Chapter 11
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Translator: Wjin
Chapter: 011
Chapter Title: Sternberg Defense Battle (5)
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Dawn broke.
Beyond the castle walls, the Hussite camp had transformed overnight into something entirely different.
Soldiers wrapped head to toe in bandages despite their burns glared with bloodshot eyes, standing in rigid formation under iron discipline.
A low chant rose from their lips, overlapping into hundreds of voices that spilled over the walls like an ominous chorus.
"Ktož jsú boží bojovníci a zákona jeho..."
(Who are the warriors of God and followers of His law...)
It was the Hussite battle hymn, "Ye Who Are Warriors of God."
The humiliation of defeat had twisted their faith into fanatical rage.
In stark contrast, Sternberg Castle—fresh off a miraculous victory—looked more like a refuge for routed remnants.
The walls were battered and scorched in places, while the inner courtyard's buildings lay in ugly ruins from hasty barricades and stone projectiles for the catapults.
Above all, the defenders atop the walls were a pitiful sight. Most were dirt-caked peasants in ragged clothes, filling in for those in shining armor.
Mocking jeers laced with blatant contempt erupted from the Hussite lines.
"Puhaha! Look at those sorry bastards! They think they can stand against God's army? A rabble with rocks! I'd sooner fear a bone tossed to the dogs!"
Laughter exploded among the Hussite soldiers at their commander's words. No trace remained of yesterday's terror.
And they had reason to laugh.
Their foes clutched nothing but rusty scythes, crudely sharpened wooden spears, or bare stones. Cheeks hollow from hunger, eyes sunken from all-night labor.
Yet the fire in those eyes was anything but ordinary.
The fear hadn't vanished, but it burned now with a savage resolve to fight to the death.
"Entire army, advance!"
With the enemy's bellow, the ground shook once more with thunderous roars.
Rumble... boom!
The massive siege tower the Hussites had built overnight revealed its full menace. It screamed "hastily assembled," but it looked plenty capable of scaling the walls.
They'd clearly prepared against fire attacks: the tower's exterior was wrapped in layers of thick, water-soaked hides, with sandbag-bearing soldiers stationed throughout.
Flanking it were shield-bearing troops in dense formation, escorting the tower while unleashing relentless suppressing fire on the walls.
'This won't be easy...'
I spotted the enemy approaching and bellowed,
"Fire!"
The flame catapults spat blazing pots once more. They arced perfectly, smashing into the siege tower's outer wall.
Crash! Whoosh!
Hellfire bloomed like yesterday, but the result differed. The flames writhed futilely on the wet hides, then sputtered out as soldiers quickly doused them with sand.
Sir Kuno exploded in frustration beside me.
"Damn it! They've come prepared!"
The enemy commander's shout rang across the field, brimming with confidence in victory.
"Hahaha! Brat! Your little tricks end here!"
I immediately issued new orders to the catapult crews.
"Target change! Siege tower rear! Over the infantry heads!"
The fire pots shifted aim. They now sailed past the tower, raining down on the infantry and wagons trailing behind.
Boom!
"Arghhh!"
"Fire! It's that cursed fire again!"
Horrific screams and chaos erupted in the rear. Soldiers rolled engulfed in flames, and one wagonburg wagon belched black smoke as it burned.
But the enemy commander didn't flinch. He screamed at his men not to slow the tower's advance, using the rear's sacrifice as bait.
'Ruthless bastard. No matter how many of his own die, he's dead set on breaching the walls today.'
His gaze was fixed solely on the massive tower lumbering toward the walls. At last, with a heavy mechanical groan, it crossed the moat and halted right before them.
Screech—!
As a huge drawbridge lowered from the tower's top toward the walls, Hussite cheers tore through the sky.
Our side stared tensely at the descending bridge, gripping weapons in preparation.
'Now.'
That's when I stepped forward from hiding behind the walls.
In my hand was a ceramic jar, its wick already blazing.
Spotting me, the enemy commander pointed and roared,
"That's him! Kill that brat!"
Ignoring the shouts and arrows raining down, I hurled the jar with all my strength. My target: the tower's most vulnerable support strut.
A sneer curled the commander's lips.
"Fool. Is that your final tantrum? One fire pot?"
But before his laugh faded, an unimaginable sight unfolded.
"Grenade in the pot!"
I yelled at the top of my lungs and ducked behind the wall. Seeing me, the nearby soldiers and peasants instinctively crouched and covered their ears.
My thrown jar didn't burst into flames with the usual fire pot whoosh.
Instead, the instant it hit the ground—
Flash!
A massive blaze of light, smoke, and an ear-shattering boom exploded together.
Boom—boooom!
The shockwave rippled outward, rattling the walls.
My ace in the hole, hidden until the last—
The black powder bomb revealed its power at last.
Boom! Boooom!!
