Medieval: Kingdom Come: Deliverance

Chapter 178 Trip to the Demon Cave

Chapter 179 Trip to the Demon Cave

Compassion is sometimes simply planting the seeds of dignity in the soil of despair.

December 17st, early morning.

The air in the Karel refugee camp was filled with the damp scent of grass and the embers of last night's campfire.

The campsite was located in the forest wilderness between the Demon Cave Camp and Grand Village, near Grand Lake, which provided easy access to water. A dozen or so dilapidated tents were scattered in the forest clearing, like abandoned mushrooms.

The young men had already gotten up and started packing up their tents, cooking porridge around the campfire with the oats and wild vegetables that Peter had given them as alms.

The children huddled in the haystacks, their small bodies wrapped in rough blankets. The elderly sat on the ground, weaving something from the grass stems.

Peter began his daily morning practice of a thousand sword swings in an open space. A group of boys gathered around to watch, their eyes filled with envy and longing. When he finished practicing, sheathed his sword, and looked around, the children scattered in a flurry, afraid of being punished by such a noble knight.

A little boy slipped and fell to the ground.

Peter smiled slightly, bent down to help the little boy who had fallen in the mud up, wiped the dirt off the child's face, and asked softly, "Does it hurt?"

The boy shook his head, but gripped Peter's fingers tightly, as if they were his only support.

Seeing this, Karel quickly came over to apologize, saying that the child was just being silly and asked the adults not to blame him. Peter shook his head indifferently.

They simply told the other party that they were leaving.

And he instructed Carrel to send men to guide them to the knightly estate that had displaced them.

Black Bartosh and Eric packed their belongings, while the tomcat Carter carefully inspected the horses' saddles. The gray mouse Jerry and the white-haired Robert distributed the remaining rye bread and smoked meat from the rations to the refugees.

An elderly woman walked forward shakily, her fingers bent from years of labor, tightly clutching a faded little cross.

"My lord, may God bless you. Since the lord raised taxes and the Hungarians burned our village, we haven't had a proper meal in a long time. This is all I can offer you in return."

Peter shook his head in refusal.

People who suffer the most believe in God, because they have nothing left but the belief that God, this unseen and intangible being, still loves them selflessly and gives them hope to continue living.

How could he bear to take away this cross that held the elderly man's faith?

Peter took out some silver coins from his bag and handed them to the camp leader, Karel, saying, "Take these and buy some food. People need to eat to survive."

Karel's eyes welled up with tears. He lowered his head to kiss Peter's boots, but Peter stopped him by holding his shoulders.

"Sir, it's time to go."

Eric reminded him.

Peter nodded, glancing at the camp one last time.

Several young women were stirring the thin porridge in the iron pot with wooden spoons. Their skirts were covered in mud, but they were still trying to maintain their dignity.

A young girl, her pale blue cardigan faded from washing, her burgundy hair casually tied back, carefully waded through a puddle to avoid soiling her skirt with mud. She approached Peter and offered him a wreath made of flowers picked that morning.

"My lord, this is for you." A faint blush rose on her cheeks, like a wildflower just beginning to bloom.

Peter accepted the wreath, smiled slightly, and thought, "Everyone has a heart. Who says that people at the bottom of society don't know how to be grateful? It's just that they have so little to offer, so it seems insignificant."

Under the grateful gaze of the refugees, Peter and his group of six set off on a narrow, winding path, heading to a place called "The Devil's Den" to meet up with Jessica.

Suddenly, Karel took a few steps and called out, "Sir, I haven't even asked your name yet! I don't even know how to praise you when I pray to God."

Peter didn't turn around, but simply raised his hand and waved, saying, "I am a knight seeking the path to salvation. You can call me Brunel."

Peter had secretly left his territory to attend the nobles' gathering. To prevent information leaks, none of them wore griffin insignia, and Peter even wore a helmet to cover his red hair.

"Brunrier, our legendary national hero?"

Karel muttered to himself. While the common people might not remember the kingdom's rise and fall, or the lord's crest, this legendary hero was still a household name. He smiled. This knight clearly didn't want to reveal his real name, but Brunel? Truly a hero of similar virtues.

The Demon Cave is not actually a den of demons.

It's just a fearful name used by the people of the Kutenberg region for this lawless place in the northeast corner, a gathering place for bandits, robbers, and all sorts of scoundrels.

He was situated in a hilly area, surrounded by a rough wooden fence with rusty iron nails hanging on it, as if warning intruders.

