Medieval: Kingdom Come: Deliverance

Chapter 247 Light in Desperate Circumstances

Agner curled up, trembling with sadness.

Menhad silently gazed at the murky night sky above, cut into a narrow strip by the eaves, where a few cold stars twinkled through the gaps in the clouds, as if mocking his fate.

He stroked his sword again, wondering if he really had to take the final step and sell it.

What happens after you sell it?

That would probably only be enough for them to barely leave the city, slinking back to Frankfurt like stray dogs, to face endless ridicule and a life of failure.

Despair, like a cold tide, slowly engulfed his heart.

Just then, a light and steady footstep sounded approaching from afar, sounding particularly clear in the quiet night.

It wasn't the heavy, chaotic footsteps of a night patrolman, nor the staggering footsteps of a drunkard. These footsteps were calm, alert, and carried a clear purpose.

Menhard and Agnère immediately became alert and instinctively gripped the sword hilts hidden beside their bags.

Three figures appeared at the alley entrance, blocking the faint light in the distance.

They were all wearing dark travel cloaks, the hoods covering most of their faces, but they were upright and their gait exuded a well-trained and capable air.

The three stopped a few steps in front of them, their gazes sweeping over the master and apprentice huddled in the corner before finally settling on Menhad.

From beneath a hood, a young but unusually calm voice came: "Are you Master Menhard Frankfurt?"

Menhard was startled and didn't answer immediately. Anel, however, hissed nervously, "Who are you?"

He untied one end of the cloth bag, revealing a simple-looking sword with the emblem of the Kutenberg Brotherhood of Swordsmen engraved on the hilt—a crossed longsword and a hammer—reflecting a cold, sharp light in the dim moonlight.

It was that union sword!

"I came here at the request of my friend Henry."

The man's voice was calm, devoid of any emotional fluctuation. "I've brought you the guild sword of the Swordsmanship Brotherhood. Where would you like to hang it?"

A glimmer of hope in a desperate situation!

Overwhelmed by the immense joy and sense of relief, Menhardt's carefully maintained composure crumbled instantly. He almost staggered to his feet, excitedly reaching out his hands to carefully take the sword.

The sword felt heavy in my hand, and its icy touch now felt as hot as flames.

He carefully stroked the emblem on the hilt, feeling the familiar engravings with his fingertips, as if he could feel his long-lost dignity returning.

"It's it—it really is it!"

Menhard's voice choked with emotion, "Thank you so much! My friend, I thought—I thought I was going to starve to death in this city."

He raised his head, and the flame of fighting spirit rekindled in his eyes.

"Hang it on the bulletin board at the city hall! Yes, hang it in the most conspicuous place! That will force that coward Nicholas to fight!"

I will definitely defeat him, and with orthodox German swordsmanship, I will rightfully reclaim the glory and status that rightfully belong to me!

He gripped the union sword tightly, as if he were holding his own destiny in his hands.

Then he remembered to ask his benefactor's name: "Thank you, Henry, may God bless him!"

Thank you, stranger, I will never forget your kindness!

May I ask how I should address you?

The face beneath the hood seemed to twitch slightly—perhaps a faint smile, or perhaps just an illusion created by the light and shadow. "You can call me Peter."

His tone was casual, as if it were just an insignificant code name. The mission was complete; whether the master and apprentice would successfully turn the tables or be utterly crushed was up to fate.

Perhaps only when a person has endured a long period of suffering and finally glimpsed a ray of light, only to be ruthlessly kicked back into the abyss the next moment, will they completely collapse and fall into an irredeemable despair.

He thought silently, a cold smile curving his lips. He hoped that when the time came, Master Menhad, whose hope had just been rekindled, would still remember him, the "kind person" who had offered him help in his desperate situation.

Peter didn't say another word, only nodded slightly, then turned around. His dark cloak swirled in the night and quickly disappeared into the darkness, as if he had never been there.

Menhard and Agner were still immersed in great joy and hope and did not notice anything unusual about Mr. Peter's departure.

Their hearts were filled with gratitude for Henry and this mysterious helper, as well as anticipation for the upcoming decisive battle.

Peter and his two companions moved swiftly through the labyrinthine alleyways of Kutenberg, like true ghosts.

He evaded several patrols of Hungarian soldiers with nimble and precise movements. His thoughts had already drifted to his next destination.

After many twists and turns, he arrived at the "Hole in the Wall" bar, located on the edge of the slums.

This place is completely different from the "decent" area around the city hall; it's another world entirely. The bar's name is quite fitting; it's practically a cave carved out of a section of abandoned ancient city wall. It's low, dark, and has a dim, yellowish light coming from an oil lamp emitting black smoke hanging at the entrance.

Pushing open the wooden door that looked like it might fall apart at any moment, a wave of heat, a mixture of cheap liquor, sweat, vomit, and some kind of cheap spice, hit me. Inside, the noise was deafening and filled with the clamor of voices.

Sailors, deserters, smugglers, maids, and all sorts of people from the lower classes gathered here, shouting, drinking, and gambling, seeking a brief numbness in the rolling dice and clinking glasses. A dangerous yet indulgent atmosphere permeated the air.

Peter ignored it all, his sharp eyes scanning the noisy crowd like probes. Soon, he locked onto a target—a man sitting alone in a relatively quiet corner at the back of the bar, quietly drinking.

He was dressed plainly and looked unremarkable, but Peter's intuition told him that this was the person he was looking for.

He pushed through the crowded throng, ignoring several ill-intentioned glances, and walked straight to the table, sitting down opposite the man.

The man raised his head, revealing a weathered face, but with exceptionally sharp and shrewd eyes. He looked to be in his thirties or forties, with slightly disheveled hair, but long, steady fingers.

Peter looked him straight in the eye and said in a voice only the two of them could hear, "Are you Mr. Cheng Yeke?"

Cheng Yeke, the leader of the Thieves' Guild, looked at Peter's handsome face, which was still evident even in the dim light, and a hint of surprise flashed in his eyes, which then turned into a professional smile with a hint of inquiry.

He put down his glass, leaned forward slightly, and lowered his voice as well: "It's nice to meet you, stranger. But I think we should get along very well."

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