Chapter 39
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Translator: Wjin
Chapter: 039
Chapter Title: Battle of the Prague Plains (3)
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Cheers erupted from all directions.
"Waaaaah—!"
"The Emperor's fleeing! That coward Sigismund is turning tail!"
"We've won! God is with us!"
As the thick gunpowder smoke that had blanketed the Letná Plain finally cleared, what emerged was no longer the Empire's majestic army.
Golden eagle banners trampled into the mud.
Warhorses rearing wildly, blood streaming from wounds left masterless.
And 100,000 routed soldiers shoving and trampling one another in blind panic, not daring to look back.
The arrogant crusaders who had marched in boldly vowing to wipe Bohemia from the map were now begging for their lives as they fled with tails between their legs.
The soldiers who had trembled in terror of death just moments ago now raised their weapons high, embracing one another in the ecstasy of survival.
Some collapsed to the ground, sobbing uncontrollably, while others thrust their arms skyward, invoking God's name.
I leaned against the railing of my armored wagon, taking in the scene.
The air seeping deep into my lungs still carried the metallic tang of blood mixed with acrid sulfur, yet it tasted sweeter than ever before.
Clank, thud.
Heavy footsteps approached, and Jan Zizka appeared at my side.
Instead of basking in victory's joy, he exuded a ferocious killing intent, like a predator refusing to let its prey slip away.
"Your Highness. They've turned their backs. Now's our chance. Give the order to pursue."
Zizka's one good eye gleamed menacingly.
"We must wipe out those arrogant Germans root and stem. We'll pave the road to Prague with their corpses so they never dare set foot in Bohemia again."
The Taborite commanders lined up behind him shared the same fervor. They were itching to charge out and sever the necks of the fleeing crusaders.
To them, this war wasn't mere territorial squabble—it was a holy war to cleanse the Whore of Babylon.
Letting them live would only breed future enemies who would sharpen their blades and return, so rooting them out here made sound military sense too.
But I shook my head.
"No, General. The battle is over."
"Your Highness? But if we let them go..."
"Who said anything about letting them go?"
I chuckled softly and pointed at the fleeing crusaders.
"Take a good look, General. Do they look like enemies to you?"
"...If not enemies, then what?"
"Money. A massive fortune on the move."
Zizka's eyes widened in surprise.
"Walking gold coins. Breathing ransoms. Free labor to rebuild our Bohemia."
I stated firmly.
"The dead just mean digging graves and risking plague when they rot. But the living pay up."
War isn't romantic knightly play. It's a dirty, ruthless business.
For this war, I'd emptied Bohemia's treasury down to the last coin. Gunpowder, steel, food for the troops... and we still had mountains of expenses ahead with coffers bare.
To cover this colossal deficit, I had to capture every last one of those fleeing bastards.
"Kill any who resist. But those who drop their weapons and surrender? Don't touch a hair on their heads—take them alive."
I curled my lip into a grin.
"From now on, it's not battle. It's harvest time."
Zizka stared blankly for a moment before grasping my intent and bursting into hearty laughter.
"Your Highness is right. Sucking out their marrow is far crueler revenge than just separating flesh from bone."
He hoisted his mace high and bellowed at the troops.
"You heard him! His Highness's orders! Scrape up every gold coin scattered across that field!"
"Waaaaah—!"
The soldiers' eyes changed.
The blazing hatred for the crusaders in their gazes moments ago now burned with greedy hunger for gold.
"Capture them! Don't kill—capture!"
"Armored ones are nobles!"
"Don't hurt them! It'll cut their ransom!"
To our men, the enemy was no longer a source of terror. Just moneybags running on their own two legs, ripe for the taking.
Knights weighed down by heavy plate armor couldn't run even if they tried. Hussite peasant soldiers in light garb swarmed toward knights flailing in the mud.
"Whoa there, milord! Where you off to?"
"Come here! We'll treat you real nice!"
"L-Let go! I'm the count's son! You filthy peasants... guh!"
One soldier cracked the knight's skull with a club. They dragged the unconscious noble away, chuckling.
"Count's son? How much for that gross?"
"Today's booze money earned!"
"Hey, check this helmet. Gold trim? Mine!"
"Strip his boots too! Finest leather!"
Highborn nobles were stripped to their undergarments in seconds, bound like salted fish and hauled off.
With the Emperor fled, the chain of command had collapsed. Leaderless, the army was just a panicked mob. Now it was first-come, first-served plunder and harvest.
Janos approached, tongue lolling in awe.
"Whoa... what a sight. Never seen so many prisoners in my life. Feeding them all will bankrupt our granaries, no?"
"Don't worry. Their ransoms will buy more. Profitable business."
I gazed contentedly over the plain.
An endless procession of captives.
Piles of helmets, armor, and weapons towering like mountains in one corner of camp.
Melting those alone would yield steel for dozens more cannons.
And that wasn't all. The Emperor had abandoned vast supplies to save his own skin.
Reclaiming the food, tents, and horse fodder stockpiled for 100,000 men would not only cover our battle losses but fill the bellies of starving Prague citizens to bursting.
