The Rose Withers in the Smoke
Rozmberk.
In the Kingdom of Bohemia, the weight of that name was never light. It was the Stern of the Sternberg’s eight-pointed star, and the Rose of the Rosenberg’s five-petaled flower. Excluding the two-tailed lion of the royal house, these were the two banners that symbolized the most noble authority in the kingdom.
Yet, the reality of their influence was as vast as the distance between heaven and earth. Unlike the Sternberg family, which had fallen into ruin amidst the storms of history and was barely clinging to a single dilapidated castle, the Rosenberg family had sunk deep, firm roots into southern Bohemia, bolstered by exceptional political acumen and immense wealth.
From their ancestral seat at Rosenberg Castle to Český Krumlov—a natural fortress city and the hub of southern trade—southern Bohemia was, for all intents and purposes, their own private kingdom.
And now.
That impregnable fortress of Český Krumlov was—
BOOM! BOOM-BOOM!
KRAAA-THOOM!
It was being hammered by a merciless barrage of cannon fire.
"Madness... these insane heretics!"
Oldřich II, the head of the Rosenberg house, threw his wine glass against the floor in a fit of nerves.
CRASH!
The expensive Bohemian crystal shattered, and the red wine spread across the carpet like a pool of blood. But no one dared to think of cleaning up the shards. The entire castle was shaking as if caught in an earthquake.
KRAAA-THOOM!
Another roar slammed into their eardrums. At the same time, the chandelier on the ceiling swayed precariously, and white plaster dust poured down like snow. Covered in dust, Oldřich ran to the window and glared outside.
Český Krumlov. A natural fortress wrapped in the S-curve of the Vltava River, the heart of the Rosenberg family. The walls built atop the sheer cliffs boasted a majesty that even giants could not scale; it was an iron fortress that no enemy had breached in the last two hundred years.
'My, my calculations should have been perfect!'
He had trusted in the rugged terrain of Český Krumlov, the sturdy walls, and the warehouses packed with food. He had convinced himself that even if the Heretic King led an army here, he could simply lock the gates and hold out. He was certain that he could last a year or two, and that these rootless peasant mobs would eventually grow exhausted and retreat on their own.
But now, those proud walls were screaming.
"What... what on earth is that?"
KRA-THOOM!
RUMBLE!
One of the outer towers collapsed helplessly. It was a hollow collapse, as if a child had kicked over a sandcastle.
The commander of the family’s knight order shouted urgently, "My Lord! You must evacuate! This place is no longer safe!"
"Evacuate? Me? You want the master of Rosenberg to tuck his tail and run from these mere heretics!"
Oldřich shouted, veins bulging in his neck. "This is my territory! My kingdom! Even His Imperial Majesty does not treat me lightly here, yet a village bumpkin who rolled out of Sternberg dares to attack me?!"
He could not accept it. Sternberg? They might have been a prestigious family once, but weren't they just fallen nobles sitting on a mountain of debt now? For such a wretch to dare point cannons at him, the ruler of the south—it was nothing short of sacrilege.
"Counterattack! Do you intend to just sit on the knights and boil them for soup? Go out there and smash those damn cannons!"
But Oldřich’s command was buried under the continuing roar of artillery.
BOOM! BOOM! KRA-THOOM!
Dozens of cannons breathed fire in unison. Stone dust and debris erupted like fountains from the walls. CRACK—RUMBLE! At the same time, a section of the outer wall crumbled away. The archers standing atop it fell along with the rubble, unable to even let out a scream.
"Ugh, ughhhhh...!"
Oldřich gripped the railing, trembling like an aspen leaf. This was so different from the common sense of war he knew. Where had the sieges gone—the ones with ladders, boiling oil, and clashing swords? The enemies were simply demolishing this impregnable fortress from afar, without even touching it with a finger.
The knight commander grabbed his arm. "My, my Lord! You must flee! If you stay here...!"
At that moment, a dark shadow fell over Oldřich’s head with a terrifying sound of rupture.
WHIIIIIIII—
KRAAAAA-THOOM—!!!
A massive iron ball embedded itself in the wall just a few paces from where he had been standing. The solid stone wall split like a spiderweb, and sharp fragments flew, grazing Oldřich’s cheek.
