I unfolded the letter the Hussite messenger had left behind.
Characters written in a courteous but stiff hand met my eyes.
While I was reading the first few lines my expression did not change at all.
An advisory to surrender, religious conciliation, the typical rhetoric that passes back and forth on the battlefields of this era. It was all as I had expected.
But the further my eyes went down, the more my face began to harden.
And the moment I confirmed the last article, an incredulous laugh burst from my mouth on its own.
"Heh, heh heh."
János, who had been watching the situation anxiously beside me, asked carefully.
"My lord? What on earth is written in that letter to make you react so?"
"If you are curious, read it yourself."
The face of János, taking the letter, was flooded with astonishment in an instant.
"Th-this is...!"
The 'merciful' terms of surrender written in the letter were as follows.
First, open the gate, accept the Four Articles of Prague, and proclaim the abandonment of the Catholic faith.
Second, withdraw your allegiance to Sigismund and swear submission to the Bohemian noble league of Prague.
Third, confiscate the property of every church within your domain and offer it to the Hussites, and contribute funds for the war on an ongoing basis.
Fourth, as proof of that loyalty, lead your remaining forces and stand at the vanguard of the next attack on the imperial faction.
Sir Kuno's beard quivered with rage as he read the letter alongside János.
"Th-these bastards, lower than dogs! My lord, there is no need to lend an ear to such words! This Kuno, if my lord will but give the order, would sooner die fighting than ever kneel like a coward!"
"Calm yourself, Sir Kuno. Save that energy for the battle that is coming."
Naturally I had not the slightest intention of surrendering.
The first and second, let those pass. Medieval people who stake their lives on religion will argue over Catholic and Hussite denominations at the risk of their lives, define heresy, and point fingers at one another.
But from my position, having come from the modern world, Catholic and Hussite amounted, as far as I could feel it, to the difference between a church and a cathedral. Just about that much.
Frankly, it was not as though I were changing my religion to Buddhism, so what did it matter? And besides, I had never had any intention of offering loyalty to the cowardly, petty Sigismund.
But the third and fourth articles were a problem of an entirely different order.
'Hand over all my money, and I go stand at the vanguard of the next attack together with my men? Are they mad?'
It was no different from being told to choose between dying right now or being dragged around as their dog and then dying at the hands of an enraged emperor. Either way, the brand of traitor came free with it.
Having finished thinking, I walked to the nearest bonfire. And in front of everyone watching, I threw the parchment containing the Hussites' mercy into the flames.
FWOOSH!
The parchment shriveled black in the bonfire and turned to ashes.
I looked down at the messenger below the wall, who had been awaiting an answer, and shouted.
"Go back to your liege and tell him this! That dying in battle is easy, but living as a slave is hard!"
My voice was clearly audible to everyone on the wall.
The Hussite messenger, his expression hardened, spurred his horse and rode straight back to the Hussite camp.
A dreadful silence flowed over the wall.
Now there was no way to turn back. Not a war seen in textbooks or on a monitor, but a war in which people actually die had come right up to our faces.
I looked slowly around at the soldiers.
There was almost no hope to be seen in their expressions. Every one of them stared blankly ahead, thoroughly terrified like convicts who had received a death sentence.
The men who had come back alive from Vyšehrad in particular showed plain signs of wanting to throw down their weapons and flee that very instant.
I felt it instinctively. That at this rate we would collapse from within before we ever got to fight.
I let my head drop with a sigh.
"Haaa...."
To speak honestly, I was afraid too. I had no idea how things had come to this.
Until a few days ago I had been enjoying a comfortable, easy trip through Europe, and who could have known I would suddenly fall into the Middle Ages and end up standing on a wall with a sword in hand? I was full of the urge to run that very moment.
Still, I was a noble, so if I sought out a way for myself alone to live, might I not somehow hold on? They say even rolling in a dung field, this world beats the next, so would it not be better than dying here?
It was the moment I slowly raised my head, thinking that.
János. Sir Kuno. Every soldier in the castle.
Everyone on the wall was looking only at me.
Every one of those gazes was fixed unwaveringly on me, their lord. As though I were the only hope there was.
"......."
The moment I took the weight of those gazes with my whole body.
My body moved on its own, without my meaning it.
SHING!
Beneath the banner of Šternberk, a golden eight-pointed star standing out against a blue field, I shouted in a loud voice.
"Raise your heads, soldiers of Šternberk!"
The soldiers' eyes turned weakly toward me. In them there was nothing but fear and resignation.
The moment I saw it, I felt the strange sensation of my mouth moving of its own accord.
My heart beat harder and harder, and the blood in my whole body boiled as though heating up.
"Do you remember what we have done these past few days! Without sleep we raised catapults, and we made firebombs with burns on our hands! For what did we prepare for today! Did we do it in order to stand trembling before them!"
I pointed below the wall, at the wagenburg and the Hussite camp coiled like an enormous centipede.
"I know it too. That among you are men whose hearts waver at the sight of that red chalice banner, and devout believers who hold that Roman Catholicism alone is salvation!"
