The Steel of Sternberg
Southern Saxony, Zwickau.
The bells of St. Marien Church pierced the dawn air with a sharp, frantic clamor. Under normal circumstances, this sacred melody would have signaled the morning mass with reverence, but the sound echoing now was a desperate, irregular alarm.
Clang! Clang! Clang! Clang!
“Hold the line! Bar the gates!”
The garrison commander screamed until his throat felt raw from atop the lord’s ramparts. His face was drained of all color.
Beyond the horizon, a black tide was rolling in.
An army? No. If it had been a regular army, the situation would not have been this hopeless. If the enemy were nobles who understood the concept of honor, one could at least beg for negotiations or expect the mercy dictated by the customs of war.
But there was no order, no etiquette in the mob before them. There were no colorful banners representing noble houses, no rhythmic melodies of military bands, no dignified steel armor, and no disciplined formations.
The space was filled only by thousands, tens of thousands of starving peasants clutching rusted scythes, axes, and pitchforks.
Yet, their momentum was far more terrifying than any professional force.
At the very front of the formation, Joseph Fritz, a peasant leader hoisting a flag emblazoned with crude peasant boots, roared a slogan at the top of his lungs.
“Only for the justice of the Lord!”
“For the Lord!”
At his signal, the peasants surged toward the walls of Zwickau, like a swarm of locusts devouring a wheat field.
“Waaaaaah—!!”
The roar was no longer human language. It was closer to the howl of beasts, the long-suppressed rage of centuries finally erupting.
“Fire! Rain arrows upon them! Do not let them reach the walls!”
At the commander’s order, the archers released their bowstrings with trembling hands.
Whiz-!
A rain of arrows poured down upon the crowd, and dozens of peasants in the vanguard collapsed.
“Gaaah!”
Blood sprayed amidst the screams. Under normal circumstances, a mob would be terrified by the sight of their comrades dying and would scatter or at least hesitate. But these people were different.
The peasants’ eyes were glazed with an indescribable madness.
“It is martyrdom! Peter has gone to heaven!”
“Do not fear! It is written in the Bible! Blessed are those who are persecuted for righteousness!”
Stepping over the corpses of their fallen comrades, those behind them charged with even greater fervor. Death could not stop them; rather, death was seen as a shortcut to the promised paradise.
“Kill them!”
“Rip open the bellies of the pigs!”
“This is the will of God!”
A single small pamphlet from Bohemia had turned simple farmers into berserkers who defied death itself.
“M-madmen…….”
Faced with a sight that defied all logic, the garrison commander’s hands shook violently.
The peasants who reached the base of the walls set up ladders and threw bundles of straw soaked in oil over the ramparts. From their lips, as they climbed, flowed a bizarre song—not in Latin, but a crude, rough German hymn.
“A mighty fortress is our God (Ein feste Burg ist unser Gott)…….”
“A trusty shield and weapon (ein gute Wehr und Waffen)…….”
That grand yet grotesque chorus struck terror deep into the souls of the soldiers guarding the walls.
“Oil! Pour the boiling oil!”
Boiling oil cascaded down the walls like a waterfall.
Ssssss!
“Aaaaaaah!”
With the stench of burning flesh, the peasants clinging to the ladders fell, clutching their faces. But before the screams could even fade, others grabbed the ladders. They climbed over the bodies of their burned comrades, glaring at the soldiers with bloodshot eyes.
“You are all in league with them!”
“God’s judgment upon the lord’s dogs!”
At that moment, a thunderous roar erupted from the gate.
Crack- Boom!
A massive log, carried on the shoulders of hundreds of peasants, had finally shattered the gate. Splinters of wood flew in every direction, and through the gap, an angry wave surged inside.
“It’s breached! The gate is breached!”
“Hold them! Push them back!”
But it was futile. The peasants, pouring in like a burst dam, destroyed everything in their path. They stabbed soldiers with spears, tore the lord’s coat of arms to shreds, and broke into the locked granaries, spilling the grain onto the streets. They were returning the suffering they had endured with interest, with a vengeance.
The interior of the castle instantly became a hellish scene of chaos.
The Lord of Zwickau, watching this from the top of the tower, collapsed as his legs gave out.
“How could this…….”
Before his eyes, the feudal order of Europe, which had stood for centuries, was crumbling like a sandcastle in a single day.
“What is to become of this world…….”
The lord’s desperate lament was buried without a trace by the frenzied shouts of the peasants who had arrived.
