Chapter 36
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Translator: Wjin
Chapter: 036
Chapter Title: The Second Crusade (3)
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Rumble...
The earth let out a low groan.
It wasn't thunder, nor an earthquake.
It was the sound of hundreds of steel wheels grinding over Prague's cobblestones as they rolled forward.
Some three hundred armored wagons poured out from Prague's gates, forming a massive horizontal line across the center of the Letná Plain.
A typical wagenburg would form a circular defensive formation, but this time was different.
We hadn't come out here to hide.
We had come to tear out the throats of our enemies.
Clank.
I opened the upper hatch of the command wagon and poked my head out. The cold March wind slapped my cheek.
Before my eyes, beyond Prague's gates, an endless plain stretched out, staging a spectacle beyond imagination.
Tents of every color filled the horizon.
Thousands of flags blotted out the sky.
Saxony's black-and-yellow stripes, Bavaria's blue diamonds, Austria's red shields...
'All the powers of Europe have gathered here just to kill me.'
The emperor's crusaders, caught off guard by our sudden sortie through the gates, were scrambling out of their camps in a panic, hastily forming up their lines.
The heat radiating from them, the horses' ragged snorts, the metallic clamor of tens of thousands of suits of armor clashing together—it all crashed over me like a tidal wave, pounding my eardrums.
It was overwhelming. Romantic painters of a later age would have trembled in awe and flung down their brushes at the sight.
But what lay before me was no painting or film. It was cold, hard reality.
One hundred thousand troops, gathered solely to exterminate the heretic, fixated on killing me alone.
A hollow laugh escaped my lips.
The whole of Europe rising up because of me. Just a few months ago, it was a scenario I couldn't have dreamed of.
Mistaking my self-deprecating chuckle for madness, Janos beside me hesitantly spoke up.
"My lord, are you really planning to clash with them here on this plain?"
Janos swallowed hard.
"One hundred thousand, my lord. One hundred thousand. Wouldn't it be better to fall back into the city now and hold out in a siege? No matter how sturdy these steel wagons are, against those numbers..."
The cheeky lad who usually tossed out jokes without a care was trembling slightly in the face of the crusaders' overwhelming might.
I lightly patted Janos's shoulder.
"Don't lose your nerve, Janos."
"Pardon?"
"Don't be fooled by the number one hundred thousand. Do they all look like soldiers ready to fight with swords in hand?"
I calmly pointed toward the front.
"They boast of a hundred thousand-strong army, but half of them are just baggage handlers, cooks, farriers shoeing horses, camp followers, and noble servants. You're lucky if even half are actually out to cut our throats."
Medieval armies often had more non-combatants than fighters.
With supply lines in shambles, they relied on plunder and local foraging, and nobles insisted on traveling with hordes of attendants and luggage to maintain their dignity even on campaign.
"And if you subtract the peasant conscripts dragged along by force from that massive headcount, the real soldiers left aren't that many."
I pointed to the heart of the enemy lines, where the most lavish tents clustered.
"What we really need to watch out for are the ones there. Knights clad head to toe in steel. I'd say there are about five thousand of them, give or take."
"Five thousand...?"
Janos's face grew even paler.
"Five thousand knights? That's enough to wipe out a small kingdom in half a day, isn't it?"
"Exactly. But surely that's far more manageable than one hundred thousand?"
I forced a relaxed smile.
Of course, any sane commander wouldn't dream of facing a hundred thousand in open battle on the plains.
The textbook move would be to bar the gates tight and hunker down behind the walls for a siege.
But that was precisely Sigismund von Luxembourg's trap.
Prague was already bursting at the seams. Refugees fleeing the war had flooded in from the countryside, leaving no room to breathe. Food stocks were running low, and sanitation was abysmal.
If we holed up behind the walls, Sigismund would leisurely tighten his noose, cut our supply lines, and lob plague-ridden corpses over with catapults until we starved or succumbed to disease.
We couldn't win from behind walls. There was only one path to survival.
Before they could complete their encirclement, smash straight through them on this very plain where they were most confident.
That was the sole formula for victory I had chosen—the only one left to us.
At that moment, Sir Kuno, standing guard at my side, spoke gravely.
"I understand Your Highness's intent. However..."
Sir Kuno looked at me with worried eyes.
"There's no need for Your Highness to be here in person. Leave the command to General Zizka and retreat to the safety of the castle. If this line breaks..."
"Sir Kuno."
I cut him off firmly.
"If this wall of steel breaks, do you think hiding behind the walls would keep me safe?"
"Well..."
"If this position falls, Bohemia is finished. Whether I'm inside the walls or out here, all that's left for a defeated king is death."
I gave a bitter smile.
In truth, I was no more secure than Sigismund.
If the emperor had borrowed money to hire mercenaries, I had wagered my life and future on this gamble.
A prolonged war favored them. The disparity in national power was clear.
So I had to end it here.
"Look at the men. They're quaking at the sight of those numbers. If I, their king, don't stand firm at the forefront, who will endure this terror?"
I gripped the cold steel railing of the armored wagon tightly.
