WeTried Translations

Translator/Editor: Ceaseless

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◈ The Medieval Heretic King is Too Good at Developing ◈

Chapter 84: The Prague Newspaper (2)

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Deep within the Black Forest of southern Germany.

The sky was crushed beneath a dreary blanket of gray, and days of unceasing rain had turned the forest into one vast swamp.

Shhhh...

The forest air was thick with the strange mingling of rotting leaves, sweat-soaked leather, and the stench of blood.

This was the hideout of the Bundschuh, a peasant army that had risen against the harsh exploitation of the German lords.

Joseph Fritz, the peasant army's leader, sat before a campfire, wiping his sword with a wet cloth.

Scrape, scrape.

What he held was not a pitchfork or sickle once used to till the fields.

It was a smooth steel longsword, gleaming with a cold blue sheen in the firelight.

Sternberg steel.

It was on an entirely different level from the crude swords hammered out by German blacksmiths. It was light, strong, and above all, its edge did not dull easily.

The sword was not the only thing. Beneath an oiled canvas sheet stood wooden crates treated like treasure chests.

Inside gleamed finely made Hand cannons and canisters of Black powder.

All of it had been smuggled across the border from Bohemia as secret aid.

"Captain, they've set up camp outside the forest again."

Michael, who had gone out scouting, entered the tent, shaking rainwater from his clothes.

"I don't know which lord it is this time, but they seem serious. There must be at least fifty cavalrymen."

"Fifty..."

Joseph replied calmly and sheathed his sword.

When they had first risen up, fifty mounted soldiers had been the very definition of terror. The peasants had fled in panic at the mere sound of hoofbeats.

Things were different now.

Thanks to the steel and Gunpowder sent by the King of Bohemia, peasants without even proper training could now stand against armored knights on equal terms.

When they fired their matchlock guns, knights' armor was pierced like paper with a thunderous roar. When Black powder exploded, horses panicked and fell.

The problem was not their weapons.

"What about our food?"

"...It is serious. The lords burned and looted every village that had cooperated with us, so the other villages bar their doors whenever they see the peasant army's flag. We will have to cut supplies in half starting tomorrow."

"We already cut them in half, and now we have to halve them again..."

Joseph swallowed a deep sigh.

The lords no longer sought battle head-on. Instead, they burned any villages where the peasant army might hide and cut off supply routes, trying to starve them to death.

No matter how good their weapons were, they were useless if hunger left them too weak to fight. Bohemia's weapons had changed the course of the war, but they could not solve starvation.

'...When will the Lord's kingdom come?'

Joseph looked down at his mud-caked shoes. The lace-bound shoe, a symbol of peasant unity, had become so old and worn that its shape was barely recognizable.

The cause they had raised was noble.

All men were equal, and forests, water, and pastures belonged to everyone.

They would purify the corrupt Church and build an earthly paradise where God's justice flowed like a river.

Drawn by that sweet promise, thousands, then tens of thousands of peasants had joined them with sickles and plows in hand.

Yet after half a year, all that remained was an endless war of attrition, the corpses of comrades, and hunger so deep that their stomachs clung to their backs.

God's kingdom was far too distant, and the lords' blades were far too close.

"...Let us pray. The Lord will show us the way."

It was all Joseph could say.

Then it happened.

"Captain! Captain!"

An urgent shout came from outside the tent.

An enemy raid? Joseph instinctively grabbed the longsword at his side and rose.

But the person who burst in was not an enemy soldier. It was Frederick of Saxony, who had gone down to a village in disguise to find food.

Though he looked like a drowned rat, he pulled something from his coat, holding it as carefully as if it were precious.

"Look... look at this!"

It was neither bread nor meat.

It was a rolled bundle of paper.

"What is that? Did you bring back kindling?"

"No! Traveling merchants were handing these out at the village market. They said it was news from Bohemia... People are in an uproar!"

Unable to hide his excitement, Frederick of Saxony unfolded the paper with trembling hands.

Rustle.

What reflected the campfire's light was not yellowed, rough, cheap rag paper.

Though it had been soaked by rain, the ink had not run, and the movable type remained crisp on the smooth white page.

"This... is paper?"

Joseph instinctively touched one corner of the page.

It was unbelievably smooth beneath his fingertips. Even a lord's official decree would not be of better quality.

There was one problem. It was not written in German.

Joseph looked around and shouted.

"Martin! Where is Martin?"

Martin, a former seminary student who had been chewing dry bread in the corner, slowly rose. He was one of the few educated men in the peasant army.

"What is it, Captain?"

"Read this. What does it say?"

Martin accepted the paper Joseph handed him.

He rubbed his eyes as if annoyed, but the moment he read it, his eyes widened in shock.

"Th-this is..."

"What does it say?"

"...'Sigismund, Shame of the Empire, Sells the Crown of Hungary to Venetian Moneylenders.'"

Every peasant in the tent turned toward Martin's lips.

"What? He sold the crown?"

"That Emperor bastard?"

Martin began reading the article in a trembling voice.

"'Emperor Sigismund has put up the Crown of Saint Stephen as collateral to repay debts from the failed crusade. The man who calls himself Emperor of the Holy Roman Empire has disgraced himself by selling off a crown for a handful of coins...'"

Hahahaha!

Laughter burst from the tent.

"Serves him right! He squeezed us dry, and now he's sold his own crown!"