The siege tower's base struts shattered. Unable to bear its own weight, it collapsed in on itself.
My ears rang with piercing tinnitus.
A split-second silence.
The battlefield, thick with noise moments ago, fell eerily still.
Everyone gaped at the scene in disbelief, staring dumbly at the white smoke pillar rising from below the walls.
The Hussites' sole hope, their siege tower, lay in ruins.
Right then—
"Woo... wooooahhh!!"
One peasant soldier thrust his weapon skyward with a guttural cry. It was the signal.
Cheers erupted from every soul atop the walls, those who'd awaited death.
It was less a victory roar and more the primal howl of survivors who'd conquered overwhelming terror.
"Long live the lord!"
"For Sternberg!"
The Hussite camp plunged into total silence. Their hymn cut off, their banners hung limp.
Soldiers stared vacantly at the wreckage where their tower had fallen.
No more rage or zeal in their eyes—just primal terror at the incomprehensible.
They'd already lost the will to fight, edging backward bit by bit.
"Whoo... we must retreat! Mikuláš!"
Another commander snapped out of it first, grabbing the enemy's shoulder and shouting.
But he didn't hear—or couldn't comprehend. His vacant eyes reflected only the smoke pillar and debris.
"N-No... this can't be..."
His bloodshot stare on the ruins turned to a mad bellow, veins bulging.
"Attack! Full assault! Ladders to the walls!"
"Mikuláš!!"
"Slaughter those demons to the last man! God's warriors don't lose!"
A deranged order born of lost reason. Yet the soldiers grudgingly grabbed ladders and charged the walls again.
From there, it devolved into brutal melee—no strategy, no tactics.
Atop the walls, men swung spears and worn farm tools; women poured boiling filth; even children hurled stones.
I drew my sword and dashed along the walls myself, kicking ladders away and stabbing enemies clambering over.
Before long, my armor was indistinguishable, soaked red in friend and foe alike.
How long did we fight? The endless Hussite waves suddenly ebbed.
The mad voice below, urging them on, had gone silent.
The enemy commander took a roof tile to the skull, hurled by some nameless old farmer with all his might.
Thwack!
He tumbled from his horse without a sound, motionless.
The leader of God's army met an absurdly pathetic end. It shattered the Hussites' remaining morale.
They dropped weapons, screamed, and fled the way they'd come.
"Hahk, haaahk..."
"Did we... win...?"
The battle was over.
Yet no victory cheers rang from the walls.
Clang—
Weapons slipped from numb hands, clattering to the stone. Survivors slumped one by one where they stood.
"Sob..."
"Ughhh..."
It wasn't joy.
A heavy silence broken by sobs—of utter exhaustion, relief at survival, grief for the lost.
Children wailed in bloodied parents' arms; wives beat their chests beside cooling husbands' corpses.
Only the crushing weight of victory's cost settled over the walls.
"......"
I gripped my bloodied sword, silently etching the horror into my eyes.
'This is real war...'
No movie or drama. They were truly dead, eyes forever closed.
Too much lost to call it victory; that loss would never return.
My gaze fixed on one spot: a woman pierced by an arrow in the throat, and the child sobbing in her arms.
A familiar face—the woman who'd handed me water at church.
I stared blankly, then climbed to the wall's highest point. Facing the weeping villagers, I spoke.
"Lift your heads."
The sobs tapered. Red-rimmed eyes turned silently to their lord.
"We fought. We held. And at last... we survived."
Hiding my trembling fingertips, I pointed my sword tip at the sprawled corpses.
"But remember! This victory was never handed to us freely!"
There lay not just enemies, but Sternberg's own—family who'd breathed and fought beside us moments ago.
"Look at them! Our fathers, husbands, sons—these brave souls! We must never forget we stand on their sacrifice! We cannot let their deaths be in vain!"
Unbidden, strength swelled in my voice, spilling pent-up emotion.
"Remember today's tears, this tearing pain, the bone-deep rage! Let it nourish us—we rise from these ashes! We'll rebuild walls higher, homes stronger! And with our hands, forge a Sternberg none dare covet again!"
I thrust my bloodied sword skyward.
"This is not the end! This is Sternberg's new beginning! Today, from these ashes, we are reborn!"
My shout echoed across the field, reaching every corner of the castle.
"History will remember us, remember today! Those who fell aren't dead! They become Sternberg's history, breathing eternally with us!"
I gazed at last upon the villagers.
"So lift your heads. We won. We survived! Rejoice and cheer with all your hearts! That's the duty of the living!"
Yes. We had won. For survivors, joy fit better than sorrow.
They had the right, the qualification.
As my words ended, the dam of suppressed emotion burst.
Sobs swelled into a massive roar.
"Waaaaahhh!!"
"Long live Sternberg!"
"Long live Lord Ulrich!"
The cheers filled Sternberg Castle to the brim.