Medieval: Kingdom Come: Deliverance

Peter, Martin, Carter, and Conrad did not return to the village with the others, but remained at Caspar's camp to explore.

As they ventured deeper into the camp, they suddenly came across a cave entrance hidden by vines, and the smell of rust wafted towards them.

"There's a mine here!" the tomcat exclaimed.

"I knew it. Why would Ulrich collude with a lowly bandit? There must be a special reason."

The mine entrance resembled a greedy mouth, plunging deep into the mountain. The ore embedded in the walls gleamed with a cold, iron-gray light under the torchlight. Tools lay scattered everywhere—iron picks, wheelbarrows, and crude crucibles used for smelting.

Old Martin squatted down, picked up a piece of ore, and examined it. "This is high-purity hematite! It's even purer than the ore found in the small iron mine next to Takhov village! No wonder they sealed off this forest!"

Peter understood and said, "Ulrich colluded with Kasper not to plunder, but to monopolize this iron mine. I'm afraid Tom and Jerry were framed for poaching back then because they accidentally wandered into this place. The old hunter's death was probably also related to this."

Old Martin sighed and said, "How many conspiracies are still lurking in the shadows for the sake of human interests, beyond the reach of the Lord's light?"

"Ugh."

Everyone sighed deeply.

Peter said, "Let's keep the news under wraps for now. We'll start developing the Troski territory once we've fully taken control. Otherwise, the iron mines here could attract the covetous eyes of the surrounding lords, potentially triggering a larger-scale war."

Everyone nodded in agreement.

---------

When Peter and his companions returned to the village, news of the annihilation of the Kasper gang had spread like wildfire across the plains. The residents of Takhov village all took to the streets to celebrate, and when they saw Peter and his companions return, they all gathered around to welcome them.

Farm women brought dry bread in baskets, and children chased after horses, imitating the fluttering red griffin flag.

The tomcat chewed on an apple that a villager had given it, and mumbled to Conrad beside him, "We're really celebrities now."

"Shut up and eat," Conrad grumbled, as he straightened his collar—a girl was going to pin a wildflower on his chest.

Declining the villagers' invitation to a celebratory banquet, the four of them went to the cemetery.

The sound of a hunter's whistle drifted through the cemetery, like morning mist in the woods, clinging to the cold tombstones. Tom knelt before his father's grave, his knuckles white from the effort. The whistle began hesitantly, a few notes trembling, like a lost child searching for its way home. Gradually, memories welled up like a spring, and the hunting tune his father often played by the fireplace reawakened on his lips.

Jerry stood to the side, his hand on his brother's shoulder. He saw tears slide down Tom's tightly closed eyes, carving two furrows on his mud-covered cheeks.

"Father," Tom put down his hunting whistle, his voice hoarse, "the revenge is complete. Casper is dead, his head chopped off by Lord Peter's sword."

He paused for a moment and took a breath.

"But I still... I still feel empty."

Peter stood a few steps away, not disturbing them. Brother Martin made the sign of the cross and prayed softly. Carter the tomcat, unusually quiet, stood in the wind carrying the griffin flag, its surface like an unquenchable flame in the sunlight.

"Young men," Martin finally spoke, "if your father were watching from heaven, he would be pleased at this moment. Revenge is justice permitted by God, but do not let hatred gnaw at your hearts. You still have a long way to go."

Tom stood up and carefully tucked the hunting whistle into his pocket. "Sir," he turned to Peter, "what's the next step?"

Peter looked towards the castle. "Casper is just a henchman. The real viper is still lurking inside the castle."

Peter then recounted the discovery of an iron mine deep within the Caspar camp.

"Ulrich!"

Tom and Jerry's eyes lit up again when they uttered the name.

“It’s not just him.” Peter mounted his horse. “There’s also the lord of Trostsky, Otto von Polgár. I don’t believe he would be completely unaware of this.”

"Lord Peter, how about we just storm the castle? I can climb a hundred-meter cliff with my bare hands; the low walls of Trostsky Castle won't stop me at all!"

"Poppy Carter put the flagpole back into the buckle next to the saddle," he suggested loudly.

"No," Peter smiled, a smile that appeared somewhat sharp in the midday sun, "we'll go knock on the door first."

.............

At noon, the guards at Trossky Castle yawned as they changed shifts on the city walls.

