Medieval: Kingdom Come: Deliverance

December 3st, early morning.

Young Master Hans and Henry continued on horseback to Troschi Castle.

The road was flanked by rolling wheat fields, where many farmers were still working. Their faces showed no signs of the numbness or fear that often lingers after war; instead, they chatted and laughed. Several children chased and played at the edge of the field, while an old man sat in the shade of a tree weaving straw baskets.

"That's strange," Hans frowned. "Usually, farmers would keep their distance when they see fully armed cavalry."

Just then, the sound of horses' hooves came from ahead. A group of about fifteen Red Griffin soldiers emerged from the side road, their banners fluttering in the morning breeze. Behind them were more than ten ragged prisoners, all hanging their heads in dejection, tied with ropes.

"Watch out!" Henry reined in his horse and drew his sword in warning.

The leader of the red griffins was none other than Big Mouth John. Upon seeing them, he raised his hand to signal the group to halt. He rode forward and asked warily, "Who are you?"

"We're messengers."

Henry also saw the red griffin flag on the other side, so he quickly added, "We were checked at the crossroads and received permission from Lord Peter Griffin."

John the Big Mouth glanced at their insignia and nodded, allowing them to pass. But he added, "There's a village three miles ahead; we just cleared out a bandit stronghold there. If the villagers are hostile towards you, don't mind, and definitely don't cause trouble. Especially since you look like outsiders."

Hans asked curiously, "What do you do with these prisoners?"

"Trial," John the Big Mouth said succinctly. "Those who haven't killed anyone will be sent to repair roads and dig ditches; those who have killed someone will be hanged; those who have raped women will be castrated and then hanged."

Henry gasped. Hans's eyes widened as well.

"Is this...is this legal?" Hans blurted out.

John the Big Mouth laughed, a hint of sarcasm in his smile. "Lord Peter said that if the laws of Borgo can't handle it, then we, the Red Griffins, will." He paused. "And our laws are simple: a life for a life, debts for debts, protection of the weak, and punishment of the wicked. You'd better behave yourselves and not cause trouble, or we'll be knocking on your door!"

What brings you here? To castrate me?

Young Master Hans shrank back, Henry glanced back at the prisoners, and the other four also felt a pang of sorrow, saying nothing more.

Three miles later, they arrived at the village. Sure enough, the villagers were initially wary, but once they confirmed that they were travelers and not bandits, their attitude softened considerably, and they even offered them some of the village's sweet well water.

Henry dismounted, took the water bag, and asked, "You don't seem afraid of the Red Griffin soldiers?"

“The Red Griffins are different,” the old man grinned, revealing his hollow gums. “They really protect us. The day before yesterday, those bandits came to rob our grain, and the Red Griffins arrived in half an hour, killing seven and capturing eleven.” He pointed to the wooden pole at the village entrance, where seven human heads, already beginning to rot, were indeed hanging.

Hans frowned and turned his head. Henry, however, looked more closely—the heads had obvious bandit features: disheveled hair, scars on the face, and missing ears or noses.

"Do they charge you money?" Henry asked.

"No, we won't accept it. In the battle a week ago, many of our villagers were captured, and Lord Peter not only released us without asking for any ransom, but also gave each of us three loaves of bread before leaving," the old man said. "And that Lord of Borgo not only has a tax rate of more than one-third, but also often levies additional taxes. His soldiers..." The old man spat, not finishing his sentence, but the meaning was clear.

After leaving the village, Hans remained silent for a while before speaking: "Henry, what do you think?"

Henry thought for a moment: "I think... this Lord Peter is either a genius or a madman. Or both. He's now recklessly expanding his influence, as if he's trampling on Borgo's dignity. I can't even imagine what kind of retaliation will provoke when Borgo's army arrives. It'll probably be a major war."

Hans agreed, "You're right, Henry. Just like Istvan's establishment of a secret camp in Sachau, it's bound to provoke the lord's retaliation. So after delivering the message, I want to go see that intriguing red griffin as soon as possible; any later and it might be too late."

They traveled in silence until noon, when they finally arrived at Trossky Castle.

