Chapter 22

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Translator: Wjin

Chapter: 022

Chapter Title: Excommunication Decree (2)

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That afternoon, the new king's first edict went up in every square and street corner of Prague.

Hundreds of parchment sheets bore the decree, written in Czech so even commoners who couldn't read Latin could understand it easily.

The herald's voice boomed across the square as he read the edict aloud.

The citizens' faces were blank with confusion at first.

Daring to touch church property? Wouldn't divine wrath strike them down?

But their bellies were too empty for such fears.

"Jesus had no house of his own... but those piggish bishops live in castles?"

"Right! They took every last coin from me when my wife was sick, all for their 'prayers'!"

"The king is giving it all back to us!"

The hesitation was brief. The anger endured.

"Long live King Ulrich!"

"The king judges the corrupt church!"

"Those greedy priests are finally getting what's coming to them!"

Right after, two thousand Prague militiamen marched out the city gates under the king's banner.

Their target was the Sedlec Monastery, rumored to be the wealthiest in all Bohemia.

As the sun dipped low, the militia arrived at the monastery.

The peaceful sanctuary plunged into chaos at the sudden appearance of an army.

The abbot, pale-faced, shouted from behind the gates.

"Who dares bring soldiers' boots into the house of the Lord? This is sacred ground, inviolable!"

The militia commander unfurled the parchment edict and bellowed back.

"In the name of Ulrich I, all property of this monastery is hereby confiscated! Open the gates peacefully, and your lives will be spared!"

"Heretic traitors! His Holiness the Pope will excommunicate you all! The Lord's lightning will strike you down!"

"Divine punishment is for the likes of you who suck the people's blood dry! Advance!"

At the commander's order, the soldiers charged with a roar.

"Waaaaah!"

Thud! Crack!

The monastery's heavy gates shattered under a massive log ram, and soldiers poured into the courtyard like a raging wave.

"Hold them! Protect the holy relics!"

The monks swung candlesticks and staffs in resistance, but they were no match for the furious soldiers' momentum.

Screams and curses erupted everywhere, yet mockingly, not a single bolt of lightning fell from the heavens.

The soldiers stormed straight into the main hall. They stuffed golden candelabras from the altar, silver chalices, and jeweled reliquaries into sacks indiscriminately.

Religious paintings were ripped from the walls frames and all, while rare manuscripts from the library were piled up like kindling.

In the abbot's office, a hidden safe was uncovered. Deeds to fertile vineyards near Kuttenberg and shares in silver mines spilled out.

"What's this over here!"

"Tear down the wall!"

Finally, a secret vault deep underground was revealed.

The soldiers who smashed the door gasped at the sight before them.

Decades of hoarded gold coins, silver ingots, and jewels glittered in the candlelight like a mountain of greed.

Before the golden mound, even the soldiers swallowed dryly without realizing it. One young soldier muttered blankly.

"This place was a total thieves' den..."

From that moment, they ransacked the monastery without restraint.

That night, Sedlec Monastery blazed like daylight under torchlight. Wagons so overloaded their axles groaned hauled "God's property" back to Prague in a long line.

In just three days.

Twelve monasteries near Prague and forty-eight churches had all their property confiscated by the king's order.

The royal treasury officials at Prague Castle were witnessing a sight they would never forget.

The courtyard before the treasury vault was utter pandemonium.

An endless procession of wagons had been dumping mountains of spoils stripped from monasteries and churches all through the night.

"This is from Sedlec! Forty gold crosses! Sixty silver candelabras! Thirty-two jeweled reliquary cases!"

"Land deeds and debt certificates from Březnov! Damn it, there are so many parchments I can't even count them ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠all!"

"Altar decorations from St. George's Cathedral! All solid gold, pure gold!"

The Prague militiamen's shouts held not a speck of fear for blasphemy.

Only a strange pride in taking part in history—and raw greed for the glittering gold before their eyes—shone through.

In stark contrast, the faces of the elderly treasury officials and scribes responsible for the vault were ashen.

These vast riches embodied the absolute authority of the church, which had lorded over Bohemian souls for centuries.

Seeing them scattered like butcher's meat on the ground was enough to make anyone's jaw tremble.

They must see me as a horned devil right now.

Whatever.

I sat at the largest table inside the vault, watching the chaos indifferently.

On the table lay freshly baked bread, fresh cheese, and a glass of steaming warm milk.

Compared to Sternberg's rock-hard black bread and stale ale, it was heartbreaking luxury.

I tore off a piece of bread and soaked it in the warm milk. A rich, soft flavor filled my mouth.

"Mmm."

A languid, leisurely breakfast, utterly divorced from the inferno outside.

But my mind raced colder and faster ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠than ever.

'Way more than expected. Not just gold and silver. Land deeds, trade rights, debt certificates...'

