anovelconsole Chapter 177 Peasant Uprising
Chapter 177 Peasant Uprising
Chapter 178 Peasant Uprising
With heavy hearts, everyone silently quickened their pace.
We entered the Kutenberg area as darkness fell.
As they walked through a birch forest, a group of ragged bandits suddenly jumped out from behind the trees.
The man at the head was particularly eye-catching; an arrow had pierced his forehead, and the shaft trembled slightly with his movements.
"stop!"
The man with an arrow stuck in his head brandished a rusty longsword. "I am Karel, an undead protected by the magic arrow! Leave your valuables behind, or you will witness the wrath of hell!"
His accomplices behind him shouted in unison.
A middle-aged man named Pasha was banging on his shield, while a thin man named Hale was holding a bow, but the bowstring was slack like an old woman's smile. Several other skinny bandits were also posing with wooden sticks.
Black Bartosh and Eric exchanged a meaningful glance, seemingly discussing who should step in to resolve the issue.
"An immortal being? Please allow me to express my admiration for your... unique appearance."
Black Bartosh, acting as the chief bodyguard, stepped forward and asked, "What are your demands?"
Karel puffed out his chest proudly, the arrow swaying in his hand: "This arrow pierced my head years ago! But I, Karel, am still alive! This is a miracle of the magic arrow! Are you afraid now? Hand over your purses, horses, and weapons! I am a kind man and do not wish to harm you with the magic arrow!"
Carter the tomcat's laughter cut through the tense air. He rode around to the side, squinting as he examined the arrow.
"Dear Mr. Karel."
Carter tilted his head. "Are you sure that arrow really pierced the skull and didn't—get stuck in the gap between the skull bones? I've seen similar cases. In Prague, a clown used this trick to swindle money from drinks for three years."
"Blasphemy!"
Behind Karel, a middle-aged thug named Pasha roared as he banged on his shield: "This is a miracle! It's a holy arrow! You unbelievers, Peter, raise your right hand!"
Spread your five fingers, then suddenly clench your fist.
Black Bartosh, Eric, Cato, Jerry, and Robert pounced like cheetahs, leaving the saddle empty in an instant.
Eric spun around and slammed Pasha into the mud. With a light tap of the hilt of his sword, Black Bartosh sent the archer Hale's broken bow crashing to the ground.
three seconds.
Five rioters were subdued, and their weapons were scattered on the ground.
Karel stood frozen in place, the arrow motionless.
He clumsily raised his sword and charged at Carter, stumbling as he went. Carter didn't even draw his sword; he simply turned to the side, the scabbard lightly touching his ankle.
"Bang!"
The immortal fell to the ground, raising a cloud of dust.
Jerry the Gray Rat had searched all the robbers and held up a deflated money bag: "Sir, the total value is no more than ten Grossens."
This sword—
He scraped away the rust with his fingernail. "The last time it was polished was probably during the reign of His Majesty Charles IV."
Dead silence.
Then, Karel, who hadn't uttered a sound even when an arrow pierced his skull, suddenly burst into a heart-wrenching wail.
"We're just... just hungry..."
Tears mingled with dirt, carving deep lines into his face. "The lord took the last grain of wheat, the Hungarian cavalry burned our barns—the children are eating tree bark—this is all I can, all I can rely on—"
His trembling hand pointed to the arrow in his forehead.
Peter dismounted.
The deerskin boots sank into the mud and stopped in front of Karel.
"God has mercy on mankind."
Peter said softly, "But if you continue to plunder, this arrow will not protect you—it will take your life."
"What can we do?!" Karel roared. "Just wait to die?!"
Peter turned and looked into the depths of the forest.
"lead the way."
"What?"
"To your camp." Peter mounted his horse. "We need a place to spend the night. In exchange, you'll receive food."
The bound robbers became guides.
As they passed through the gnarled oak forest, Black Bartosh cursed under his breath, "Holy Mary, I'd rather face a whole troop of heavy cavalry than drag these hungry ghosts along."
Eric simply tightened his grip on the rope—the group of people staggered forward like tethered ghosts.
When it was completely dark, they did not arrive at the bandit's den.
