Dropped into 15th Century Europe (4) - The Medieval Heretic King Develops Way Too Well

Three days later, the emperor's reply arrived.

I read the letter's contents with trembling fingertips.

The letter's contents were as follows.

👑 Imperial Decree 👑

To my loyal vassal, Ulrich von Sternberg.

First, I offer my deepest condolences for the death of your father, Lord Petr.

He was my most faithful knight, and his valiant death will serve as an example to all knights of the empire. I shall never forget his sacrifice, and I offer profound thanks for the devotion of the Sternberg family, passed down through generations. Your courage and loyalty are equally commendable.

I was deeply moved by you, who raised your family's banner once more before your father's blood had even dried and swore fealty to me. You are the very model of a true Bohemian noble.

However, my loyal vassal. When the entire forest is ablaze, it is foolish to water a single tree. I am now rallying holy crusaders from across the empire to strike at the heart of the heretics: Prague itself.

To scatter even one soldier gathered for this great cause is to lend strength to the heretics. The small contingent of reinforcements I might send you would be but a handful of sand before the crashing waves of enraged heretics. It would not save you—it would only squander my precious troops in vain.

True aid comes from greater victories. When I capture Prague and sever the serpent's head, its tail will wither and die on its own. To endure until then is the greatest loyalty you can show me.

As a modest reward for your devotion—and a gift to aid your grave duty—I appoint you Margrave of the South of the kingdom and reconfirm all rights to your lands.

Furthermore, I bestow upon you 300 Prague groschen to help repair your walls and hire mercenaries. Thus, my loyal Margrave, defend your castle. Make Sternberg Castle a shining beacon of loyalty amid the heretics' domain.

Hold firm, disrupt their supply lines, and buy time until my great army marches. Your task is no light one. W

hen I raise the cup of victory in Prague, I promise to call your name first.

King of the Romans. Lord of Germany, Hungary, and Bohemia, Sigismund von Luxembourg.

"..."

I silently, very slowly, folded the letter and set it down.

Part of me wanted to tear it to shreds and hurl the pieces away right then and there.

But I couldn't deface a letter sealed with the emperor's mark in front of all these watching retainers. Such an act could be seen as treason against the emperor.

At that moment, the messenger—caked in sweat and dust—cautiously held out a leather pouch from his belt toward me.

"My lord, this is the silver bestowed by His Majesty."

I wordlessly opened the pouch.

Inside was not the promised reinforcements I'd so desperately hoped for, but only cold, meaningless silver coins piled high.

A hollow laugh escaped my lips.

"Janos."

"Yes, young master."

"How much is 300 Prague groschen worth, roughly?"

Janos answered in bewilderment.

"Pardon? Ah, well... It's a huge sum—enough to pay a skilled stonemason for a full year's labor. Far from a small amount, but..."

"And how many mercenaries could we hire with it?"

"...Well, with the whole country at war, mercenaries' prices have skyrocketed."

Janos glanced at me cautiously before answering.

"Being generous... we'd maybe get around ten skilled crossbowmen."

Ten.

Just ten mercenaries and thirty stragglers to hold off the rebels who'd crushed the emperor's crusaders?

It was an absurd demand. This was a blatant death sentence. Nothing more than a polite, roundabout way of saying, "Die honorably in battle for me, like your father."

The moment I realized that, an involuntary laugh bubbled up from my mouth.

"Heh, heh heh heh... So that's how you're playing it?"

I grinned wickedly, my lips curling up.

"Fine. I'll survive on my own terms from here on out. But now, we do it my way."

"M-My lord?"

Janos's face went pale. He must have thought his young master had finally lost his mind from the string of shocks.

But I wasn't mad. Quite the opposite. My mind was clearer and colder than ever.

The harsh fact that the emperor had abandoned me had, paradoxically, shattered every chain binding me.

'Burned as a heretic? Who gives a damn? The enemy could be at our gates tomorrow, my head on a pike atop the walls!'

Future knowledge, modern tech, forbidden weapons branded as devilish inventions—none of it mattered now!

I had to throw everything I had at this, no holds barred.

Suddenly, I recalled the story Zdenek von Sternberg—descendant of this family—had told me the night before I arrived in this era, back at that pub.

Early 15th century. The most turbulent time in Czech history. The Hussite Wars. And the ingenious tactics used by their legendary commander leading the rebels.

The secret behind how he smashed the empire's elite crusaders time and again with overwhelming odds and peasant levies.