The church was, before a religious institution, the era's greatest feudal lord and ruthless financier.

Wasn't it common knowledge that a single abbot outdid most nobles in wealth?

Then Janos approached, clicking his tongue in complaint.

"My lord—no, Your Majesty. Are you really going to count every single bit? Can't we just divide up the sacks roughly? We'll be up all night at this rate."

"No."

I cut him off firmly.

"This isn't bandits splitting loot. It's incorporating royal property into the national treasury. Not a single groschen out of place. That's the only way to avoid backlash."

Precision breeds trust. Trust breeds power.

To prove my superiority over those outdated nobles, I had to dominate not just in force, but in intellect and system.

I picked up a quill and scrawled numbers on a fresh parchment.

Not the scribes' long, inefficient Roman numerals. Simple, perfect system. Arabic numerals.

"Use this format. Item, quantity, estimated value, source. Four categories. I'll handle the calculations—just bring me the tallies."

"Yes, underst... but Your Majesty? What are these symbols? I've handled ledgers my whole life, but I've never seen letters like these..."

"New bookkeeping method. My way. Soon every ledger in the kingdom will use it. No questions—do as I say."

The scribes exchanged bewildered looks but couldn't defy the king's stern command.

From then on, a bizarre scene unfolded in the treasury courtyard.

Groups of three or four scribes clacked abacuses, scribbled and erased Roman numerals, groaned, and finally brought results.

I'd glance over and compute the total in seconds, jotting it down.

While they counted fingers for 'MMCLXXIV plus DLXXX,' my mind crunched ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠'2174 + 5830' in 0.5 seconds.

As time passed, the scribes' eyes changed. From fear and submission to awe, as if beholding something beyond human.

'Not wrong. By this era's standards, I'm basically a supercomputer.'

By noon, the all-nighter ended.

Janos swallowed dryly, voice trembling with anticipation and excitement.

"So... how much is it all?"

I set down the quill, cracked my stiff neck. Leaned back deep in the chair, and recited indifferently.

"Liquid assets alone: roughly 1,286,500 Prague groschen."

Silence.

A total hush, as if even the wind held its breath.

1,286,500 groschen.

Janos, and even the veteran chief scribe who'd handled money his whole life, gaped like they'd forgotten how to breathe.

In an age where a skilled worker earned 1 groschen a full day and mercenaries risked life for 2, this was an astronomical sum to buy a whole kingdom.

More terrifying: this was just the tip of the iceberg.

"That's ignoring artistic value entirely—just the melt-down price into bullion."

I grinned at blankly staring Janos.

"Add the land deeds rolling around over there... well, does putting a price on it even matter?"

Janos muttered like a sleepwalker.

"...All this is ours?"

His eyes were glued to the platinum crosses, golden chalices, and sacks of silver coins piled like mountains.

His pupils sparkled like the coins—he looked ready to dive right in.

"Your Majesty, be honest. Can we really just swallow all this?"

Janos gulped and continued.

"No, honestly! We could grab it and bolt to Poland or Venice right now—live like kings for generations!"

His usual cynicism was gone.

No surprise. Enough money to turn even Buddha... no, Jesus' eyes.

"Janos."

"Yes!"

"What, are we bandits?"

Janos gave an incredulous look.

"What you've done here is worse than bandits, if anything."

"Fair point."

I chewed milk-soaked bread. Savory flavor spread in my mouth.

"But it's not all ours."

"What? Then who gets it? You're not saying ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠return it to the Pope or some madness like that?"

I brushed crumbs off and held up two fingers.

"I take half."

"...Pardon?"

Janos blinked in total confusion.

Of course you wouldn't know about Gondi. I smirked and nodded at the sealed iron door.

"Time for guests. Chief scribe, open the door."

Creeeak—

The heavy iron door groaned open on rusty hinges. Dusty air thick with iron, old parchment, and fresh outside breeze mixed.

Two men entered.

A noble in fine silk, face pale: Cenek z Vartemberka of Bartemberk.

A warrior in mud-caked battle gear, stern-faced: Jan Roháč of Dubá.

Leader of the moderates and second-in-command of the radical Taborites.

Water and oil, standing side by side, stepping into the vault.

"Your Majesty, you summoned... hup."

Cenek trailed off, sucking in a gasp.

Gold bars rolling on the floor, silver coins spilling from sacks, jeweled reliquary on the table casually.

"Th-this is..."

His throat bobbed wildly, eyes darting.

Roháč's reaction differed.

He scowled, glaring at the treasures like filthy pus.

"...The festering sores gathered by Babylon's whore."

He spat the words, voice dripping disgust.

"Idols forged from the poor people's lifeblood, all heaped here."

"Welcome, my lords."

I lounged crookedly in my chair, tossing and catching a ruby-encrusted golden goblet lightly.