It is a microcosm of hell.
The shack made of rotten canvas lay sprawled on the ground, like a festering sore on the earth.
An iron pot hung over a weak fire, and an old woman stirred the grayish-white soup, the color of which resembled the eyes of a dead fish.
A child was hiding behind a tree, his ribs clearly visible under the tattered cloth.
"grown ups."
Karel suddenly struggled, the rope digging into her wrists. "Please—untie me. At least don't let them see me like this."
Peter: "Reason?"
"That arrow—"
Karel's voice trembled. "They're their last hope. They believe I'm truly divinely protected and can bring food and safety. Please—don't extinguish this flame."
Peter's gaze swept over the empty eyes of an old woman in the camp, the child's clenched fists, and the tree roots and wild grass churning in the pot.
"Untie him."
"Sir, they are robbers."
"Untie it."
"yes!"
Eric's dagger sliced through the rope.
The sound of the rope hitting the ground startled the refugees, who gathered around and saw the knight in gleaming armor on horseback and their bound relatives.
An old woman knelt down, her knees sinking into the mud: "Sir, Karel and the others just—just wanted some food—"
Peter dismounted and helped her up, touching the protruding bone in her elbow.
"We are just travelers who need to stay overnight."
"7
Peter said, "In return, we'll share our provisions."
Carter whistled as he unloaded his baggage, revealing smoked meat and hard cheese. The moment the aroma of the food exploded, the children's eyes lit up with a hungry, wolf-like light.
A young girl took the white bread Peter offered, her fingers trembling like autumn leaves in the wind: "Thank you—sir. I haven't seen real bread in a long time."
She broke off most of a piece and quickly stuffed it into the hand of the boy next to her. The boy wolfed it down, choking and pounding his chest in frustration.
Peter looked away.
"Sit down," he said to Karel, pointing to the campfire. "It's time for a story."
Flames licked at the night.
The refugees sat in a circle, their voices a mixture of swallowing, sobbing, and crackling firewood. Karel's voice rose and fell in the firelight: "—The tax collectors took the last grain of wheat. My wife was inside when the Hungarians burned the house—we fled into the forest and joined people from three nearby villages. We wanted to fight back."
He grabbed a handful of soil and squeezed it tightly.
"Three hundred men, wielding pitchforks and machetes, charged toward the baron's manor."
He gave a wry smile. "Then we ran into twenty armored knights. It was a massacre, my lord. Hands with hoes can't cut through iron armor."
Silence enveloped the camp.
Only the fire was crackling.
"We were defeated and scattered. The nobles put a bounty on our heads and hunted us down like wild boars."
Karel looked up; the arrow cast a flickering shadow in the firelight.
"This arrow—it was shot during that battle. But I didn't die. So they think it's a miracle, that I'm blessed—"
Karel, tears streaming down his face, said, "I know it was just a tricky angle! Just good luck! There was no magic arrow at all! I was just a liar, using this hole to deceive my people, to tell them there was still hope." "No."
Peter's voice cut him off.
All eyes turned to them.
Peter looked at the arrow stuck in his skull; the arrowhead was rusted, the shaft was stained with old blood, and the fletching was broken.
"You're wrong, Karel."
Peter looked at the wound on his forehead. "This arrow may not have magic, but it does."
He stood up, his shadow stretched long by the campfire and cast onto the faces of the refugees.
"You rob to feed them, that's a sin. But you don the mask of immortality to protect them, that's what a leader should do. Just in the wrong way."
Karel stared at him, bewildered. Only he knew the torment he endured constantly in order to appear divinely blessed.
But now, another person is beginning to understand him.
Before he knew it, tears were streaming down his face.
"Have you ever thought about rebelling?"
"Yes, some adults. We once organized a rebellion with several surrounding villages. But we had no armor, and our hands, which were used to wielding hoes all year round, were no match for those gentlemen who were used to wielding swords all year round. We were defeated, scattered into many groups, and still faced pursuit by the nobles."
As Karel recounted his story, silence enveloped the camp, broken only by suppressed sobs that rose from every corner.
"Take me to see the place where your uprising failed in a couple of days."
"Sir, you need..."
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