* * *
“…That is the current situation in Germany.”
After Janos finished his report, the air in the office grew heavy as lead. Only the crackling of firewood in the stove occasionally broke the silence.
The map spread across the table was covered in red markers—the regions where the peasant uprisings had broken out. The red was spreading across the map of the Empire like a rash. Beside it, a mountain of secret letters sent by peasant leaders from across Germany had piled up.
To the King of Bohemia. We beg for salvation.
The brothers of Franconia have taken up scythes, but they fall to the knights' spears and swords.
Merciful King, please send your army.
Bloody thumbprints. Crooked handwriting. The paper dripped with desperation. My retainers looked down at the harrowing appeals with complex expressions.
Sir Kuno was the first to break the silence.
“Your Majesty, the situation in Germany is grave. Should we respond to their request and raise an army?”
Jan Zizka stroked his chin and said, “If we deploy the Bohemian army now, we could crush the Electors and march all the way to Frankfurt. Just give the order, Your Majesty.”
“No.”
I shook my head firmly.
“The Bohemian army will not cross the border.”
Doubt filled the eyes of my retainers. Zizka asked, “Why? Is this not the perfect opportunity to cut the Emperor’s throat?”
“And go there to become a foreign invader?”
I pointed at the map with my finger.
“The moment we send an army, the nature of this fight changes. What is happening in Germany now is a civil war. It is a family feud between lords and serfs, between the Emperor and his subjects. But the moment the Bohemian army crosses the border, we become the common enemy that unites the scattered German princes.”
Nationalism is a tricky thing. No matter how much one hates the lord who oppresses them, the foreign invader is always hated more. Had Bohemia not already proven this with the horrific results of the Hussite Wars?
I had no intention of becoming an external threat that would unify the Empire.
“Besides, even if we win, it’s a problem. Extending our supply lines deep into hostile German territory in the middle of winter is suicide. We have only just stabilized Bohemia. Even if we occupied the land, we lack the administrative power or the troops to maintain such a vast territory.”
A heavy silence settled in the office. My retainers could not refute my words and swallowed their groans. Janos raised an eyebrow as if he found it interesting.
“Then… are you saying you will just watch the fire from across the river?”
“If I just watch, the fire will go out too soon. I need to pour oil on it.”
My eyes gleamed coldly.
“This flame must be sustained. For a year, two years… until the Empire is so busy strangling and tearing each other apart that they don’t even dare to look toward Bohemia.”
I picked up one of the letters piled high on the table.
“We will not send an army. Instead, we will send steel.”
“By steel, you mean…….”
“Spears, shields, and gunpowder made from Sternberg Steel.”
The biggest reason peasant rebellions fail is the disparity in armament. Scythes and pitchforks cannot even scratch a knight’s plate armor. But if we provide the weapons, the story changes.
“Use Abraham’s merchant guild. Secretly, and quickly. But it won’t be free. Sell it for a price, even if it’s cheap. That way, they will value the weapons.”
The German lords are about to taste hell. Because the peasants who carried scythes yesterday will be charging with steel and gunpowder today.
“And one more thing.”
I turned my gaze to Janos.
“We must ensure the safety of Zelinsky and his disciples.”
As long as they are alive, the German Bible will continue to spread, and the sparks of rebellion will not die out.
“Establish a communication network with them across the Empire. Provide funds if necessary, and prepare escape routes so they can be pulled out whenever the situation becomes critical.”
“Understood. But to safely manage that many people… our current manpower will be far from enough.”
Janos’s point was accurate. This was beyond the level of bodyguards or messengers. It required collecting information, conducting covert operations, and extracting people while avoiding the Empire’s surveillance network. A professional organization was needed for that.
“I know. That is why I intend to create an organization.”
I pulled a pre-conceived plan from my desk drawer and pushed it toward Janos.
“The Royal Intelligence Service (Královská Informační Služba, KIS). A shadow organization dedicated solely to intelligence gathering and covert operations. Janos, you will lead it.”
A subtle, yet not entirely unwelcome, smile spread across Janos’s lips. He was a man who preferred the shadows to the light.
“So, you want me to become the King’s shadow. Well, it suits my aptitude, but…….”
It was then that Sir Kuno, who had been silently holding his place, spoke up heavily.
“Your Majesty.”
“Do you have something to say?”
“…Is it really okay not to send troops?”
Sir Kuno’s expression was dark. The calloused hands of the warrior were trembling slightly.