"That idiot! Why did he invade another country and put himself through all that?"

Their laughter rang with anger and mockery.

Soon, it gave way to bitter silence.

The Emperor was corrupt, and the Pope was a pig who cared only for money.

Everyone already knew that.

Was that not why every person here had taken up a sickle in outrage and resentment?

Joseph asked indifferently.

"What comes next? Does it curse the Pope too?"

Martin did not answer.

He turned the newspaper over and froze like a statue, his mouth hanging open.

"Hey, Martin. What is it?"

"L-look at this, Captain."

Martin held the back page of the newspaper before Joseph's eyes.

There was a picture instead of writing.

It was nothing like a crude charcoal sketch. It was an elaborate copperplate engraving, so detailed that it showed every strand of hair and every brick in the city walls.

The scene in the illustration was shocking.

Smooth paved roads instead of muddy tracks.

Women drawing clean water from fountains instead of beggars covered in filth.

Farmers leading plump, well-fed livestock instead of skeletal cattle with their ribs exposed.

And every one of those farmers wore a relaxed smile, their faces free of the weary fear etched into them before.

"......"

The peasants peered at the picture over one another's shoulders and swallowed hard.

The tent was doused into silence.

Even those who could not read could understand a picture.

It was the paradise they had only ever imagined in dreams.

It looked far too much like the Lord's kingdom.

"...Is this real?"

Someone muttered in disbelief.

"It's a lie. It's only a picture. Heretics can draw whatever they want. They're trying to deceive us."

"That's right. The priests said Bohemia is a hell ruled by devils. They said our souls would be devoured if we went there."

Voices of doubt rose up. It was the instinctive defense of people who had been deceived their entire lives.

Yet through the gaps in that doubt came an unrestrainable longing.

"But my cousin's brother-in-law said something."

A farmer sitting in the corner spoke cautiously.

"He ran away in the middle of the night and crossed the border this year. A letter arrived through a messenger not long ago. They say anyone who crosses the border is accepted. They give you warm soup and bread right away, help you find work, and even give you a house..."

"Get out of here! Who gives away houses for free?"

Frederick of Saxony rubbed the Bohemian-made dagger at his waist and spoke.

"But... these weapons are real too. Could a country ruled by devils make blades this fine? And look at this paper. It is better quality than the Bible in our village priest's hands. Do you think a beggar country where people cannot even eat could make something like this?"

It was a logical argument.

The steel and Gunpowder in their hands, and this smooth white paper.

All of it proved Bohemia's prosperity.

The people's eyes began to waver, half with doubt and half with hope.

"What does it matter if they are heretics..."

An old farmer muttered in a hoarse voice.

"The lords who claim to believe in Jesus raped my daughter and took all our grain... If devils give us food, then they are angels. What difference does it make?"

Those words became a spark that spread through everyone's hearts.

"Yes, better to go to hell and die with a full belly."

"If we stay here, we will either starve to death or die on a lord's blade."

The murmuring gradually turned into hope-filled anticipation.

"......"

Joseph silently rolled up the newspaper.

The prosperous scene in the illustration would not leave his mind.

He quietly left the group and headed for his own tent.

The tent was thick with dampness. His wife, Elsa, lay in a corner where rainwater leaked through, while their two daughters slept burrowed into their mother's arms.

The children's cheeks were pale, and their clothes were little better than rags.

"You're back."

Elsa opened her eyes at the sound of his presence and smiled weakly.

Instead of answering, Joseph sank down beside his wife and unfolded the crumpled newspaper from his coat.

"Elsa, look at this."

Elsa stared at the illustration in the candlelight.

Clean streets. Children smiling.

Her cracked fingertips carefully traced the faces of the children in the picture.

"It is beautiful... It looks just like heaven."

"......"

Joseph's throat tightened, and he could not bring himself to speak.

He had taken up the sword to build the Lord's kingdom on earth.

He would drive out the greedy lords and create a world where all were equal.

Yet in reality, far from the Lord's kingdom, his comrades were digging into the dirt to eat because they did not have a single piece of bread for tomorrow.

He was a revolutionary.

He had risked his life for the freedom of the peasants.

'I do not mind dying here. But...'

At the same time, he was the head of a family.

Was it truly right to leave my family starving in this muddy wilderness because of my convictions?

If even half of a half of what was drawn on that paper, no, even half of that, were true...

Would that not be better than remaining in this hellish forest?

Joseph stroked his sleeping daughter's hair with his rough hand. The warmth of the child reached him through the calluses on his fingertips.

As though he had made up his mind, Joseph spoke.

"Elsa."

"Yes, dear."

"Get ready to leave."

Elsa's eyes widened.

"At dawn tomorrow, before the sun rises, take the children and go east."

"East... to Bohemia? What about you? You're coming too, right?"

Rather than answer, Joseph looked at his daughter's face.

His eyes held deep sorrow, along with an unshakable resolve.

"I... have to stay. If I leave, these people will all die."

"Joseph!"

"Go and live. They say they give you food and houses there."

Joseph pressed the newspaper into Elsa's hand.

"Take this with you. Show it to the border guards... They will probably let you in. They say the King printed it himself, so it is practically a pass."

Tears streamed down Elsa's face.

"What about you... Are you truly not coming?"

"I will. But not now."

Joseph gently stroked his wife's wet cheek.

"If this is real... wait for me there. One day, I will definitely follow you."

Footnotes:

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