The Information Revolution (3)
The May sun was merciless.
The noon sunlight struck the walls of Prague Castle like a harpoon, and heat haze shimmered off the scorched stone floor, dizzying to behold.
The helmets were as hot as heated pot lids, and suffocating heat poured out from the gaps in their armor.
"Ugh, I'm literally roasting to death."
Ondrej grumbled, irritably loosening his helmet strap.
Sweat poured endlessly down his chin, soaking the quilted gambeson beneath his armor.
"Hey, Matej. Doesn't your back itch? I feel like a whole colony of fleas is dancing on my body. Ugh, I'm going to get heat rash."
"Shut your mouth. Does whining make the weather any cooler?"
Matej, standing next to him, snapped back, but he was clearly just as uncomfortable.
Only half a year ago, they were Taborite peasant soldiers running through fields with pitchforks and flails.
When they wore nothing but a loose tunic and drafty trousers, they at least didn't have to worry about ventilation.
But now, they were encased in surcoats emblazoned with the royal crest, steel breastplates that glinted in the sun, and thick quilted padding.
It offered the best protection, but in the midday heat, it was essentially a walking steam oven.
"Well, I suppose it's better than the alternative. If it were the old days, I'd be crawling through furrows while getting whipped by some lord."
Ondrej tapped his breastplate with a gauntleted hand.
Clang, clang. A dull but solid sound rang out.
"Matej, have you seen yourself in a mirror wearing this? Honestly... don't you look kind of... cool?"
"You lunatic, what mirror? You're the one who was grinning like an idiot after seeing your reflection in a puddle."
Matej retorted bluntly. But he, too, was gripping his spear shaft with newfound strength.
'I am the King's soldier.'
It was a heavy sense of belonging—the realization that he wasn't just a disposable pawn, but a member of the regular army that sustained the nation.
That was why he didn't entirely hate the weight of the armor pressing down on his shoulders. Amidst the sweat-drenched iron plates, a strange sense of pride welled up.
Honestly, he had been half-doubtful at first.
Would the King really keep his word?
But now, a month into his service, he was certain.
The training was grueling and the discipline was suffocatingly strict, but the rewards were certain.
Every week, silver coins were placed in his hand, and his tray was piled high with steaming meat and bread every single day.
The shoulders of Matej and Ondrej, once gaunt and withered, had gained enough solid muscle that their armor was now a tight fit.
But what made Matej feel most proud was the change in how people looked at them.
Back in the days of the Taborite peasant militia, they were 'brothers,' but they were also 'rebels.' What filled people's eyes was fear, contempt, or a strange sense of inferiority.
But now, it was different.
When they walked the streets in their surcoats bearing the royal crest, the citizens of Prague looked at them with awe and respect.
Matej loved that gaze—that overwhelming feeling—more than anything.
"Hey, Matej. What are you going to do when you get paid this time?"
"Who knows? I'm going to start with a beer at the tavern..."
Matej, leaning against the castle rampart and licking his lips while imagining a cold lager and the curvaceous back of Lenka, the tavern maid, suddenly stopped mid-sentence.
Ondrej tilted his head in confusion.
"What's wrong?"
"Th-that... what is that?"
Where Matej's finger pointed.
Far beyond the western plains, on the horizon, a massive ocher cloud was rising.
It was a day without a breath of wind.
That meant this was no natural phenomenon.
An artificial dust storm that could only be created if tens of thousands of hooves and wheels were crushing the earth at once.
The blood drained from Ondrej's face.
"Gasp...!"
A trauma they wanted to forget resurfaced in their minds.
Only a few months ago, the momentum of the Crusader army filling the Letna Plain.
That overwhelming terror of death.
"Enemy! It's the Crusaders! They've come back!"
"The bell! Ring the bell! Quickly!"
Matej screamed and threw his body toward the alarm bell rope in a panic.
Just as he was about to grab the rope and ring the bell to alert the entire city, the lead rider emerged from the dust cloud.
"...Huh?"
Matej's movement froze in mid-air.
A flag fluttered through the heat haze.
He rubbed his eyes and looked again.
It wasn't a cross. It wasn't the black eagle of the Empire.
On a red background, a silver beast stood on its hind legs, roaring.
"Hey! Hey! Stop! Don't pull it!"
Matej grabbed Ondrej by the collar, who was hanging onto the rope, and sent him tumbling backward.
"Are you crazy?! They're right in front of us!"
"No! Look at that, you idiot!"
Matej shouted, pointing outside the castle wall.
"It's a lion! It's our flag! It's the Lion of Bohemia!"
Ondrej crawled along the floor and looked over the rampart.
What was pouring in through the dust cloud were not killers armed with spears and swords.
It was wagons.
An endless procession of wagons filling the horizon.
As if to fill the empty granaries of Bohemia after a long winter, a massive supply train, as if they had stripped the fertile plains of Poland bare, was pouring in under the hot May sun.
* * *
"Lower the drawbridge! Open the gates!"