Clink. The clear metallic ring sliced the heavy silence.

"Sit. This'll take a while."

They sat awkwardly, or with sour expressions, across from me.

Cenek's gaze stayed fixed on the goblet playing in my hand.

A bizarre mix of greed and fear of blasphemy.

"Your Majesty... I heard rumors, but did you really strip every monastery bare? The Papacy won't stand for it! Excommunication is certain—maybe all Europe turns against us!"

Cenek's voice shook.

I shrugged like it was nothing.

"Sigismund's bringing crusaders anyway—it's only a matter of time. One more excommunication changes nothing."

"But this is... too radical!"

"Radical..."

I set the goblet down.

"Lord Cenek. What's your yearly revenue from your lands?"

"Pardon? Uh, why so sudden... about 10,000 groschen."

"10,000."

I nudged a sack at my feet. It thudded heavily, spilling silver coins in a cascade. A silver waterfall.

"This alone is 1.3 million groschen. What you'd touch only after 130 years of breathing without spending a penny."

Cenek's jaw dropped.

"1.3 million...?"

"Add land deeds and art? Easily over 3 million."

"3... 3 million...!"

Cenek's eyes lost focus, shaking.

3 million groschen. Several years' budget for Bohemia. The weight shattered his reason white.

I turned to Roháč.

"General Roháč. Reports say Taborite troops are starving lately."

Roháč's brow twitched. Pride stung.

"...God's warriors don't bend to hunger."

"Spirit's fine, but starving soldiers can't fight. Short on powder and draft horses too, right?"

"..."

Roháč couldn't retort. Brutal truth.

Žižka's army was mighty but choked by supply shortages. Plunder sustained them, but limits loomed.

And that plunder ultimately preyed on Bohemian peasants. Even Catholic lords' lands—mostly farmers suffered.

"This money is the people's blood and sweat. The church stole it; I merely reclaimed it. So it must serve the people again."

I rose, strolling slowly amid piled sacks of gold coins.

"Half."

I stopped, eyeing them alternately.

"Exactly half goes to the treasury. I'll manage it personally—for rebuilding walls and forging weapons. Objections?"

"...None."

"Good."

I nodded.

"Of the other half, 30 percent to the Taborites."

"30 percent?"

Roháč's eyes widened. Nearly 400,000 groschen.

"Buy food, powder, horses. Pay soldiers proper wages—no more raiding homes. Tell Žižka: use this gold to smash Sigismund."

Roháč's face twisted complexly. He loathed nobles, but couldn't refuse this.

Roháč nodded curtly.

"...Understood. I'll relay to General Žižka."

"And Lord Cenek."

"Y-yes, Your Majesty!"

Cenek gazed like an eager pup. If he had a tail, it'd wag.

"The remaining 20 percent to the noble council."

"20... 20 percent...!"

"One condition."

I fixed him with cold eyes.

"Not for your luxuries. Fortify your lands' defenses. Support families of conscripted serfs. If I hear this gold lines your pockets..."

I trailed off, stabbing my quill into the table. The sharp nib sank deep into solid oak.

"I'll visit your castles personally to claim my share."

Cenek blanched. He nodded frantically.

"I-I'll remember! Never happen!"

"Good. Consider it agreed."

Urgent fire out.

Troops fed, nobles tasting money—wagging tails awhile.

Then Roháč rumbled gravely.

"One question."

"Hm?"

"Why not take it all, Your Majesty? For royal power, monopolizing it to raise private troops would've been better."

Sharp question. Janos and Cenek looked curious too.

I chuckled, grabbing another bread piece.

"Like Sigismund, or every king before?"

"..."

"The church's hoard is rotten. Stagnant too long, stinking. Eat it alone, I'd die of gut rot. So..."

I chewed the bread.

"Better we all share, all become accomplices. When Sigismund comes, they'll fight tooth and nail to keep this sweet hoard."

Silence flowed.

Roháč barked dry laugh, Cenek gulped, Janos shook head.

"Now I see why Žižka eyes you so."

Roháč rose, speaking. His eyes held strange new respect.

"Fine. Arm God's army with this filth. Cut crusaders' throats with church blood... Blasphemous, but I like it."

Roháč gave short, heavy nod, swirled cloak, strode out. Boots thudded iron-heavy.

Cenek sprang up.

"I-I'll go relay Your Majesty's will to the council! Eternally grateful!"

He bowed 90 degrees like fleeing hot griddle.

After Cenek fled, the heavy iron door shut again.

Bam—

Back to quiet vault: me, Janos, and my share of treasure.

Roughly 600,000 groschen.

Outstripping years' budgets of decent kingdoms. Violent sum.

Janos stared blankly at a silver sack, asked.

"My lord, what now with all this? Hire mercenaries?"

"Obvious."

I grinned, standing.

This money's blueprint already etched in my mind.