This castle, perched atop a hill, boasts towering stone walls and numerous towers, making it even more magnificent than the Rattan Castle. But at this moment, the castle gates are tightly shut, the drawbridge hangs high, and guards stand atop the walls.

"Open the door!"

Hans spurred his horse forward and shouted, "I am Sir Hans Capon of Pixstein, sent by Lord Hans to deliver a message to Count von Polgár!"

After a long while, a sound came from the top of the wall.

A tall, thin man dressed in a butler's uniform appeared on the wall; it was Ulshiri, the castle's steward. He looked haggard, with heavy bags under his eyes, clearly having not slept for many days.

"You damned robbers, don't think you can fool my eagle-like eyes with a layer of bright armor!"

Suppressing his anger, Hans said, "I am Sir Hans Capon of Pickstein, a nobleman. Please open the door; I need to see the Earl!"

"The Earl does not receive guests!"

Ulrich waved his hand. "Especially you unidentified messengers! Who knows if the letter contains poison? Or if you're carrying daggers? Or if you're trying to storm in and control the city gates! Your little tricks won't fool the clever Ulrich!"

Henry spurred his horse forward, trying to keep his voice gentle: "Sir, we are merely messengers. You can send someone down to collect the letter; we will not enter the city. Or you can hang the letter up the city wall in a basket."

Ulshiri, however, became even more agitated: "Cunning! You must be accomplices of that bastard Peter, trying to trick me into opening the city gates! I'm telling you, there are two hundred loyal soldiers inside the castle; I will not fall for it!"

With the count's son kidnapped and the territory out of control, has the steward collapsed under the immense pressure?

Hans lost his patience: "You idiot! Do you think the six of us can take down a castle? Open your eyes and look!"

This statement thoroughly enraged Ulshiri.

"An insult! This is an insult!" he screamed, shouting to the guards behind him, "Teach them a lesson! Let them know that Trotsky doesn't welcome traitors!"

The guard on the wall hesitated for a moment.

"Execute the order!" Ulshiri roared.

Several guards turned and left, returning a moment later with a large wooden barrel. Henry had a bad feeling.

"Back off!" he shouted at Hans.

But it was too late.

The guards worked together to tilt the wooden barrel, and a yellowish-brown liquid poured down from the top of the wall. A stench instantly filled the air—a mixture of feces, urine, and rotting food, the "night stench" that had accumulated in the castle over the past few days.

Hans was the first to be hit. Excrement splattered all over him, his expensive plate armor became filthy, and his horses neighed in fright. Henry and his four attendants, though a little further away, were not spared either, getting splattered with the filth.

The hunting dog started barking wildly.

Time seemed to stand still.

Hans sat stiffly on his horse, excrement dripping from the gaps in his armor. His face turned pale, then flushed, and finally purple.

"I...I want..." His teeth chattered, and he couldn't utter a complete sentence.

Henry wiped his face, his hands covered in something indescribable. He took a deep breath—and immediately regretted it, for he had inhaled a foul stench.

From the top of the wall came Ulshiri's hysterical laughter: "Get out! Tell Red-haired Peter that Trotsky will never surrender!"

Four knights had already drawn their swords, but Henry raised his hand to stop them. He looked at Hans and saw that the young master's eyes were almost spitting fire.

"Young master," Henry said calmly—though he also wanted to kill, "we must leave first. Now is not the time."

Hans stared intently at Ulshiri on the city wall for a full minute. Then he abruptly turned his horse around and galloped back the way he came without a word. With each step, the horse shed some of its droppings.

Henry and his entourage followed. Once out of arrow range, Hans suddenly reined in his horse and roared to the sky:

"A humiliating disgrace! A truly humiliating disgrace!"

He dismounted, frantically stripped off his plate armor, and wiped his body with blades of grass. Henry silently helped him, while four attendants stood guard around him.

After half an hour of cleaning, Hans finally calmed down a bit. He put on his spare clothes, looked at the castle in the distance, and his eyes were cold.

"Henry".

"Yes, young master."

"I want that man's head." Hans's voice was soft, but every word was like a poisoned dagger. "Not now, but someday. I will hang his head on the city gate."

Henry nodded: "As you wish."