I unfurled the letter left behind by the Hussite messenger.
The words, written in a polite but stiff hand, swam into view.
My expression remained unchanged as I read the first few lines.
Surrender demands, religious appeals—standard rhetoric you'd hear on any battlefield of this era. All exactly as I'd expected.
But as my eyes traveled further down, my face gradually hardened.
And the moment I reached the final clause, an incredulous chuckle escaped my lips.
"Heh, heh heh."
Janos, who had been watching anxiously from the side, asked cautiously.
"My lord? What's written in that letter to make you laugh like that?"
"If you're curious, read it yourself."
Janos took the letter, and his face instantly twisted in shock.
"Th-this...!"
The 'merciful' surrender terms outlined in the letter were as follows.
First, open the gates, accept the Four Articles of Prague, and renounce the Catholic faith.
Second, withdraw loyalty to Sigismund and swear fealty to the Bohemian noble alliance in Prague.
Third, confiscate all church property in the territory and donate it to the Hussites, while continuously providing war funds.
Fourth, as proof of loyalty, lead the remaining troops to the vanguard of the next imperial assault.
Sir Kuno's beard trembled with rage as he read the letter alongside Janos.
"Th-those filthy dogs! My lord, don't even listen to such nonsense! Just give the order, and this Kuno will fight to the death rather than kneel like a coward!"
"Calm yourself, Sir Kuno. Save that energy for the battle ahead."
Of course, surrender was the last thing on my mind.
The first two demands were whatever. Medieval folk who staked their lives on religion would bicker endlessly over Catholic versus Hussite, labeling each other heretics and pointing fingers.
But from my modern perspective, Catholic or Hussite was just a difference between church and cathedral—nothing more.
Honestly, what did it matter? It wasn't like they were asking me to convert to Buddhism. And I'd never had any intention of pledging loyalty to that cowardly, underhanded Sigismund anyway.
But the third and fourth clauses were on another level entirely.
'Hand over all my money and lead my men into the vanguard of their next attack? Are they insane?'
It was no different from choosing between dying right now or being dragged around as their dog until an enraged emperor cut me down. Betrayal would be the label either way.
Having made up my mind, I walked to the nearest campfire. In full view of everyone, I tossed the parchment bearing the Hussites' 'mercy' into the flames.
Whoosh!
The parchment curled black in the fire, crumbling to ash.
I looked down at the messenger waiting below the walls for a reply and shouted.
"Go back to your master and tell him this: Dying in battle is easy, but living as a slave is hard!"
My voice rang clear to everyone atop the walls.
The Hussite messenger's face stiffened as he spurred his horse and galloped back to his camp.
A dreadful silence fell over the battlements.
There was no turning back now. This wasn't some war from a textbook or screen—this was real, with people about to die, right in front of us.
I slowly scanned the soldiers.
There was scarcely any hope on their faces. They stared blankly ahead like condemned prisoners gripped by fear.
Especially those who had returned alive from Vysehrad—they looked ready to drop their weapons and flee at any moment.
I sensed it instinctively. If things stayed like this, we'd crumble from within before the fight even began.
I let out a sigh and bowed my head.
"Haa..."
Truth be told, I was scared too. I had no idea how things had come to this.
Just days ago, I'd been enjoying a comfortable trip through Europe. Who could've guessed I'd end up in the Middle Ages, sword in hand, atop these walls? Part of me wanted to run right then and there.
Still, as a noble, maybe I could find a way to save my own skin and tough it out. Better to roll in shit than die—surviving here beat dying, right?
That was when I lifted my head.
Janos. Sir Kuno. Every soldier in the castle.
Everyone on the walls was staring straight at me.
Their gazes fixed solely on their lord—me—as if I were their one last hope.
"..."
The weight of those eyes hit me full force.
And without thinking, my body moved on its own.
Clang!
Beneath the Sternberg banner—blue field emblazoned with a golden eight-pointed star—I bellowed.
"Raise your heads, soldiers of Sternberg!"
Their eyes turned to me, weak and listless, filled only with terror and resignation.
The moment I saw it, my mouth seemed to move of its own accord.
My heart pounded fiercer, blood surging hot through my veins.
"Do you remember what we've done these past days? We went without sleep to build the trebuchets, burned our hands making firebombs! What was all that for? To tremble before them like this?!"
I pointed to the Wagenburg below, coiled like a massive centipede, and the Hussite camp beyond.