It has a central tavern, a blacksmith shop, and a training ground.

Next to it is a homeless camp, which has a herbal alchemy station and a bathhouse to soothe the tired.

As soon as Peter and his group stepped into the camp, several warmly dressed women came up to them and invited them to the bathhouse to wash away their fatigue.

"Hi, Mr. Peter, what brings you here?"

Yandjaska's appearance saved them from their predicament. The middle-aged commander wore a faded leather coat and had a face etched with the weariness of a seasoned warrior.

He opened his arms wide, his voice like a hoarse bell, "I really didn't expect you to come. Did you encounter any trouble on the way? I heard that robbers have been rampant lately."

Peter dismounted and embraced Janjeska, feeling the other's strong arms.

"Everything went smoothly, except I helped some refugees along the way," he said casually.

Michael and Hurt followed closely behind, Hurt carrying a jug of ale. He beckoned to Carter the Tomcat and the other five, grinning, "Come to the tavern quickly, let's have a good drink."

Friends were delighted to meet.

Peter also recounted how he had been invited to the party by Jobst and asked him not to reveal his identity in front of outsiders.

Just as they reached the tavern entrance, several key members of the Drunkards' Legion strolled out from inside.

"Hey, new here?"

Hynik tossed his bowl-cut hair. "Jeska, is this your friend? Aren't you going to introduce him?"

The only one to blame is Peter and his six companions for their oversight: their armor was too fine, and each of them rode two horses, making them look like nobles and their guards on an outing.

The tavern in the Demon Cave is frequented by slovenly robbers, thugs, and hooligans. The tavern itself is a center for selling stolen goods, and they are not very willing to deal with officials.

When Peter and his six companions arrived, they stood out like cranes among chickens, extremely conspicuous.

"This is indeed my friend. We don't want any trouble, Hynek. I can vouch for them."

Jessica remembered Peter's advice and tried her best not to reveal the other person's identity in front of others.

"We don't want to cause trouble, but the tavern owner is a bit worried, so he sent us out to ask. Who are they?"

""

The drunkard Hynik carried a giant sword, his clean chin still stained with alcohol, clearly having been entrusted with it while drinking.

Jessica glanced at the tavern owner leaning against the oak door, then at the bandits on the tables inside and outside the tavern, their eyes constantly fixed on Peter's magnificent coat and warhorse. She shook her head and remained silent.

The atmosphere was a little awkward.

Peter stepped in to defuse the situation, saying, "I am a knight seeking the path to salvation; you may call me Brunswick."

"Brunschweig? That legendary hero?"

Kubinka leaned against a wooden post, wiping his musket with a mocking smile on his lips, his voice rough and hoarse like a millstone.

"Hey friend, don't try to fool us old bastards with a fake name like that, okay? It makes us look stupid."

"How dare someone look down on us Poles? Don't they know our sausages are famous far and wide?"

Adel was probably drunk; the slightest provocation made him start having wild thoughts, and he even nudged János with his elbow.

János rubbed his greasy mustache and grinned, "Lying won't fill your stomach, my friend. The chefs here are very strict."

Peter remained calm, but Black Bartosh, Eric, and Carter the tomcat couldn't contain themselves.

Black Bartosh stepped forward, his sword sheath tapping lightly on the ground with a dull thud.

"Watch your words!" he said, his voice as cold as a winter wind. "You cannot treat your superiors with disrespect."

Eric and the tomcat Caterpillar stood on either side, forming an invisible barrier.

Kubinka sneered, Adel whistled lightly, and János drew a meat cleaver from his waist and twirled it in his hand.

Black Bartosh struck first, dodging Kubinka's aiming fire with a sidestep, his right hand flashing out like lightning to grab the opponent's wrist.

Kubinka grunted, and the musket fell from his hand to the ground. At the same time, Eric and Adel faced off, Eric's sword tip lightly tapping, forcing Adel to retreat repeatedly.

The male cat Carter then faced off against Arnosh, his short sword coiling like a snake, instantly deflecting Arnosh's blade.

The whole process took only a few breaths, and the three members of the drunkard gang were already at a disadvantage.

Hynik had been observing coldly, only to realize he'd run into a tough opponent. His subordinate had lost face, and his boss was determined to get revenge.

He slowly stepped forward, slung his greatsword over his shoulder, and said to Peter, "Not bad, no wonder Jessica calls you a friend. So, this friend who wishes to remain anonymous, would you like to have a fight with me?"