'That's it... that's it!'

I slapped my cheek hard enough to ring out, snapping myself to attention. Then I barked orders in a firm voice.

"Janos! Take all this money and head to the nearby villages right now! Buy up every drop of liquor they have! Not the watered-down ale the serfs drink—strongest distilled spirits and wine!"

"W-Wine? In this dire situation...? Y-Yes, sir! Right away!"

Overawed by my fierce intensity, Janos scrambled to hitch up a cart and rush out the gates.

I immediately turned to Knight Captain Kuno.

"Lord Kuno. Sorry to trouble you with your injuries, but I need you to handle something urgent."

"Anything you command, my lord. This life is already yours."

"Take every soldier who can move right now and head to the pine woods near the territory. Scrape up all the resin you can find."

"Resin... you say?"

I gripped Kuno's shoulder firmly.

"Yes. As much as possible! Scrape every last bit you can!"

"...Understood. I'll carry out your orders at once!"

Like Janos, Kuno looked puzzled, but as a loyal knight, he asked no questions and marched out with his men.

Next was Steward Konrad.

"Konrad. Is there a potter craftsman in this territory who makes pottery?"

"There's Pavel in the outer bailey—a man whose family has supplied the castle for generations, but..."

"Good. Take me to him right now."

I headed straight to the workshop in the village below the castle with Konrad.

As we entered the dim workshop thick with the smell of clay and soot, a middle-aged man covered head to toe in grime emerged from the back—he'd just been tending the kiln.

He eyed the unexpected visitors warily, then recognized my face and flattened himself to the ground.

"Urk! M-My lord! What brings such an honored guest to this filthy hovel...?"

"Are you the potter Pavel of this territory?"

"Y-Yes! This humble Pavel at your service."

"Good, Pavel. From now on, you and your workers drop everything and make a special kind of pottery exactly as I describe."

Pavel cautiously lifted his head.

"Wh-What kind, my lord?"

"Narrow neck, round body. And most importantly, the surface must be very thin and fragile—so brittle that a light toss shatters it."

Pavel's face filled with baffled confusion at my description.

"M-My lord... Forgive me, but make it easy to break on purpose? What use could there be for such flawed wares...? I swear, with all my inherited skill, I'll craft you sturdy, beautiful jars worthy of the ages."

I shook my head.

"No arguments—just do exactly as I say. This is a matter of our territory's fate. Make as many as you can, as fast as you can. Understood?"

Swallowing hard under my fierce glare, Pavel replied.

"Y-Yes! I'll stake my life on making the jars you desire!"

I gave Pavel the exact quantity needed, then returned to the castle once preparations were set.

As time passed and the sun dipped low, painting the western sky in sunset hues, Janos returned, grunting as he hauled a cart piled high with cargo.

The cart overflowed with wooden barrels of potent wine—enough to inebriate everyone in the castle several times over.

Soon after, Kuno's soldiers arrived too, sacks bulging with sticky clumps of resin.

"My lord! All the wine you requested!"

"Well done, Janos."

I gave his shoulder a light pat.

"Things are about to get busier. Head to the kitchens now. Rally every servant to render fat from every hunk of pork and beef in the castle stores."

"P-Pardon? From all the meat?"

Janos doubted his ears.

With enemies poised to attack any moment, squeezing oil from their most precious food stores was sheer madness by any sane measure.

"The meat'll spoil in days! Better to salt or smoke it to extend shelf life..."

"Doesn't matter. I need the oil, not the meat. Hurry!"

Unable to argue against my resolute tone, Janos held his tongue.

Orders for masses of strong liquor. Scraping up seemingly useless resin. Crafting deliberately fragile jars. And now ruining good meat for its fat—an incomprehensible string of commands.

Watching this bizarre sequence, Janos finally couldn't contain his curiosity.

"My lord, forgive my impertinence, but... what are you planning? Why gather resin? What for all this oil and booze...?"

Instead of answering, I slowly surveyed the growing mountains of materials stacking up in the courtyard.

Resin, strong spirits, animal fat, and soon, those shatter-prone jars.

To people of this era, it looked like meaningless junk—or the ravings of a deranged young lord.

But in my eyes, it was our last hope for survival.

"I'm going to make fire."

"Pardon?"

"Not just any fire."

My eyes blazed like flames roaring in a kiln.

"A sticky, vicious fire that, once lit, never goes out."

Chapter 4 - Dropped into 15th Century Europe (4)