At those words several soldiers flinched and looked away.
"But look at them!"
An unaccountable rage swirled violently within me.
Was this Ulrich's emotion?
Or was it Park Gang-jun's emotion?
I could not tell. I only put that emotion into my whole body and shouted in a still louder, ringing voice.
"Do they regard us as Hussite brothers? Or do they respect us as devout Catholics? No! In their eyes we are merely property to be plundered, and trophies whose heads are to be cut off and hung on the wall!"
"Today, in this place, we are neither Catholics nor Hussites! We are Šternberk! We are the people of Šternberk, who must defend this castle, our families, and ourselves!"
The people of Šternberk.
At that one phrase the soldiers began, little by little, to wear expressions filled with resolve.
"I will not promise you victory. Nor will I guarantee that you will come back alive."
"But this one thing I promise. I will be the first to stand on this wall, and I will fight alongside you to the very last! If I do not see tomorrow's sun, then I too will be buried beneath this wall together with you!"
"So choose! Will you kneel like cowards and live your whole lives as slaves! Or will you stand and fight with dignity under the name of Šternberk until the moment you die!"
At the young lord's valiant cry, the first to answer was Kuno, the knight commander, drawing his sword.
SHING!
There was no fear in his eyes. Only loyalty to his liege and a resolute will burned there.
"For Šternberk!"
Beginning with that, the soldiers who had been pale with terror began to raise their weapons high, one after another.
One soldier of peasant origin lifted an old spear with trembling hands, and the soldier beside him followed, and the one beside him after that.
"For Šternberk!"
The golden eight-pointed star banner streamed in the strong wind. Beneath it I too shouted alongside the soldiers until my throat tore.
"Let us fight! For Šternberk!"
"Whoaaaaah!!"
The fear did not vanish. Only, a rage and a resolve great enough to cover it over filled the wall.
It was the beginning of the battle that in later days would be recorded in history as the 'Siege of Šternberk'.
***
When Mikuláš heard the reply relayed by his messenger, the scar at the corner of his mouth twitched as though twisting.
"Dying in battle is easy but becoming a slave is hard? Hah, for a greenhorn he has a fairly serviceable spirit."
He nodded with a satisfied smile.
"...Very well. I shall do as he wishes. All forces, advance! Grind that arrogant heathen fortress to dust!"
RUMBLE—!
Along with the heavy sound of wheels shaking the ground, the steel wagon fortress, the wagenburg, began to writhe into motion.
Groups of infantry carrying crudely lashed siege ladders followed behind.
Just then Hynek Krušina, cautious by nature, spoke up carefully.
"Mikuláš, complacency is forbidden. Their forces may be few, but Šternberk Castle is a fortress blessed by nature."
Krušina's finger pointed at Šternberk Castle.
"Sitting atop a high hill, they can read our movements as though looking at the palm of their hand, and every direction but the main gate is close to a cliff, so our routes of approach are necessarily limited. For an attacking side these are the worst possible conditions."
At that Mikuláš snorted.
"Do not worry, Sir Krušina. What use is it if they know our approach perfectly well and pour down a rain of arrows?"
Mikuláš pointed at the column of war wagons built of solid oak.
"Before the iron wall of the wagenburg they are no more than a bothersome swarm of flies. By the time they realize arrows do not work, my soldiers will already have reached the foot of the wall."
Mikuláš looked with confidence at the soldiers moving to his orders.
'The wagenburg is perfect. Before the wagenburg, a solid barrier and a moving fortress both, no knight and no wall is anything but powerless.'
It was when the Hussites and the wagenburg had come within a hundred paces of the wall.
Whiiiiine—
A sound cutting sharply through the air.
From atop the castle's spire, a single ochre object came flying in a strange arc.
It looked far too light to be a stone flung by a catapult.
CRASH—!
Presently it fell on the wooden roof of the lead wagon and shattered with a clamorous noise.
Along with a stench that seemed to numb the nose, sticky oil splashed in every direction.
"Ugh, what is this?"
"Bwahaha! Those fellows, it seems they are so frightened they are throwing chamber pots instead of stones!"
Laughter laced with derision broke out among the soldiers.
But then dozens more jars came flying one after another and shattered all over the wagenburg formation.
Only then did the traces of laughter vanish from the soldiers' faces.
"Sniff, sniff! Wait, this dreadful smell...?"
"Is it oil? No, this is not the smell of ordinary oil...!"
Just as the soldiers were wiping in confusion at the sticky liquid splashed on their clothes.
From atop the wall dozens of fire arrows came flying in, drawing long tails.
Whoosh—! Thunk!
FWOOOOOSH—!
"Aaaaargh!"
"Fire! My body is on fire!"
Everything the sticky liquid had touched blazed up like a living demon. The wooden barrier of the wagons, the soldiers' leather armor, even the damp ground itself.
The flames raised dreadful black smoke and in an instant turned the Hussite camp into a hell of fire and pandemonium.
Mikuláš shouted.
"Do not panic! We are prepared for fire attack! Cover it with wet hides and throw sandbags! Pour water and put out the fire!"