"I know it. Some of you are swayed by that red chalice banner. Some are devout believers who think Roman Catholicism is the only salvation!"
A few soldiers flinched and averted their eyes.
"But look at them!"
An inexplicable rage swirled violently inside me.
Was this Ulrich's emotion?
Or Park Kang-jun's?
I didn't know. I just poured it all into a thunderous roar.
"Do they see us as Hussite brothers? Or respect us as true Catholic faithful? No! In their eyes, we're nothing but loot to plunder, heads to lop off and hang from the walls!"
"Here today, we're neither Catholic nor Hussite! We're Sternberg! We're the people of Sternberg, sworn to defend this castle, our families, and ourselves!"
People of Sternberg.
At those words, resolve began to harden on the soldiers' faces, one by one.
"I won't promise you victory. I won't guarantee you'll live to see tomorrow."
"But this I swear: I'll stand first on these walls, and I'll fight beside you to the very end! If we don't see tomorrow's sun, I'll be buried right here with you!"
"So choose! Kneel like cowards and live as slaves forever? Or stand proud under the Sternberg name and fight to your last breath?!"
The young lord's impassioned cry drew the first response from Knight Captain Kuno, who drew his sword.
Clang!
There was no fear in his eyes—only fierce loyalty to his lord and iron resolve.
"For Sternberg!"
That sparked it. The terrified soldiers began raising their weapons one after another.
A farmer-turned-soldier lifted his battered spear with trembling hands. The man beside him followed, then the next.
"For Sternberg!"
The golden eight-pointed star banner whipped in the fierce wind. Beneath it, I shouted alongside my men at the top of my lungs.
"Fight! For Sternberg!"
"Waaaaah!!"
The fear didn't vanish. But towering rage and determination now drowned it out, filling the battlements.
This was the beginning of the battle later recorded in history as the 'Sternberg Castle Defense'.
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇
Mikulas z Husi's facial scar twisted like a writhing worm as he heard the reply from his messenger.
"Dying in battle is easy, but living as a slave is hard? Hah, the brat's got some spine for a whelp."
He nodded, a satisfied smile on his lips.
"...Fine. We'll give him what he wants. Full advance! Turn that arrogant heretic's castle to dust!"
Rumble—!
With the earth-shaking groan of heavy wheels, the steel chariot fortress—the Wagenburg—began to stir like a beast awakening.
Infantry clutching crudely lashed siege ladders followed in its wake.
At that moment, the cautious Hynek Krusina of Lichtenburg spoke up carefully.
"Mikulas, don't let your guard down. Their numbers may be few, but Sternberg Castle is a natural fortress."
Krusina's finger pointed at the castle.
"Perched atop a high hill, they can see our every move like an open palm. And with sheer cliffs everywhere but the main gate, our approach routes are severely limited. It's the worst terrain for attackers."
Mikulas snorted.
"No need for worry, Sir Krusina. Even if they know our paths and rain arrows on us, what of it?"
He gestured to the line of sturdy oak battle wagons.
"Against the Wagenburg's ironclad defense, they're just annoying flies. By the time they realize arrows won't pierce us, my men will already be at the walls."
Mikulas gazed trustingly at his troops moving to his command.
'The Wagenburg is perfect. An impregnable bulwark, a mobile fortress—before it, no knight, no wall can stand.'
The Hussites and their Wagenburg had advanced to within a hundred paces of the walls when it happened.
Screee—!
A shrill whistle slicing the air.
From the castle's turret, a yellowish object arced through the sky in a bizarre parabola.
It looked far too light to be a trebuchet-flung stone.
Crash!
It smashed onto the lead wagon's wooden roof with a deafening crack, shattering.
A nauseating stench assaulted their noses as sticky oil splattered everywhere.
"Ugh, what the hell is this?"
"Hahaha! The cowards must be so scared they're chucking chamber pots instead of rocks!"
Mocking laughter erupted among the soldiers.
But then dozens more jars rained down, smashing across the Wagenburg formation.
Only then did the grins fade from their faces.
"Sniff sniff! Wait, this foul smell..."
"Oil? No, it's not just oil...!"
As the soldiers wiped the sticky fluid from their clothes in confusion,
Dozens of fire arrows streaked from the walls, trailing long tails of flame.
Swish! Thunk!
Roarrrrr!