The June sun made them dizzy; their armor felt like a hot blanket enveloping them, and they longed to take it off and feel the breeze. Their gazes swept aimlessly over the village below the castle, where smoke rose from the low thatched huts and farmers toiled. Everything seemed normal—or at least it appeared so.

Then I heard the sound of horses' hooves.

It wasn't just one or two horses, but a perfectly synchronized march, their rhythm as distinct as war drums. The guard squinted, looking westward, and in the golden light reflected from the armor, the outlines of six knights gradually became clear.

"Something's up!" the guard shouted down.

Upon hearing the warning, the city guards climbed up the city wall and looked down, finally seeing the flag clearly.

On a blue background, a red griffin spreads its wings as if about to take flight, the embroidery reflecting a fiery sheen in the morning sun. The flag flutters as it runs, as if the mythical creature is truly about to break free from the fabric.

"By Saint Michael..." the guards murmured. Some of them had experienced the Battle of Griffin Valley and trembled at the sight of the Griffin Banner.

Six riders had reached the outer walls of the castle. Instead of slowing down, they began to circle around the moat. Their hooves kicked up dirt everywhere, the sound echoing strangely between the stone walls.

More and more guards gathered on the city wall. Someone ran to ring the alarm bell, and the bell rang out with a dull sound.

"The leader is Baron Peter the Red Griffin!" an old soldier recognized him. "The one who slaughtered the guards and captured the young master!"

"Only six people? Are they crazy?"

"That old monk and his two disciples are both masters of swordsmanship; even ten of us couldn't defeat one of them!"

"Look at that guy carrying the flag—isn't that Redbeard Andrei? He's gotten so thin!"

Carter the tomcat overheard the commotion on the city wall and nearly snapped the flagpole in anger. "I'm a tomcat! Master tomcat! You blind watchdogs!"

Peter laughed as he drove the Mercedes: "They remember the flag, Master Tomcat, not your face!"

"That doesn't mean you can mistake me for that red-bearded brute!" Carter protested. "I'm much more handsome than him!"

Conrad nocked an arrow on horseback, but didn't draw the bow. "Shall we teach them a lesson, sir?"

"Of course!" Peter said, "Let them see what we're made of."

Peter led the way, drew his bow, and with a swift arrow, shot into the city wall, embedding itself in the body of a guard squad leader. The man immediately cried out in pain and crouched down. It must have been unarmored.

"Whoosh whoosh!"

Martin, Carter, Conrad, Tom, and Jerry all fired their weapons, sending the archers who were peeking out from the city walls flying back.

"Damn it, absolutely damn it!"

"Arrogant, utterly arrogant!"

"We're on the city wall, yet their shots don't even travel as far!"

Peter and his six companions continued their circuit. Second lap. Third lap.

The castle gates were tightly shut, and the drawbridge hung high. The guards on the walls went from initial panic to confusion, and then to dejection. It was an insult, a blatant provocation—six men dared to be so brazen beneath the Earl's castle, and they were utterly powerless to stop them.

Many residents, craftsmen, women, children, and even priests inside the castle secretly tiptoed to look outside.

The belated steward, Ulrich, finally appeared on the terrace of the main tower. The gaunt man, dressed in ornate clothing, had a livid face. Beside him stood Thomas, the captain of the castle guard.

"How about I lead some men out and drive them away?" Captain Thomas asked tentatively.

"No, no, no, please don't open the city gates." Ulrich's voice trembled, whether from anger or fear, it was hard to tell.

Captain Thomas said sternly, "Sir, there are only six of them..."

"But that's Peter the Red Griffin leading the team himself. Have you forgotten how we were defeated by those five last time? If we go out out in small numbers, we can't beat them; if we go out in large numbers, they'll just ride away. Who knows if this is a trap? Maybe there are ambushes hidden in the woods."

The more Ulrich analyzed it, the more convinced he became of his own conjecture.

"So we're just going to let them humiliate us like this?"

"It's better than being ambushed." Ulrich paused, looking at the Virgin Tower on the highest floor of the castle.

"And...look at the village of Troski."

Ulrich pointed towards the village of Troski below the castle. The villagers, who should have been cowering in their homes, were now emerging from their houses and gathering on the street. They weren't afraid; instead, they were pointing and whispering, some even laughing.

A procession carrying red griffin flags emerged from the Apollonia Mountains and slowly entered the village.

"These lowly people..." Ulrich gritted his teeth.