kuno, commander of the knights, was the first to draw his sword.

Clang!

There was no fear in his eyes. Only loyalty to his lord and fierce determination burned there.

"For Sternberg!"

That cry sparked the others. One by one, the soldiers who had been paralyzed by fear began raising their weapons high.

A soldier who had once been a farmer lifted an old spear with trembling hands. The soldier beside them followed, then the soldier beside them.

"For Sternberg!"

The banner bearing the golden eight-pointed star snapped in the fierce wind. Beneath it, I too shouted with the soldiers until my throat nearly burst.

"Let's fight! For Sternberg!"

"Uwaaaaaah!!"

The fear had not disappeared. It was simply buried beneath a fury and determination great enough to fill the battlements.

It was the beginning of the battle that would later be recorded in history as the Siege of Sternberg.

* * *

The scar at the corner of Mikuláš of Hus's mouth twitched as he received the reply through the messenger.

"Dying in battle is easy, but becoming a slave is hard? Hah. That brat has some spirit after all."

He nodded with a satisfied smile.

"...Good. Give him what he wants. All troops, advance! Reduce that fortress of those arrogant heathens to dust!"

Rumble!

With the heavy sound of wheels shaking the earth, the steel wagon fortress, the Wagenburg, began to crawl forward.

Groups of infantry carrying crudely assembled siege ladders followed behind it.

At that moment, the cautious Hynek Krušina of Lichtenburg spoke.

"Mikuláš, we must not let our guard down. Though their numbers may be small, Sternberg Castle is a natural fortress."

Krušina pointed toward Sternberg Castle.

"It sits atop a high hill, allowing them to see our movements as clearly as the palm of their hands. Every direction but the main gate is nearly a cliff, so our approach routes are bound to be limited. These are the worst possible conditions for the attackers."

Mikuláš gave a derisive snort.

"Do not worry, Lord Krušina. Even if they know exactly where we will approach from and rain arrows upon us, what good will it do them?"

Mikuláš pointed to the column of battle wagons made from sturdy oak.

"Before the ironclad defense of the Wagenburg, they are nothing but annoying flies. By the time they realize their arrows cannot harm us, my soldiers will already be beneath their walls."

Mikuláš watched the soldiers moving at his command with confidence.

'The Wagenburg is perfect. Before this solid barricade and moving fortress, no knight and no castle wall can stand.'

The Hussites and their Wagenburg had reached a point a hundred paces from the walls.

Screeeech!

A sharp sound cut through the air.

From the castle's spire, a yellowish-brown object flew in a strange arc.

It looked far too light to be a stone hurled by a mangonel.

Crash!

It landed atop the wooden roof of the lead wagon and shattered with a loud crack.

Sticky oil splashed in every direction, carrying a stench that seemed to numb their noses.

"Ugh, what is this?"

"Hahaha! Those bastards must be so scared that they're throwing chamber pots instead of stones!"

Mocking laughter broke out among the soldiers.

Then dozens more jars flew in one after another, striking and shattering throughout the Wagenburg formation.

Only then did the laughter vanish from the soldiers' faces.

"Sniff, sniff! Wait, this awful smell is...?"

"Oil? No, it doesn't smell like ordinary oil...!"

As the soldiers panicked and tried to wipe the sticky liquid from their clothes, dozens of flaming arrows streaked down from the castle walls, trailing long tails.

Whoosh! Thunk!

Fwoooosh!

"Aaargh!"

"Fire! My body is on fire!"

Everything touched by the sticky liquid ignited like a living demon. The wagons' wooden barricades, the soldiers' leather armor, even the damp ground beneath their feet.

Belching thick black smoke, the flames turned the Hussite camp into a blazing hellscape in an instant.

Mikuláš roared, "Do not panic! We are prepared for fire attacks! Cover it with wet leather and throw sandbags! Pour water on it and put out the flames!"

He knew well that the Wagenburg was vulnerable to fire, and he had made thorough preparations.

At the commander's shout, a soldier quickly grabbed a bucket and hurled its contents onto the nearest blaze.

The water struck the flames.

Boom!

Instead of going out, the flames exploded madly. Burning droplets of oil rained down in every direction like a shower from hell.

"Aaargh!"

"Ahh! It's hot!!"

Rather than putting out the fire, the water had become a trigger that sent the oil-fed flames bursting everywhere.

