Chapter 21
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Translator: Wjin
Chapter: 021
Chapter Title: Excommunication Decree
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Buda, the capital of Hungary.
The terrace of the royal palace overlooking the Danube River was filled with the full bloom of spring, yet the air hanging over it was colder than the depths of winter.
Sigismund von Luxembourg, master of the terrace, was sunk deep into an ornately decorated chair.
Fifty-two years old—an age that marked him as elderly by medieval standards.
But his eyes still gleamed like those of a bird of prey, and his red beard flowed with the majestic mane of a lion.
Son of Charles IV, the national treasure of Bohemia.
At twenty, he had faced the Ottoman Turkish hordes at Nicopolis. He had convened the Council of Constance to unite the fractured papacy, torn into three, restoring Europe's mediator.
No one in Europe could challenge his authority—not even the Pope.
"Your Majesty, urgent news from Prague."
Sigismund slowly swirled the Tokay wine in his golden goblet before asking,
"Speak. Now that my brother Wenceslaus is dead, have those heretics finally decided to surrender?"
A leisurely smile played on his lips.
His brother, Wenceslaus IV, had been incompetent and lazy.
With him gone, the Bohemian crown rightfully passing to its legitimate heir—himself—was as natural as the sun rising in the east.
Though that freak of a soldier, Jan Zizka, had suddenly appeared and utterly crushed the crusade army he had so painstakingly assembled...
It was just a momentary lapse in vigilance, Sigismund was firmly convinced. It wouldn't happen twice.
But the messenger's words shattered the emperor's expectations to pieces.
"N-No, it's not that... Count von Sternberg has..."
"Sternberg? Ah, you mean Ulrich? He managed to repel the Hussite army that invaded his castle. What trouble has that fool caused now?"
"He... has ascended to the throne of Bohemia himself."
Crash!
The golden goblet slipped from Sigismund's hand and shattered on the floor. Red wine stained the marble like blood.
Silence fell. It was a suffocating quiet.
"...Say that again."
The messenger swallowed dryly.
The man before him was the cold-blooded butcher who had burned Jan Hus at the stake and massacred thousands of infidels. One wrong word, and his head would roll.
"C-Count von Sternberg... has proclaimed himself king in the Old Town Square of Prague."
"King?"
Sigismund's lips twisted.
"The crown of Bohemia is mine. From the moment my brother died, that crown has been a sacred object for me alone! And that backwater count—a man of dubious lineage—dares to call himself king?"
"B-But... the citizens of Prague are cheering him, calling him the King of Bohemia."
"The people's king?"
Sigismund let out a hollow laugh.
"Who made him king? I am the rightful King of Bohemia! He's nothing but a heretic and a usurper!"
"I-It is true! The count—"
"He's no count!"
Sigismund shot to his feet, shoving back his chair with a loud clatter.
"Don't you know I granted him that title myself? And yet he dares betray me? That thief... that pretender... that heretic king!"
Sigismund glared at the map on the wall, his eyes fixed on the heart pinned at its center: Prague.
"Secretary! Take up your pen! Send a letter to the Roman Curia—no, issue imperial decrees to every prince in Europe!"
His voice echoed off the palace's high ceilings.
"This is no mere rebellion to suppress. This is a holy war!"
"Y-Your Majesty... are you declaring a crusade?"
"Yes! Those filthy heretics have stolen my crown and dared to crown a false king! I won't rest until I flay their flesh and grind their bones to dust!"
Sigismund drew his sword from his belt. The razor-sharp blade flashed in the chandelier's light.
Thud!
He slammed it down. The tip pierced Prague on the map, embedding into the table.
Sigismund's eyes narrowed like a serpent's.
"Summon all the electors of the empire. Albert of Austria, Frederick of Saxony, Frederick of Brandenburg... gather every force that can rally under my banner."
His trembling hand gripped the sword hilt embedded in the table.
"Go and proclaim it. The emperor is coming. Tell him to wash his neck clean, for I'll sever his head and hang it from the Charles Bridge! Tell him that!"
"Y-Yes, as you command!"
The messenger fled the audience chamber.
Sigismund panted heavily, staring down at the floor soaked in blood-red wine.
"Ulrich von Sternberg..."
His teeth ground together with a grating sound.
That red stain looked like the sea of blood that would soon drench Bohemia's fields.
"Fifty thousand."
Sigismund muttered.
"No, one hundred thousand. I'll lead the greatest army in European history. I'll bury your corpse under Prague's walls if I must, and hang your head in the town square."
The red fox's eyes gleamed with murderous intent.
The air in Prague Castle still thrummed with the lingering excitement of the coronation, taut with subtle heat and tension.
The royal palace where I stayed was filled with luxuries incomparable to the lord's chambers at Sternberg Castle.
Instead of damp, gloomy stone walls, massive tapestries embroidered with gold and silver thread.
Instead of creaking wooden floors, Anatolian carpets that swallowed even footsteps.
Even the windows weren't oiled paper but real, spotlessly clear glass.
Luxuries worth a small fief's annual income, each one.
I slowly crossed the room to the window. Beyond the transparent glass, Prague unfolded like a painting.
An endless wave of red tile roofs. The Vltava River threading through like a silver ribbon. Hundreds of Gothic spires piercing the sky.
The heart of this city—now the heart of my kingdom.
The crowds who had cheered themselves hoarse for me moments ago now looked like tiny ants below.
My reflection faintly appeared in the window glass.
A man in luxurious silk robes, a jeweled crown on his head.
Just weeks ago, a 21st-century wanderer in a foreign land. Until yesterday, the pathetic rural lord of Sternberg.
But now, I was master of this palace and the Kingdom of Bohemia.
'King...'
The cheers filling St. Vitus Cathedral. The roars of the crowd directed at me.