"Eek!"
Oldřich shrieked and collapsed to the floor. Hot blood flowed from his cheek, but he couldn't even think to wipe it away. That dark iron ball embedded before his eyes—the hunk of metal, still radiating heat and spewing acrid smoke, was glaring at him like the eye of a devil.
'I’m going to die.'
The authority of Rosenberg? The history of the family? None of that mattered. Before this merciless gunpowder and steel, the Emperor, the Pope, and even himself were nothing more than lumps of meat easily crushed.
"Surrender..." Oldřich muttered with trembling lips. "Surrender! Raise the white flag! Now!"
Oldřich screamed. He could feel his trousers becoming damp, but he had no room to feel shame. "Tell them I’ll give them everything they want! Money, land, I’ll give it all, so please, just make those damn cannon sounds stop!"
The King of the South. The red rose of Rosenberg withered miserably in the thick gunpowder smoke, reeking of urine.
Creak, clatter. The sound of heavy cartwheels scraping against the stone floor continued incessantly. The treasury courtyard of the Prague Royal Palace was so packed there wasn't even room to stand.
"Your Majesty, this is the first tribute sent by the Rosenberg family! 50,000 silver groschen, a set of gold tableware, and..."
"Your Majesty! An envoy sent by the Lord of Plzeň! He offers the keys to the city and swears his loyalty!"
"People have arrived from the Schwarzenberg family as well! They beg you to spare them, if only you would withdraw the cannons...!"
I leaned against the terrace railing and looked down at the commotion. 'A familiar sight, somehow.'
The fall of the Rosenberg. The ripple effect it brought was far greater and more immediate than I had anticipated. The Catholic nobles, having witnessed the "King of the South" collapse overnight as cannon fodder, were paralyzed with terror. Realizing that no matter how high their walls were, they were nothing but sandcastles before our army, they began crawling to Prague, clutching money bags, with no one wanting to be the last.
Those who had been holding their heads high just yesterday, citing the Emperor’s edicts, were now raiding their family treasure vaults, begging only for their lives.
Furthermore, the harvest didn't come only from the nobles' vaults. As the southern nobles collapsed, the Catholic monasteries and cathedrals under their protection also fell into my hands in a defenseless state. The immense wealth of the Church, accumulated by sucking the blood of the people while enjoying tax exemptions for hundreds of years—it was being returned to the state treasury in its entirety.
"Your Majesty! It’s insane! It’s truly insane! We’ve received twice... no, three times more than when we confiscated the church property in the Prague area last time!"
Abraham’s mouth was stretched from ear to ear. It was hard to believe he was the same Finance Minister who had been wailing about bankruptcy just a few days ago.
"Gold coins, silver coins, they’re countless! Jeweled reliquaries, golden candlesticks, the finest textiles... we’re running out of warehouse space! At this rate, we could pay the soldiers ten years of salary in advance and still have leftovers!"
Abraham looked like he might start dancing while clutching the ledgers. But I calmly calmed him down.
"Abraham, calm down. It’s not something to be happy about blindly."
"Yes? What do you mean by that, Your Majesty?"
"Think about it. What do you think will happen if this massive amount of gold and silver is released into the market all at once?"
Abraham blinked for a moment, then began to turn his sharp, financier-like brain.
"Money will become common. Then..."
"The value of money will drop." I nodded. "Bohemia is overflowing with money right now, but there are no goods to buy. The farmland has been devastated by war, and the harvest isn't good. We might reach a situation where you have to pay a gold coin just to buy a piece of bread."
Inflation. The people of the Middle Ages couldn't clearly define this concept, but they knew the phenomenon painfully well. Having a lot of money wasn't necessarily good. If the goods to buy with that money didn't support it, the economy would collapse.
"Th-then what should we do? Should we bury this money back in the warehouse?"
"No. We must spend it. But not domestically—abroad."
I pointed to the northeast with my finger. Abraham’s eyes widened.
"By any chance, do you mean Poland?"
"Yes. King Jagiello sent an envoy, so it’s time to send a reply. Take this overflowing money and go to Poland. And buy up all the grain available there."