Better to face the end with my own eyes here than cower behind walls, only to be dragged out and burned at the stake upon defeat.
Faced with my resolute stance, Sir Kuno pressed no further.
"...Understood. Then Kuno von Friedenberg shall be Your Highness's shield and stand by your side until the end."
He bowed his head silently and lowered his visor.
At that moment, a trumpet blast echoed from the enemy lines.
Toot!
The crusaders, who had been milling in chaos, seemed to have finally sorted their ranks.
The knights of Saxony and Bavaria at the vanguard lowered their lances, spurring their mounts in preparation.
Tension hung in the air. The killing intent of a hundred thousand bore down like a physical weight, crushing the troops.
The sound of dry swallows, the rattle of hands gripping weapons—it felt like I could hear it all from here.
Whoooosh.
The March wind swept across the Letná hills, sharpening the taut tension between the two armies to a razor's edge.
One hundred thousand strong.
Before that overwhelming horde, the soldiers were gripped by primal fear.
Peering through the gaps in the wagons and shields, their eyes were dark with dread.
Most were peasants or urban poor. Hands that had lifelong gripped plows or hammers now clutched matchlocks and spears, but facing the gleaming steel knights arrayed across the field, their legs turned to jelly. It was only natural.
Jan Zizka, standing beside me, spoke softly.
"Your Highness, the men are trembling."
His gaze fixed forward, his expression stern.
"If we don't turn their fear to rage or courage now, they'll break before the fight even starts. As their king... give the soldiers a reason to fight."
I turned at his words and looked upon the troops.
A boy soldier whose knuckles were white on his spear.
A family man biting his lip, thinking of his loved ones.
An old soldier clutching his cross in prayer.
What could I say to them?
Promise gold and lands?
No, they weren't mercenaries.
Speak of honor and chivalry?
But they weren't nobles.
Loyalty to the nation?
Ha, what had the nation ever done for them?
Fine speeches and flowery rhetoric meant nothing in this moment.
Fear outpaces reason and overpowers logic.
To smother this colossal terror, I needed something even greater, more primal.
I took a deep breath. Cold air flooded into my lungs.
And instead of shouting, I began to intone softly.
"Ye warriors of God..."
My voice started small, barely audible over the wind.
Janos beside me stared in surprise. Sir Kuno looked equally baffled.
But I didn't stop. I added strength and melody.
"And ye who follow His law..."
The Hussite hymn.
The song sung countless times in Bohemia's fields, in Tabor's chapels, in the persecuted back alleys.
At first, it was just my voice.
A fragile solo, on the verge of being swept away by the breeze.
In that instant, Janos closed his eyes and softly joined in.
"Seek help from the Lord..."
Sir Kuno beside him, that devout knight, crossed himself over his chest and added his deep bass.
"And put your trust in Him..."
Soon, the song spread like a wave.
The chorus that began around me rippled left and right, reaching the reserves in the rear in an instant.
"With Him, in the end, always..."
"Victory shall be yours!"
The Taborite soldiers knew this song. Of course they did.
It was the song of their souls, sung at meals, on the march, in prayer.
Twenty thousand men bellowed it at the top of their lungs, sending shockwaves across the entire plain.
The crusaders' miscellaneous shouts and neighs were drowned out by this single mighty chorus.
"Christ shall reward your sacrifices!"
"A hundredfold He promises!"
I saw it.
The enemy knights who had been jeering from horseback stiffened, the infantry at the front faltering and stepping back.
They must have felt an inexplicable dread.
At the sheer power and perfect order of a song sung by men facing death.
"He who lays down his life for Him..."
"Shall gain eternal life!"
Madness transcending death. A chilling resolve to gladly give their lives for God and truth.
The hymn reached its crescendo.
"Therefore, ye archers and pikemen!"
"Halberdiers and flail-men!"
"All of you, remember your Lord!"
Fear vanished from the soldiers' eyes.
In its place burned crimson flames.
They sang through tears, howling in fury.
"Fear not the foe's numbers!"
"Heed not their multitude!"
And the final verse.
The raw chorus of basses, baritones, and tenors was more majestic than any orchestra, more intimidating than any cannonade.
"Keep your Lord within your hearts..."
"Fight for Him, and with Him!"
"Then before your enemies, you need not flee!"
⟨ Hussite Hymn ⟩
The instant the final verse ended.
Drop.
As if by magic, the chorus cut off.
The eardrum-shattering song vanished in a heartbeat, leaving the battlefield shrouded in suffocating silence.
That silence was not empty.
It brimmed with heavy, chilling killing intent, like a powder keg on the verge of explosion.
Only the faint murmurs of the enemy knights soothing their uneasy mounts drifted over. Even they were overwhelmed.
In that hush, Jan Zizka slowly raised his arm.
He didn't shout. He wasn't excited.
He merely extended the hand holding his mace toward the enemy with grim weight.
"Entire army."
His voice was low, but it rang clear in every soldier's ears.
"Advance."
That deep, gravelly command was the signal flare.
Rumble...
No cheers rang out.
Instead, only the heavy grind of steel wheels rolling over the earth reverberated across the ground.
The three hundred armored wagons lurched forward as one.