It wasn't a blessing. The masses had poured all their hopes, rage, and expectations into me, their vessel.
They needed a hero to save them from this hellish reality.
'And I gladly took the role.'
Once on stage, there's no stepping down.
Now, I had only one thing left to do.
End this story with an ending that satisfies everyone—and what I desire.
That was when it happened.
Knock knock.
A familiar knock shattered my reverie.
"Come in."
Janos entered, pushing open the heavy oak door.
He glanced around the room's opulence. His eyes held not awe, but that signature cynical glint, calculating how much it would fetch at a pawnshop.
Janos lightly bowed to me leaning by the window. The gesture carried more familiarity than formality.
"How do you like your new home, Your Highness?"
Janos emphasized "Your Highness" with deliberate nonchalance.
I pressed a hand to my forehead instead of answering. The roar of thousands still buzzed in my ears.
"Don't call me that. It's so awkward it gives me chills."
"No choice, is there? Lord Ulrich really is king now."
Janos shrugged.
"Outside the walls, everyone's shouting 'Long live King Ulrich.' Even I'm proud. I took a lord with nothing and made him king—what does that say about my eye for talent?"
I chuckled and asked,
"So, what news does that sharp eye bring? You don't look like you're just here to congratulate me."
"As perceptive as ever."
Janos smirked his usual mocking grin as he approached my desk.
"Good news and bad. Which first?"
I thought for a moment.
"Good first."
"Wise choice. Best to take the sweet medicine before the bitter."
Janos took a breath and began his report.
"The good news: Prague's city council has sworn absolute loyalty to Your Highness."
"Wasn't that clear at the coronation? The nobles looked like they'd eaten shit."
"That was political rhetoric. This is a real gift."
Janos's eyes sparkled with excitement.
"About 2,000 Prague militiamen will serve as Your Highness's direct troops from now on. The council officially handed over command."
"The Prague militia?"
I echoed involuntarily.
Just weeks ago at Sternberg Castle, his forces numbered barely thirty. Scraping together every serf inside might have reached a few hundred.
Now, 2,000 men moved at my single command. Words like "world turned upside down" fell short.
"Yes. Elite troops armed with funds voluntarily raised by wealthy merchants and guildmasters. Ragtag compared to General Zizka's Taborites, but their armor shines and spears are polished. Better than nothing, right?"
"..."
I drummed my fingers silently on the desk.
2,000 troops. It wasn't just a boost in numbers.
It meant Prague's moderate nobles and bourgeoisie weren't just grudgingly acknowledging me as king—they were actively betting on my survival.
'They finally realize it. If I fall, they're next. I'm the only shield against Sigismund's wrath.'
I smiled in satisfaction. Now I had real bargaining chips.
"Not bad. So, the bad news?"
At my question, the playful smirk vanished from Janos's face.
"Sigismund knows."
"..."
The satisfaction cooled to ice. What was coming had arrived.
"Faster than expected. The coronation just ended today."
"Seems... we have a rat inside feeding him info."
Not surprising.
We'd assumed from the start there'd be a few Sigismund spies in the Hussite leadership.
Janos paused, gauging my reaction.
"Sigismund's furious. He's circulated edicts across the empire, claiming heretic Bohemia has raised a false king to defy holy order. In them, he calls Your Highness..."
Janos's voice dropped lower.
"'The Heretic King Ulrich.'"
Heretic King.
Quite the catchy moniker.
"Well, not wrong. To the Pope, I'm a heretic; to Sigismund, a crown-stealing thief."
"That's not the point. The emperor's calling for a second crusade from every prince in the empire."
Janos's face was uncharacteristically grave.
"Princes across Germany are mustering armies. The Elector of Brandenburg, the Elector Palatine, the Margrave of Meissen... Early spring at soonest, summer at latest, Sigismund will cross the border. With an army incomparable to last time."
The first crusade had been crushed at Vyšehrad not long ago.
But this was different.
Last time was a punitive expedition against heretic Hussites. This time, it was war to crush the "Heretic King" who had openly defied the emperor's authority and crowned himself.
The scale, the justification, the brutality—all would dwarf the previous one.
'At least tens of thousands. Maybe over a hundred thousand.'
My current forces: 2,000 Prague militiamen and Zizka's several thousand Taborites.
Even scraping private troops from other moderate nobles, we wouldn't top 20,000.
'Even if Zizka's the undefeated genius, with history changed, will his reputation hold?'
In original history, Sigismund's second crusade didn't reach Bohemia until late next year. It took that long to persuade princes and assemble forces.
But my existence had accelerated Sigismund's clock dramatically.
He'd hurry far more than before.
I was the deadliest threat and ultimate insult to his crown ambitions.
'No matter how I crunch it, we can't win on numbers alone.'
Zizka's wagon fort tactics wouldn't suffice.
As proven at Sternberg, we needed era-leaping tech, overwhelming firepower to shatter enemy morale.
That required money. Vast funds for steel, casting cannons, feeding and arming troops.
But the royal treasury in Prague Castle was empty.
Wenceslaus IV, the infamous incompetent tyrant, had spent his life in luxury and debauchery. His legacy: a cobweb-filled empty vault.
Raise taxes on the people? Fresh off winning their support as king, that would see my head on the walls by tomorrow.
Only one option left.
My gaze drifted beyond the Prague walls to the countless spires and bell towers.
Those arrogant, colossal edifices decked in gold and silver.
"Janos."
"Yes, Your Highness."
"From now on, turn every word I say into an edict. Post it across all Prague."
"...What do you plan to say?"
A cold smile curled my lips.
"War needs money. And luckily, while the previous king emptied the treasury, he left the city's piggy banks overflowing."
Soon, gold would flood Prague.