Chapter 20
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Translator: Wjin
Chapter: 020
Chapter Title: Coronation (2)
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A few days later, bells rang out simultaneously from every cathedral in Prague.
Beneath a cloudless sky, the majestic peals seemed to echo through every corner of the city, from the lowest alleys to the highest spires.
I stood at the entrance of a massive stone edifice, in the shaded cloister.
The heart and soul of the Kingdom of Bohemia lay enshrined here.
The resting place of past kings and the birthplace of future ones.
St. Vitus Cathedral.
The sound of Janos swallowing hard beside me was unusually loud. Tension radiated from him in a way that was completely out of character.
"Are you prepared, my lord?"
I nodded slowly instead of replying. I was just as nervous. My throat felt parched, like grains of sand were tumbling around inside.
'A coronation without a pope or cardinals.'
It was unprecedented in history, but in Prague right now, it was becoming the new reality.
Creeeak—
As the massive oak doors swung inward, the noise and light of the outside world were cut off, leaving only cool silence and a profound sense of space.
Dozens of towering pillars stretched toward the heavens, forming arched ceilings, while stained glass filled the gaps between them, shattering the sunlight into fragments of a thousand colors and creating an otherworldly beauty.
Yet even that brilliant light couldn't fully dispel the deep shadows within the cathedral.
I took a deep breath to suppress the anxiety lodged deep in my lungs. My footsteps on the soft carpet covering the floor were silent and heavy.
The cathedral was packed with Prague's nobles, city council members, and guild masters. Their gazes stabbed into me like blades.
Awe, jealousy, doubt, and outright hostility. The air grew heavy under the weight of those mingled emotions.
Especially from one corner, where a man leaned against a massive pillar with arms crossed—his stare was particularly venomous.
The one-eyed general in weathered leather armor: Jan Zizka.
From the moment I entered, he hadn't moved a muscle, piercing me with his single eye.
Like an old wolf sizing up its prey.
I didn't avoid his gaze. Instead, I met it head-on and strode toward the altar.
With each step, the faces of the nobles lined up on either side flashed by.
Some bowed their heads stiffly, others averted their eyes, unable to meet mine.
'Are they swearing loyalty to their king? Or just bowing to the cheers of the plaza and the will of the masses?'
Either way, even that suppressed anger was mine to bear and control. That was the king's burden.
Finally, I reached the altar.
Waiting for me was not a bishop in ornate vestments, but Jan Rokycana in simple linen robes.
Behind him stood Hussite priests silently arrayed, holding banners emblazoned with the chalice.
Rokycana's eyes held doubt, wariness, and a resigned acceptance that this massive tide could not be turned.
With a rigid expression, Rokycana began reciting the prayer. Not in solemn Latin, but in rough yet powerful Czech.
It wasn't a plea to God to bless the new king.
It was a vow imposing upon the new king the duty to uphold the Four Articles of Prague and protect Bohemia from heresy—a kind of contract being read aloud.
As the prayer ended, Rokycana lifted a small vial of holy oil.
"In place of Bohemia's people, I anoint your brow, your chest, and your hands. Thereby, you are reborn not as a secular lord, but as the guardian of the chalice."
Cool oil trickled down my forehead. Nothing special—just olive oil.
But to those watching, it would seem like the blessing of God.
I maintained a reverent, humble expression, just as I'd rehearsed countless times for this moment.
Then attendants brought forth the symbols of kingship.
The orb and scepter of gold.
"This orb symbolizes the kingdom you shall rule, and this scepter your just governance."
I took the orb in my left hand and the scepter in my right. Their weight was heavier than expected, pressing down on my arms.
This was the weight of power. The lives of tens of thousands and the fate of a nation rested in these cold metal lumps.
And the final rite. Two priests carefully lifted the crown from a velvet cushion.
St. Wenceslas Crown.
The holiest symbol of the Kingdom of Bohemia, commissioned directly by the great Charles IV.
Sapphires, rubies, emeralds, and pearls—the largest in the world—adorned the pure gold band without gap.
It shone more brilliantly than any jewel, but to me, it was just expertly crafted metal and stones.