“I understand the strategic benefits. But… morally, isn’t this too cruel?”
Deep remorse, felt as a faithful knight, lingered in his eyes.
“The reason those peasants rose up with scythes is, in the end, because of the Bible we spread. You are asking us to watch them burn to death after we threw the spark. Do we not also bear responsibility for their blood?”
“…….”
The air in the room grew heavy for a moment. Sir Kuno’s point was painful. It was an undeniable fact that my strategy was driving tens of thousands of Germans to their deaths.
To a knight who valued honor more than life, inciting a rebellion and then just watching from the sidelines must have felt like a cowardly betrayal.
However.
“Sir Kuno, look out the window. And look at the people.”
“Yes?”
“We also read the same vernacular Bible. We sing hymns in our mother tongue, and our priests conduct mass in our own language instead of Latin.”
I reached out and pointed to the peaceful view of Prague.
“Has there been a peasant rebellion in Bohemia? Are our people burning down monasteries and killing their lords?”
“No… that is not the case.”
“Why is that?”
I stared straight at Sir Kuno and drove the point home.
“Because they are not starving. Because they are not oppressed. Because their King treats them as people, not as livestock.”
Bohemia was peaceful. The markets were bustling, the fields were bountiful, and the people were praising their King.
The German peasants did not rise up just because of a book. It was an explosion caused by generations of exploitation and treatment worse than beasts. The German Bible was merely a small spark. The dry firewood of oppression, famine, and the tyranny of German lords had been piling up there for centuries.
“This is not our fault. It is the karma the German lords have accumulated. The blood they shed is merely the result of their own actions.”
“…….”
Sir Kuno kept his mouth shut. He understood with his head that this was a strategic judgment and a decision for the national interest. But to a warrior who had lived his whole life with chivalry and honor as his creed, ignoring the suffering of others to take only the profit was accompanied by deep religious guilt.
I watched him for a moment and then softened my rigid tone.
“Of course, I am not a cold-blooded man without blood or tears. I cannot send soldiers to fight their war for them, but I can at least provide a refuge for those struggling to survive.”
“What do you mean by that……?”
I looked down at the blood-stained map of Germany on the table once more.
“Open the borders.”
“……!”
“Accept any refugee fleeing the tyranny and war of the Empire into the bosom of Bohemia without discrimination. Give them bread to eat and a warm place to sleep to escape the cold. The moment they cross the border, they are my subjects under my protection.”
Surprise spread across the faces of my retainers.
“My Lord.”
Janos interrupted, frowning. “Mercy is fine, but opening the borders indiscriminately is too dangerous. It is obvious that spies will mix in among the refugees. It is realistically impossible to filter out those rats among thousands or tens of thousands of displaced people.”
It was a perfectly reasonable concern. Closing borders in wartime is the most basic of common sense. And these were refugees from the Empire, a potential enemy nation.
“Doing that somehow is the job of the Intelligence Service.”
“What? No, you haven’t even built it yet, and you’re already thinking of working us to the bone.”
Janos clicked his tongue, but I laughed and said, “And besides, Janos. Just let them come.”
“Yes?”
“Do you remember? This time last year, when the Hussite army descended upon Sternberg Castle.”
Sir Kuno’s expression softened with the memory, and Zizka, who was listening nearby, let out a dry cough.
“Did I bar the gates to the refugees back then because I was afraid of spies?”
“No… you accepted them all.”
“Exactly. And what happened? Did the spies destroy the castle? No. We won.”
I stood up and walked to the window. In the courtyard of Prague Castle, visible outside, the winter wind was blowing, but the castle was full of life. White smoke rose from the chimneys of the well-heated barracks, and the servants were moving busily with healthy complexions, thanks to being well-fed and kept warm. Not a single person was shivering in hunger or paralyzed by fear.
“Let them come. Let them come and see. See how much Bohemia has developed. See how well-fed, warmly housed, and peacefully we live, we who were pointed at and called heretics.”
This was a weapon more terrifying than any sword. To the Germans exhausted by hunger, war, and exploitation, the rumors of Bohemia—a land of abundance and freedom—would be a powerful threat in itself.
“Let them see the concrete roads of Prague, the people eating white bread and meat, the smoke rising from the factories, and the steel armor of the soldiers. And have them return to tell their lords and kings.”
A cold smile hung on my lips.
“Tell them what we have built here, while you were starving, shivering in the cold, and killing each other.”