Medieval: Kingdom Come: Deliverance

Chapter 176: Travelogue

Chapter 177 Observations Along the Way

A neighbor who only takes and never gives is not a good neighbor.

I am saddened by your kindness and your lack of reciprocity.

Dusk had fallen, slowly enveloping the hills of Baron Seinitz's estate. Peter reined in his horse, gazing at the castle standing in the twilight.

Black Bartosh spurred his horse closer, the leather saddle creaking. "My lord," he said, "Rosenberg's lair is just ahead. I suggest we camp in the open or go around it."

"If you ask me, we should strut through! Let that treacherous Seinitz see how Trotsky's griffin banner flies before their city gates!"

Eric's chainmail gleamed like fish scales in the setting sun as he spoke with disdain.

"Reckless!"

Jerry the Grey Rat shook his head and criticized, "Don't forget the purpose of our trip. Before the noble gathering in Kutenberg begins, Lord Peter should conceal his whereabouts and not cause any unnecessary trouble."

"My dear friends, why are you so nervous?"

The tomcat, Carter, stretched lazily, took off his pot-lid helmet, and let his hair flutter in the wind: "Since it's getting late, let's rest in this oak grove. Look how clear the stream is, and listen to the nightingale already singing."

"Indeed, someone as dazzling as Lord Peter cannot hide his brilliance. Instead of worrying about revealing our whereabouts, we should just let things take their course."

Robert, with his white hair, thought so too.

Peter's fingers tapped lightly on the hilt of his sword, his gaze sweeping across the faces of each of his companions. The woods rustled in the evening breeze, as if whispering secrets. Finally, he raised his hand and pointed to a clearing in the woods: "Let's camp here. But tonight, we'll send Baron Senetz a...special greeting."

The campfire flickered in the night, casting the six men's shadows onto the rough trunk of the oak tree. Peter stared at the flames, his thoughts drifting back to the urgency and anger he felt two weeks earlier when he learned of Senitz's plan to raid the border village of Trossky. An eye for an eye, indeed; Peter had never been one to hold a grudge.

At midnight, the moon hid behind the clouds, as if unwilling to witness what was about to happen.

Six dark figures, like melting shadows, silently glided across the moat and moved along the shadows of the castle's outer walls.

Several ropes with hooks were thrown onto the city wall, and the crowd easily climbed up. No guards were visible on the wall; perhaps they had gone off to slack off somewhere. You can't expect medieval guards to be highly disciplined.

The six people successfully entered the castle. They passed through the outer fortress and entered the main tower.

The castle was filled with a mixture of musty and lavender scents. Peter gestured, and the group immediately split up. Black Bartosh and Eric headed towards the vault, Tomcat Carter went to the stables, and Gray Mouse Jerry and White-haired Robert cleared out the guards along the way.

Standing before the vault, Jerry the Gray Rat moved with the agility of a real mouse, deftly fiddling with the lock with a tiny tool until the sound of the cylinder turning was barely audible. "Please come in, my friends," he said, bowing with the grace of an invitation to a ball.

Black Bartosh gave the heavy oak door a gentle nudge with his shoulder, and it swung open with a thud.

"Look at all these silver coins! Enough for Senitz to hire three armies to harass our borders."

Peter reached out and touched the mountain of money bags. With a slight thought, all the silver coins instantly disappeared into his system space. The weight-bearing space had a significant bug: storing even a large amount of coins wouldn't add any extra weight. Theoretically, even carrying a million silver coins, he could still move with incredible speed!

"A good neighbor never gives anything in return. Now, it's time to leave a little gift for the Baron."

Soon, a beautiful warhorse was poisoned to death by the Root of Evil. The tomcat Carter, carrying a still-dripping bag, sneaked into Baron Senetz's bedroom and placed the contents of the bag beside the baron's bed.

Jerry the mouse pinned a dagger to the wardrobe, and the red griffin on the parchment looked as if it might take flight at any moment in the moonlight.

The darkness before dawn is the deepest. Peter and his six companions left unnoticed, following the same route they had taken.

Early the next morning.

Baron Seinitz rolled over in the silk mattress, his hands groping unconsciously. The damp touch made him frown, then the smell of blood on his fingertips jolted him awake.

"My God!"

He screamed and rolled off the bed, staring at the horse's head lying on it with its eyes wide open and blank, its mane matted with blood. Morning light streamed through the stained glass, casting an eerie glow in the horse's pupils.

He recognized it; it was his favorite warhorse, Khartoum. The horse was so beautiful, its coat jet black except for a diamond-shaped white patch on its broad forehead. Its large brown eyes shone like golden apples, and the black skin on its taut muscles was as smooth as silk.

Seinitz once proudly told his steward, "This is the finest warhorse in the world. I bought it in Poland last year for three thousand groschen. I bet even the King has never spent that much money on a horse!"

But now, the horse's head has been cut off and placed on its bed.

In an instant, he felt a chill run down his spine. If someone could kill his beloved horse without the castle guards noticing, didn't that mean they could easily kill him too?!

The shock hadn't subsided when the butler stumbled into the room, his face ashen, like a washed linen sheet: "My lord! The vault...the vault is empty! All the silver coins, a full sixty thousand grossens, and the gold and silver artifacts, all gone!"

The pain of losing his money made Senitz briefly forget his fear. When he ran barefoot to the vault and saw that it was empty, he cried out to the sky.

"My money, my money!"

The steward added, "Sir, the mercenaries are still in the castle; their wages for this week are due..."

""

Senitz immediately covered his mouth, breaking out in a cold sweat, and hurriedly ordered the vault to be closed and the news to be blocked.

Those mercenaries are all money-grubbing types. If they found out I couldn't pay their wages, who knows what they'd do!

After dealing with his overwhelming problems, Seinitz returned to his bedroom exhausted, only to discover a detail he had been overlooking.

His gaze finally fell on the bedroom wardrobe. There, a piece of parchment was nailed to the wardrobe with a dagger, depicting a red griffin poised for flight. His knees suddenly buckled, and he had to lean against the wall to steady himself.

"Peter Griffin..." he gritted his teeth as he uttered the name, his voice tinged with anger, but even more so with deep fear.

Meanwhile, Peter and his group were already riding along the road leading to Kutenberg. Sunlight filtered through the leaves, casting dappled shadows on them. Although the system space now contained an additional 60,000 Groschens, Peter's pace remained as light as ever.

"Seriously," Eric laughed, slapping the saddle, "I really want to see Senitz's expression when he finds the vault empty!"

Jerry laughed, "This is what he deserves. His fate was sealed the moment he decided to be our enemy!"

Everyone laughed heartily, chatting and reminiscing about what they would do once they arrived in a big city like Kutenberg.

But as they continued south, the laughter gradually subsided. The closer they got to Kutenberg, the more bleak the scenery became.

The fields were barren, overgrown with weeds like a green plague.

The ruins of the farmhouse, with charred beams pointing towards the sky.

Farmers squatted by the roadside, their eyes vacant like dry wells.

Riverbank: More than a dozen corpses lay scattered, and crows circled overhead.

The leather armor of the Cuman cavalry mingled with the coarse cloth of the peasants—in the face of death, all are equal.

The laughter gradually subsided.

Black Bartosh made the sign of the cross: "God... this place is like heaven compared to hell."

Peter gripped the reins tightly, his eyes reflecting the scorched earth, the corpses, and the faces of despair.

"This is the true nature of a divided Bohemia."

He said in a low voice.

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