It was the faith of those beholding it that imbued it with sanctity, not the materials themselves.
And from now on, I had to wield that faith.
Rokycana raised the crown with both hands.
Everyone in the cathedral held their breath.
A brief silence, as if time itself had stopped.
Then, at last, the crown settled upon my head.
Thud.
It was far heavier than I'd imagined. Not just physically.
Along with the cold metal pressing on my temples came an invisible, immense pressure crushing my shoulders and heart.
'So this is the weight of a king.'
Rokycana asked solemnly.
"Do you, Ulrich von Sternberg, swear before God to protect the people of Bohemia and uphold the Four Articles of Prague?"
Without a moment's hesitation, I replied in my loudest, most resolute voice.
"I swear it."
At that signal, Rokycana stepped back and proclaimed for all in the cathedral to hear.
"Behold the new King of Bohemia, Ulrich I!"
With those words, the cathedral's great doors swung wide open.
Outside, tens of thousands of citizens filling the plaza had been waiting for this moment. Their hopes and expectations crashed in like a massive wave.
"Waaaaaaaaah!!!"
The frozen silence shattered as hot cheers surged in like a tsunami. The roar was deafening.
"Our king!"
"Long live King Ulrich!"
I turned slowly to face the citizens reaching out and shedding tears toward me.
There was no joy. Only the thought that this was the real beginning.
They had placed the crown upon my head.
Now I had to prove myself worthy of it.
The heat of the coronation had yet to fade.
I stood alone in the deepest sanctum of St. Vitus Cathedral, the Chapel of St. Wenceslas.
The air here was cool and heavy, unlike the outside world—a place where the remains of past Bohemian kings slumbered.
I set the St. Wenceslas Crown I'd just worn upon the altar's velvet cushion.
That was when it happened.
The heavy silence broke as footsteps approached from beyond the chapel's arched entrance.
Thud. Thud.
Rhythmic, heavy boot steps.
Emerging from the shadows was the one-eyed general, Jan Zizka.
His weathered leather armor reeked of unwashed blood and cold iron.
"You summoned me, Your Highness."
He used the title 'Your Highness,' but not a speck of respect laced it.
Just a dry tone, as if confirming the moniker the plaza crowds had bestowed.
He neither knelt nor bowed.
Like a massive boulder blocking the doorway, he stood at eye level, gazing down as an equal.
"State your business briefly. We both have places to be."
Blatant attitude. He had no time for these political games.
I didn't call out his rudeness. Now wasn't the time.
"Where are you headed?"
My voice came out calmer than expected. Good—the king's voice I'd rehearsed dozens of times.
"Where I belong."
A terse reply. Ruthless pragmatism, devoid of unnecessary rhetoric. He meant back to the battlefield.
But I couldn't let Jan Zizka go like this.
I could wheedle or crush Prague's nobles, but the Taborites were different.
They were zealots armed with faith, and their gods were the chalice and Jan Zizka alone.
Without winning that old lion's heart, I'd be reduced to a puppet king unable to step one foot beyond Prague's walls.
I cut straight to it, laying my card on the table.
"General. Take command as Supreme Commander of the Kingdom of Bohemia."
Zizka's remaining eye narrowed. He stared at me for a long moment before scoffing.
"Supreme Commander... Quite the fancy title."
"A position befitting you, General."
"I have no need for it."
A refusal sharp as a sword through flesh. Just as I'd anticipated.
Zizka tapped the hilt of his worn sword at his waist and continued.
"My soldiers follow me not because I'm a general, but because I'm 'Jan Zizka.' A hat from Your Highness won't change their loyalty or sharpen my blade."
Zizka stepped forward. The old beast's presence crushed the space.
"And I still don't trust you."
His voice hardened like stone.
"Prague's citizens may have fallen for your silver tongue and noble blood, but if you think that same tongue can sway the Lord's army, you'd best stop. We fight by the words of Scripture, not nobles' prattle."
"..."
Damn.
My heart pounded like it would shatter my ribs. My mouth was bone-dry, tongue sticking to the roof.