Chain explosions erupted throughout the Wagenburg formation, followed by piercing screams.

Mikuláš's eyes filled with shock.

"Wh-what in the world... is this...?!"

The invincible fortress of the Hussites, who called themselves God's army, was melting away helplessly before an unknown inferno.

Yet the disaster had only begun.

The cursed jars launched from the castle's spire continued to fall upon the Wagenburg without pause, spreading fire and screams farther and farther.

Whoooosh!

Crash! Crash!

"Aaaargh!"

"Run! It's cursed fire!"

Then the brat lord's sharp voice rang out from the walls.

"Now! Crossbowmen, begin firing!"

With a rattle of metal from the walls, crossbow bolts poured down mercilessly.

Whish, whish, whish!

"Aaargh! Crossbows!"

"Get behind cover!"

"Where are we supposed to hide? Everything is on fire!"

The Hussite soldiers, fleeing their wagon formation in blind panic to escape the flames, fell helplessly beneath the barrage of crossbow bolts from above.

It was a vast slaughterhouse where they could neither advance nor retreat.

Regaining his senses, Mikuláš shouted at the top of his lungs.

"Sand! Throw sand! Cut the chains on the burning wagons and separate them from the formation at once!"

The Hussite soldiers moved at their commander's desperate orders.

Sandbags were constantly thrown onto the flames, and several brave soldiers swung axes to sever the links connecting the burning wagons.

Yet as if mocking all their efforts, the fire spread at an unimaginable pace.

The sticky liquid seeped into the cracks in the wagons' wood, burning everything from within. Carried by the wind, sparks leaped to the wagons beside them in an instant and fed the inferno.

A chill ran through Mikuláš's entire body.

'What kind of fire is this?!'

He had spent his life on battlefields. He had experienced countless fire attacks and stopped them. But he had never seen a fire like this.

A cursed blaze that exploded when it met water, would not go out even when smothered with sand, and spread like a living plague.

'Can a fire like this truly have been made by human hands?'

Mikuláš ground his teeth.

If they kept taking those unknown fiery blows from a distance, their annihilation was only a matter of time.

'We have to reach the walls before they can launch any more magic jars!'

Prepared to stain his war hammer with blood, he raised it high.

"All troops! Stop them from throwing those damned jars! Forward! Advance on the walls!"

"Ura! Ura!"

"For the brothers of Hus!"

The bravest Hussite warriors, who had scattered to escape the flames, gathered once more.

Holding war flails and axes, carrying siege ladders on their backs, they charged toward the walls of Sternberg Castle with shouts.

They had only one goal: to destroy the mangonels launching those cursed jars.

But when they were almost beneath the walls, they realized that what loomed above them was not merely a shadow.

Atop the walls, Sternberg soldiers looked down at them while holding more hellfire jars like those just launched from the mangonels. Their fuses were already lit.

"Now! Throw them!"

Dozens of burning jars rained down beneath the walls.

Boom, boom, boom!

Hellfire burst above the heads of the Hussite soldiers packed tightly into the narrow space directly below the walls.

"Aaargh!"

"Save... save me! The fire, the fire won't go out!"

Flames as sticky as lava poured down upon them. The burning oil fed on the soldiers' blood and flesh, burning even more horribly.

Screams filled the air. Before the horrific sight of their comrades burning alive beside them, even the ferocious momentum of the Hussites, who called themselves warriors of God, could not help but break in an instant.

There was no longer any fanatical faith in their eyes.

Only primal fear remained.

"Run! It's cursed fire!"

"This is the devil's castle! Run!"

The Hussite soldiers began fleeing in blind panic, abandoning their weapons, ladders, and even the corpses of their comrades.

"Do not run! How can God's warriors show their backs like cowards?! The enemy only numbers a few dozen!"

Mikuláš shouted at the fleeing soldiers, but the commander's voice could not reach the fear-stricken soldiers.

"Th-this...!"

Like the seasoned mercenary he was, Mikuláš excelled at judging the tides of battle.

To his eyes, this battle was already as good as over. The soldiers were terrified, and their ranks had long since collapsed.

In bitter anguish, he realized that gathering even the remaining soldiers was the best he could do now.

"...Retreat, retreat! Damn it, retreat at once!!"

Footnotes:

Join our discord at https://dsc.gg/wetried