Poland was the breadbasket of Europe. The massive wheat and rye produced in its fertile plains. What we needed most right now wasn't gold bars, but bread to fill the bellies of the people immediately.
"Import grain from Poland and release it into the market. Lower the price of bread to pre-war levels, or even half that. I need to make the people of Bohemia feel that 'if the Steel King rules, we won't have to worry about starving to death.'"
Abraham’s eyes flashed.
"Indeed...! If we release food and stabilize the price of bread, the people will have more room in their pockets, so that money will flow back into the market! If purchasing power revives, the steel farm tools we make will also sell like wings!"
"Yes. And don't let the remaining money sit idle; reinvest it in industrial complexes. Build schools, increase hospitals. Money is like blood; if it doesn't flow, it rots."
"I will keep that in mind! I will organize a merchant group and head to Poland immediately. I will make the price of bread dirt cheap, just as you wish, Your Majesty!"
Abraham ran down the stairs, excited. That capable Jew would now handle things excellently without me having to order him every step of the way.
The immediate fire was out. The finances were abundant, and the public livelihood would stabilize. So, it was time to prepare for the next step. I turned my gaze to a shaded corner of the terrace. There sat a man, peeling an apple with the most comfortable posture in the world.
"Janos."
Crunch.
Despite my call, Janos slowly put a slice of apple in his mouth, chewed, and replied, "Yes, my Lord. I’m watching. It’s quite a spectacle. I suppose this is what a windfall of money looks like."
"Is it tasty?"
"It’s sweet. Maybe because it’s an apple from the Rosenberg territory, it tastes like honey. The war is over, money is overflowing, the nobles are crawling on their own... it seems like all that’s left is to sleep with our legs stretched out."
I sat on the railing, hanging my hips over. "Sleep with my legs stretched out? Hardly. It’s just beginning. Pack your bags. We need to go on a trip."
"Where to? Poland? Or Venice? Well, if it’s an escort mission, it’s not bad to get some fresh air."
"Germany."
Thud.
The apple fell from Janos’s hand and rolled on the floor. He stared at me with wide, disbelieving eyes. "...What did you just say? I heard you wrong, right?"
"Germany. Specifically, the Rhine region. Mainz or Strasbourg."
Janos burst into laughter. "My Lord, do you not know what kind of place Germany is right now? That’s the den of the Crusaders who are desperate to hunt us down and kill us! We’d be stoned to death the moment we used a single Czech word, and you want me to go there? What is this, a suicide squad?"
Janos’s reaction was natural. Within the Holy Roman Empire, Bohemians were likely being treated like devil-worshippers. The moment we crossed the border, we would undoubtedly become targets for bounty hunters.
But I calmly patted his shoulder. "Who said I was sending a Bohemian?"
"Yes?"
"You’re Hungarian, aren't you?"
Janos’s mouth hung open. "You can speak German, right?"
"Well... I can speak it, but..."
"That’s enough. You’re not a knight of Bohemia. To the outside eye, you’re just a Hungarian mercenary wandering in search of work."
I smiled. "Did you forget that Emperor Sigismund also serves as the King of Hungary? To the Germans, a Hungarian is not an enemy, but a comrade serving the same Emperor. If you speak German with a Hungarian accent, no one will suspect a thing."
Janos opened his mouth to retort, but seemed stumped by my logic. "...Haa. Fine. Let’s assume for a hundred times that I infiltrate without being caught. What do I have to do when I get there? Should I bring back the Emperor’s head? Or assassinate an Elector?"
"No need for that. Just bring back one person."
"A person? Who? Is it an exiled noble?"
"No, he’s an ordinary metalworker. For now."
I took out a piece of parchment I had prepared in advance from my pocket and handed it to him. "His name is Johannes Gensfleisch zur Laden zum Gutenberg. Ah, he might not be using the surname Gutenberg right now."
"...That name is disgustingly long."
Janos frowned and peered at the parchment. "You said this person is a metalworker? Well, is he good at making cannons or something?"
"No."
I curled the corners of my mouth upward. "But I guarantee you, he is the man who will build a weapon far more powerful than a cannon."