His tone was tentative, as if he were weighing an unpolished ore.

Peter smiled slightly, his hand gently stroking the hilt of the longsword at his waist: "I never boast about how strong I am in front of my friends. But if you want to try, I'll show you how sharp my sword is."

Hynik threw his head back and laughed, his laughter echoing through the camp: "Good! I, Hynik, like you! Let's go to the arena and have a match, you dare?"

Peter nodded: "As a knight, you can't convince others if you don't dare to accept challenges."

Janjeska sighed. He knew that Hynik was not simply gathering information for the tavern owner, but also wanted to establish authority for the newcomer, and that Lord Peter was not one to back down.

It might be a good thing if two stubborn people fought each other with force.

The arena was located on the west side of the tavern. It was a square open space made of rammed earth and surrounded by a fence.

Peter and Hynik each donned full plate armor. The seams of the armor made a slight rubbing sound. Peter adjusted his breathing, feeling the weight of the armor. It was like a second skin, both a form of protection and a constraint.

Many drinkers, vagrants, and bathhouse women flocked to the arena to watch the fight.

Hynik was the first to step onto the field, dragging his greatsword behind him, carving a shallow trench.

"Come on, kid, let me see what you've got!" he roared, his voice filled with the wildness of drunkenness.

Peter stood calmly, his longsword pointing diagonally at the ground, his posture as steady as an ancient pine tree, as if waiting for the storm to arrive.

As the horn signaled the start of the duel, Hynik pounced like a tiger, his greatsword sweeping across the air with a whooshing sound.

Peter remained calm and composed. With a masterful counterattack, he lightly twisted his wrist, and the sword precisely parried the attack, the sound of metal clashing crisp and clear like the tolling of a bell.

Hynik, having missed his first strike, changed tactics, raising his sword to attempt to hit Peter's breastplate.

But Peter had anticipated this, and with a slash followed by a side thrust, the tip of his sword pierced Hynik's knee like a venomous snake.

Hynik stumbled backward, leaving a shallow mark on his plate armor.

"It's not over yet!"

Hynik roared and attacked again. He unleashed a fierce sword strike, the wind whistling through the air, but Peter moved with the agility of a moonlit butterfly, nimbly dodging each heavy blow.

Peter began to take control of the pace, using the Fiore half-sword technique, with the sword half-drawn and half-released, to lure Hynik into revealing an opening.

As Hynik swung down with all his might, Peter delivered a powerful knee strike, the hilt of his sword slamming into Hynik's knee joint with a dull thud of bone striking bone.

Hynik groaned, knelt on one knee, sweat dripping from his forehead onto the soil.

Peter pressed his advantage, unleashing a series of rapid attacks: a furious strike forced Hynik to parry, a short strike broke through his defense, and a hilt strike aimed directly at his faceplate. Hynik's breathing became heavy, each counterattack feeling like hitting cotton, powerless and futile.

Among the onlookers, Kubinka and Adel of the Drunkard Legion looked dejected, while János muttered, "This guy is a monster, no nobody."

Meanwhile, Peter's men, including Black Bartosh, applauded enthusiastically, and Eric shouted, "My lord, show him true swordsmanship!"

Finally, Peter unleashed the Rosen Fourth Style, his sword flashing like a spinning top as it enveloped Hynik, the final blow gently striking his helmet.

"Enough," Hynik said breathlessly, raising his hand. "I surrender. Your sword is indeed sharp."

He took off his helmet, his face a mixture of admiration and resentment. He was exhausted, while his opponent only had a slightly dirty shirt. Wasn't the difference in skill a bit too great?

He, the drunkard Hynek, is a ruthless man known as "Master of both sword and crossbow"!

In the past few months, they have not encountered any rivals in Kutenberg.

However, he was unexpectedly defeated by an unknown boy!

He caught a glimpse of Jessica casting a pitying look at him, and a suspicion suddenly formed in his mind.

Peter sheathed his sword and reached out to help Hynik up.

"You are a brave warrior."

Peter said loudly, but as he pulled him up, he whispered in his ear, "You have earned my approval, Peter Griffin."

"Peter...."

'

Hynik's pupils constricted sharply.

Peter...Griffin? The Red Griffin of Trotsky?!

He abruptly shut his mouth, cold sweat beading on his skin.

A lord secretly infiltrated... and almost ruined everything.

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