Creak— Thud!
With the sound of heavy iron chains, the drawbridge descended over the moat.
As the western gate of Prague, which had been tightly shut, swung wide open, the massive procession that had stretched beyond the horizon began to pour into the square.
Clatter, clatter.
The sound of wooden wheels crushing the stone floor was heavy.
Huge sacks were piled high in every cargo bed, ready to burst.
From the gaps in the mats, torn from the rough journey, golden grains fell out.
Citizens flocked around the wagons as if possessed.
An old man picked up a grain that had fallen to the floor with trembling hands and put it in his mouth. Then, his eyes widened.
"It, it's wheat...!"
That shout spread in an instant like a spark falling on a dry field.
"My god... is that all wheat?"
"Grain! It's real grain!"
Cheers instantly covered the square.
Life began to return to the eyes of the Prague citizens, who had been hollowed out by hunger.
A feast of yellow hues, more precious than gold bars and more beautiful than jewels.
At the head of the procession.
Abraham, dressed in a dust-covered black tunic, rode his horse into the center of the square.
He was exhausted, his eyes sunken and his beard a mess, but his expression carried an undeniable pride.
'You did it, Abraham.'
With a smile on my lips, I walked into the crowd, accompanied by my guard knights.
"His Majesty the King is coming!"
At Konrad's shout, the crowd parted like the Red Sea.
I deliberately wore neither a flashy crown nor an authoritative cloak.
Because I shouldn't be the protagonist of this moment.
Abraham, who had jumped off his horse, spotted me and ran over with urgent steps.
Without even having time to tidy his dirt-stained clothes, he tried to kneel before me out of habit.
"Your Majesty! Your servant Abraham, having fulfilled your command, is now..."
But before his knees could touch the cold stone floor.
I grabbed Abraham's forearm firmly with my strong hand.
"Y-Your Majesty?"
"Rise. Why should a triumphant general try to kneel so easily?"
I pulled him up with force. Abraham was flustered and didn't know what to do.
"A, a triumphant general? That is not fitting! I am merely a lowly merchant who only knows how to count. How could I, who haven't even swung a sword..."
In response to Abraham's waving hands, I reached out instead.
And I brushed the thick dust off his shoulders.
"...!"
The surrounding noise stopped for a moment.
A shocking scene where the King of a nation personally brushes the dust off a Jew.
I could feel the citizens holding their breath.
This was a calculated performance.
But at the same time, it was sincere, without any pretense.
"You are wrong. You have won a victory greater than any general today."
I stared straight into his wavering eyes.
"A general with a sword protects the country by killing enemies, but you saved my people by bringing bread. Every single grain of wheat you brought is the life of a child who would have starved to death tomorrow."
"Your Majesty..."
Abraham's eyes welled up. He bit his lip, trying to hold back the tears.
The sorrow of having lived his whole life being pointed at as a money-grubbing Jew, a race that sold Jesus, was melting away like snow at those words.
I grabbed Abraham's hand, as if snatching it.
The rough, calloused hand of a merchant, stained with ink.
I held that hand high up in the air for all to see.
"Citizens of Prague! Behold!"
My voice rang out loudly across the square.
"Who brought the bread to fill your hungry bellies! Who saved your children from starvation!"
The citizens' eyes were fixed on Abraham's hand, which I held.
"It is my treasurer, and your brother, Abraham!"
"Woooooooah!!"
A hot roar erupted.
Before the heat could cool, I shouted once more.
"And I promise you! As of today, I will cut the price of all bread in Prague by half! From now on, no one in Bohemia will ever starve because bread is too expensive!"
Cutting the price of bread in half.
It was a blessing that struck directly at the stomachs of the people, more powerful than any noble political slogan.
The square instantly turned into a crucible of enthusiasm.
"Long live King Ulrich! Long live Abraham!"
The shouts soon became a massive wave that echoed throughout the city.
"Ulrich! Ulrich! Ulrich!"
"Abraham! Abraham! Abraham!"
Thousands of Christians were chanting the name of a Jew along with the name of the King.
It was the moment when the wall of hatred and discrimination, built up over a long time, crumbled before the smell of freshly baked bread and the joy of survival.
Abraham looked at the crowd with an expression of disbelief.
People calling his name and waving their hands.
Eyes filled not with contempt, but with gratitude and respect.
Thick teardrops flowed endlessly down the old Jew's cheeks, soaking his beard.
He couldn't even pull his hand away, and looking at me, he muttered in a trembling voice.
"Your Majesty... I... I have no more regrets. In my lifetime, to think that the name of a Jew would be called so gloriously..."
"Regrets? Isn't that too early? We've only just begun."
I wrapped my arm around Abraham's shoulder and smiled back.
Abraham nodded with a tear-stained face.
This loyal treasurer looked ready to pack his ledgers and follow me even if I went to hell to make a deal with the devil.
The cheers in the square continued without stopping.
That day, the smell of baking bread rose from every chimney in Prague.