He knew perfectly well that the wagenburg was vulnerable to fire, and naturally he had prepared ample countermeasures.
At their commander's command one soldier quickly seized a water barrel and hurled its contents with all his strength at the nearest flames.
And the instant the water was thrown on.
BOOOOOM—!
Far from going out, the flames exploded like something mad. Burning droplets of oil became a rain of hellfire and poured down in every direction.
"Aaaaargh!"
"Aaah! It burns!!"
The water did not put out the fire; rather it became the detonator that burst the oil-fed flames out in all directions.
Chain explosions and tearing screams broke out all over the wagenburg formation.
Mikuláš's eyes flooded with astonishment.
"Wh-what in the world... is this...!"
The invincible fortress of the Hussites, who prided themselves on being the army of God, was melting away helplessly before an inferno of unknown origin.
But the catastrophe was only beginning.
The accursed jars launched from atop the castle's spires fell ceaselessly onto the wagenburg, spreading the chaos of fire and screaming in every direction.
Whiiine—
CRASH! CRASH—!
"Aaaargh!"
"Get clear! It is the cursed fire!"
Then, from atop the wall, the greenhorn lord's sharp voice rang out.
"Now! Crossbowmen, open fire!"
Along with a rattling clash of iron from atop the wall, crossbow bolts poured down mercilessly.
Whisssh!
"Gaah! Crossbows!"
"Get behind cover!"
"Behind what! Every direction is a sea of fire!"
Hussite soldiers who had fled the wagon column in blind panic to escape the flames. They were cut down helplessly under the hail of crossbow bolts pouring from the wall.
Unable to advance and unable to fall back, it was quite literally an enormous slaughterhouse.
Mikuláš, coming to his senses, shouted until his throat tore.
"Sand! Scatter sand! Cut the chains on the burning wagons at once and separate them from the column!"
At their commander's desperate orders the Hussite soldiers moved.
Sandbags were thrown ceaselessly onto the flames, and several brave soldiers swung axes to sever the couplings of the burning wagons.
But as though mocking all that effort, the speed at which the flames spread exceeded imagination.
The sticky liquid seeped through the gaps in the wagons' timber and burned everything from the inside, and sparks carried on the wind leapt to the next wagon in an instant and fed the conflagration.
Mikuláš felt gooseflesh rise over his whole body.
'What in the world... what manner of fire is this!'
He was a man whose bones had thickened on battlefields all his life. He had been through countless fire attacks, and had blocked them too. But a fire like this was a first in his life.
A cursed blaze that explodes when it meets water, does not readily go out even when sand is poured on it, and spreads like a living plague.
'Is this truly a fire made by human beings?'
Mikuláš ground his teeth.
If they kept taking this thunderbolt of unknown fire from a distance like this, annihilation was only a matter of time.
'We close on the wall before they can keep launching those sorcerous jars!'
He raised his war hammer high, prepared to stain it with blood.
"All forces! We stop them from throwing those damnable jars! Advance! Advance on the wall!"
"Ura! Ura!"
"For the brothers of Hus!"
The bravest warriors of the Hussites, who had scattered to escape the flames, gathered again.
With war flails and axes in hand and siege ladders on their shoulders, they charged the wall of Šternberk, roaring.
Their objective was one thing only: to destroy the catapults launching those accursed jars.
But when they had nearly reached the foot of the wall, they realized that what hung over their heads was not merely a shadow.
Atop the wall, the soldiers of Šternberk were looking down at them with the hellfire jars they had until moments ago been launching by catapult held in their hands. With the wicks already lit.
"Now! Throw!"
Dozens of burning jars poured down below the wall like rain.
KA-KA-KA-BOOM—!
Right beneath the wall, hellfire burst over the heads of the Hussite soldiers packed densely into that narrow space.
"Aaaaargh!"
"Save... save me! The fire, the fire will not go out!"
Flames sticky as lava poured down. The burning oil took the soldiers' blood and flesh as its nourishment and blazed the more horrifically.
Screams filled every direction. Before the horrific sight of a comrade right beside them burning alive, even the fierce spirit of the Hussites, who called themselves warriors of God, could only break in an instant.
There was no longer any fanatical belief in their eyes.
Only primal terror filled them.
"Run! It is the cursed fire!"
"This is a castle of devils! Run, quickly!"
The Hussite soldiers flung aside their weapons, their ladders, and even the bodies of their comrades, and began to flee backward in blind panic.
"Do not run! How can warriors of God show their backs like cowards! The enemy is a mere few dozen!"
Mikuláš shouted at the fleeing soldiers, but the commander's voice did not reach ears consumed by terror.
"Th-this...!"
Mikuláš, as befitted a mercenary rich in battle experience, had an outstanding ability to see through the advantages and disadvantages of a situation.
And to his eye, this fight was as good as already over. Because the soldiers were paralyzed with terror and the formation had collapsed long ago.
With the feeling of coughing up blood, he realized that salvaging even the soldiers who remained was the best that could be done now.
"......Retreat, retreat! Goddamn it, retreat this instant!!"