"Aaaargh!"
"Fire! My body's on fire!"
Everything touched by the sticky liquid erupted like living demons. Wooden wagon barriers, leather armor, even the damp ground.
Belching thick black smoke, the flames turned the Hussite camp into a hellscape in moments.
Mikulas bellowed.
"Don't panic! We're prepared for fire attacks! Cover with wet hides, throw sandbags! Douse it with water!"
He knew the Wagenburg's weakness to fire and had prepared accordingly.
At the commander's shout, a soldier grabbed a water bucket and splashed the nearest blaze.
The instant the water hit...
BOOM!
Far from extinguishing, the flames exploded wildly. Burning oil droplets rained down like hellfire.
"Aaaargh!"
"Aaaah! It burns!!"
Water didn't put it out—it ignited the oil-fueled inferno, spreading it everywhere.
Chain explosions ripped through the Wagenburg line amid screams.
Mikulas's eyes widened in horror.
"Wh-what the... hell...!"
The Hussites' self-proclaimed army of God, their invincible fortress, melted pathetically before this unidentified hellfire.
But the disaster was just beginning.
Cursed jars from the turret kept plummeting onto the Wagenburg, widening the inferno and screams.
Whoooosh!
Crash! Crash!
"Uwaaaah!"
"Run! It's cursed fire!"
Then, the young lord's sharp voice rang from the walls.
"Now! Crossbowmen, fire at will!"
A metallic ratchet clacked atop the walls as crossbow bolts poured down mercilessly.
Swish swish!
"Argh! Crossbows!"
"Behind cover!"
"Where?! It's all a sea of fire!"
Hussite soldiers fleeing the flames in panic bolted from the wagon line—only to fall like wheat under the crossbow barrage.
Unable to advance or retreat, it was a massive slaughterhouse.
Mikulas regained his wits and roared.
"Sand! Spread sand! Cut the chains on burning wagons and isolate them!"
At the desperate order, Hussites sprang into action.
Sandbags flew onto the flames nonstop, and brave souls swung axes at the burning wagons' linkages.
But mocking their efforts, the fire spread beyond imagination.
The sticky fluid seeped into wooden cracks, burning from within. Sparks rode the wind to neighboring wagons, feeding the blaze.
A chill ran down Mikulas's spine.
'What kind of fire is this?!'
A veteran of countless battlefields, he'd faced and repelled many fire attacks. But this was unprecedented.
Exploding on water, resisting sand, spreading like a living plague—this cursed blaze.
'Did humans really make this fire?'
Mikulas ground his teeth.
Taking this mystery firebombardment from afar would mean annihilation.
'Reach the walls before they keep lobbing those wizard pots!'
He raised his war hammer, vowing to dye it red.
"All troops! Stop those damned jars! Advance! To the walls!"
"Urah! Urah!"
"For Hus's brothers!"
The bravest Hussite warriors, scattered by fire, rallied.
Gripping war flails and axes, siege ladders on shoulders, they charged the Sternberg walls with roars.
Their goal: destroy the trebuchets firing the cursed jars.
But as they neared the base, they realized the shadow looming overhead was no illusion.
Sternberg soldiers on the walls held the hellfire jars they'd been launching—now lit and aimed downward.
"Now! Throw!"
Dozens of blazing jars rained like a meteor shower onto the tightly packed Hussites below.
BOOM-BOOM-BOOM!
Hellfire erupted directly above the crammed soldiers in the narrow space at the wall's foot.
"Aaaargh!"
"Help... mercy! The fire won't stop!"
Lava-like flames poured down. The burning oil fed on blood and flesh, raging fiercer.
Screams filled the air. Facing comrades burning alive, even the Hussites' fanatical zeal shattered.
No mad faith in their eyes now.
Only primal terror.
"Run! Cursed fire!"
"This is the devil's castle! Flee!"
Hussites hurled down weapons, ladders, even comrades' bodies as they fled in rout.
"Don't run! How can God's warriors show their backs like cowards?! The enemy is but dozens!"
Mikulas screamed at the fleeing men, but terror-deafened ears ignored him.
"Th-this...!"
A seasoned mercenary, Mikulas read the battle's tide perfectly.
To him, the fight was over. Troops panicked, lines broken long ago.
With a bleeding heart, he knew salvaging the remnants was best now.
"...Retreat! Retreat! Damn it, retreat now!!"
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