As I smugly tallied the gains, my gaze drifted to the countless corpses strewn across the battlefield.
A bitter taste filled my mouth.
...I've changed a lot too.
It had been a mere half-day slaughter. Yet the toll in lives was thousands, by rough count.
In the modern world, it'd dominate headlines as a catastrophe. Yet here I was, coolly calculating war's profit and loss amid the carnage.
Had I adapted to this barbaric Middle Ages without realizing it?
...
I shook my head sharply to dispel the idle thoughts.
Sentimental nonsense. I should be grateful those corpses littering the plain were foes, not my people.
Besides, I wasn't saintly enough to pity invaders come to take my head. I'd killed them to survive, to protect my own. That was all.
Absorbing the battlefield as order was restored, I issued a crisp command.
"Wrap it up! Withdraw once things are sorted!"
"Yes, Your Highness!"
Time to return to Prague in triumph.
Dong, dong, dong—!
Bell tolls rang out in unison from Prague's hundred spires.
Just yesterday, those same bells had warned of invading armies. Now they pealed as triumphant victory marches, resounding across the city.
Rumble rumble rumble—
Three hundred armored wagons of the Wagenburg that had crushed the Letná Plain rolled through Prague's main gate, their massive wheels thundering.
As their imposing forms appeared, cheers exploded from the crowds thronging the streets like clouds.
"Uwaaaaaah—!"
"Our king!"
"Bohemia's guardian!"
"Long live the Steel King!"
Flower petals rained down like a storm. Women flung open shutters, waving handkerchiefs; children rode fathers' shoulders, stretching to touch the steel wagons.
From atop the command wagon, I watched the spectacle.
Just days ago, these same folk had packed to flee crusader terror. Some had surely eyed me with suspicion, fearing I'd run too.
But now, their gazes painted me as the Second Coming or at least St. George.
Well, makes sense.
Crowd psychology is like that. They flock to the strong, adore the victor. Especially when that victor saves their skins.
Janos rode alongside, chuckling.
"Milord, hear that? Steel King. Emperor calls you heretic usurper, sounds ugly... but Steel King? Pretty fitting, eh?"
"Not a bad title."
Far ring better than Heretic King, for sure.
As the procession entered the Old Town Square, the fervor peaked.
I halted my wagon, deciding on a more dramatic show for the citizens.
"People of Prague! Behold!"
My voice hushed the square.
"These supplies were brought by Emperor Sigismund to slaughter Bohemian folk!"
Soldiers yanked the tarps from wagons, revealing mountains of smoked meats, flour sacks, and wine barrels.
"I return it all to you! Today is victory day! Eat and drink till you burst! It's the Emperor's treat—don't hold back!"
"Waaaaah—!"
The square transformed into a festival in seconds.
Rations for 100,000 troops, seized intact. No greater gift for famine-stricken Praguers.
Wine barrels burst open, red fountains spraying. Soldiers tossed bread and meat into the throng amid roaring cheers.
Watching the jubilation, I thought:
Let the Pope excommunicate or the Emperor threaten. These well-fed citizens would gladly oil my steel wheels.
Bread and circuses—the surefire, timeless art of ruling the masses since Rome.
Then, nobles in finery pushed through the crowd toward me.
Cenek z Vartemberka and Prague's moderates. Sweating profusely, they knelt before my mount.
"Oh, Your Highness! Congratulations on the great victory! The Lord has blessed your steel!"
The line of nobles groveled, launching a chorus of flattery.
"I believed in you! Knew you'd thrash those arrogant Germans and return triumphant!"
"Our house troops fought bravely under your banner!"
Janos whispered in my ear.
"Milord, look at those weasels. Only wagging tails now victory's certain. Shall we lop 'em off?"
I shook my head slightly.
"Leave them. They did send troops, after all."
Politics isn't making enemies—it's collecting useful tools. Opportunists like them were hypersensitive to power's logic.
I dismounted, embracing Cenka's shoulders to raise him.
"Rise, Lord Cenka."
"Y-Your Highness...!"
"I know your loyalty well. This victory is ours all."
Cenka bowed again, face alight with (feigned) emotion.
"Too kind! Prague's nobles pledge our lives to you henceforth!"
Fear faded from their eyes, replaced by relief at survival and calculating ambition to align with the new power.
They'd trembled at my return, dreading purges.
But after crushing the Emperor's crusaders and proving my might, they itched to be my loyal hounds.
For now, that sufficed.
Ironically, to shed feudalism's husk and build my dreamed nation here, I needed these outdated parts for the moment.
With crusaders repelled, my task ahead was no longer war—but rule.
I brushed off the nobles' nauseating praise and turned away.
The square's heat showed no sign of cooling. Prague's victory-drunk night burned red and raucous as never before.
But the festival ended tonight.
Blueprints for the next phase already unfurled in my mind.
Steel can shred crusaders, but cannons can't erase the heretic brand etched in Europeans' minds.
The war of swords and spears was over.
Now began the invisible war. The spiritual one.