This pressure. Even facing tens of thousands on the battlefield hadn't felt like this.
But I couldn't show it. Yielding here would make dominating the Taborites impossible forever.
I feigned composure, thickening my iron mask, and slowly shook my head.
"This isn't for my benefit, General. It's for you and your men."
"What do you mean?"
"Sigismund is coming. With a far larger army than before."
I took a step toward Zizka. Now we were less than an arm's length apart.
His scar-riddled face and that piercing single eye were close enough to touch.
"Bohemia is torn between Catholics and Hussites, and the Hussites themselves are split between moderates and radicals, snarling at each other. Soon they'll divide again over accepting the king. With the enemy at our gates, we're pointing swords inward. What madness is greater than this?"
Zizka fell silent. But his tightly pressed lips and the old scars on his cheek twitched faintly.
Proof my words rang true. He was surely fed up with this fractured state too.
I pressed further, touching his deepest grievance.
"I won't steal your soldiers or meddle in your ways. Quite the opposite—I'm offering you wings. In the king's name, I'll appoint you the sole Supreme Commander."
"..."
"Then even those arrogant Prague nobles won't dare second-guess your tactics on the field, and every chain of command will unify under you. That's how you win wars, isn't it?"
This wasn't an empty title. It was legitimate authority over the entire Bohemian army.
Zizka was silent for a long time. His single eye no longer pierced me.
Instead, it sank deeper, coldly weighing the substance of my offer.
Finally, he spoke.
"Why give me such power?"
Doubt still filled his voice. Naturally. Nothing in this world was free.
"You should be wary of me, Your Highness. I could cut your throat. If I wished, I could turn my army on Prague and burn it to ash anytime."
"You would. If you deem me unfit as king."
I met his gaze squarely, unflinching.
"But you won't. You love Bohemia more than I do. You're not the type to feed this land to Sigismund's jaws over personal ambition."
"..."
"I trust your loyalty. Not to me, but to this soil, its people, and the faith you hold dearer than life."
No falsehood or artifice tainted my voice.
This was no calculated performance—it was sincere conviction about the man I knew as 'Jan Zizka.'
"I've worn the crown, but I know nothing of war. You're the finest soldier, but lack legitimacy. We need each other, General. Your sword and my mind."
The final words echoed through the empty chapel's air.
Not a plea or beg.
A brutally cold analysis of reality and an irresistible deal piercing our mutual needs.
I held my breath, waiting for the old lion's choice.
How much time passed? Zizka finally spoke heavily.
"...Very well."
That single word. That short, gruff syllable hitting my eardrums made the crushing pressure vanish like a lie.
He stroked his chin beard with a large, rough hand.
"You're right on one thing. Sigismund is coming, and Bohemia tears at its own belly like a wounded beast. Prague's fools think legitimacy will stop the crusaders—delusion. Only steel and faith will."
Zizka stared straight at me.
Not with enmity or contempt, but the cool appraisal of a business partner.
"I'll accept Supreme Commander. But make it clear: not for Your Highness, but because I'm sick of noble idiots waving pedigrees and meddling in my tactics."
Zizka took one final step forward. Killing intent choked the air.
"But mark this: I pledge to the Four Articles of Prague, not your crown. Send me soldiers, cannons, gold—everything war needs. I'll crush Sigismund with them. But if you stray one step from that path—"
His remaining eye flashed menacingly.
"I'll face you not as your commander, but as your judge."
With that, he gave a curt nod—minimal courtesy to a king, or perhaps mere habit.
Then he turned without regret, striding out with the same heavy boot steps.
Thud, thud.
Boom.
The heavy door closed, ending the audience.
Zizka hadn't sworn fealty. He'd merely accepted my terms.
A partial, risky, conditional victory.
...Still, a victory was a victory.
Jan Zizka had taken my hand. The best outcome I could hope for.
I exhaled the breath I'd held, tension draining as my legs turned to jelly.
"Whew... Thought I was gonna shake to death."
I collapsed onto the floor, dignity be damned, rubbing my sweat-soaked palms frantically on my silk trousers.
At least for now, the Hussites' blades wouldn't turn on each other.