A secluded back alley in Sternberg Castle.
The shouts and thunderous roars shaking the walls faded to a whisper here, like a lie.
Slipping through that darkness, three shadows moved in perfect unison.
Their footsteps were laced with anxiety amid the clamor of battle raging outside.
"H-Hey! You hear that? No way the greenhorn lord's actually winning, right?"
One of them asked in a shaky voice, and the man who seemed to be the leader barked back.
"Shut it! That's exactly why we need to hurry! We have to open the gates from inside for our great comrade Hus's army to enter!"
"But... what if the soldiers catch us...!"
"For the cause, our lives mean nothing! Better to martyr ourselves in the Lord's name than serve that filthy Catholic lord—it's a hundred times more glorious!"
That was when it happened. Someone emerged from the shadows, blocking their path.
"Freeze."
"Wh-Who are you?!"
The figure stepping from the dark was a handsome black-haired youth on the cusp between boy and man.
"I've been watching you roll your eyes suspiciously for a while now. And yeah, you didn't disappoint."
The boy's voice—languid yet sharp as a blade—echoed through the alley.
"W-What? You were watching us from the start? How?!"
"Spies recognize spies."
"What? What the hell does that—!"
Then, one of his companions recognized the boy's face and shouted.
"Boss! That's the guy who was guiding the refugees to the church earlier!"
"Really? Perfect! Means he's one of that heretic lord's lapdogs!"
The leader drew a dagger from his belt and charged ferociously.
"Die, you filthy Catholic dog!"
In that instant, the boy's hand went to the sword at his waist.
Shing—
A sharp ring from the scabbard, and a single streak of light cleaved the narrow alley.
The three charging men froze in place, rooted to the spot. Soon, thin red lines appeared across their necks and chests, beads of blood welling up.
"G-Guh...!"
Without even grasping what had happened, the three corpses sprayed blood like fountains and collapsed.
The boy glanced indifferently at the bodies tumbling across the alley floor, then looked up at the walls.
Just then, a massive cheer erupted from atop the walls, echoing across the entire castle.
"Wooooaaahhh!!"
"The enemy's retreating! We won!"
"Long live the lord! Long live Sternberg!"
Hearing it, a faint smile tugged at the lips of the boy—Janos.
"They really won? No way I'd have guessed..."
Hunyadi Janos.
The man who would one day stand as Europe's shield against the Ottoman Empire, hailed as the White Knight.
Son of a loyal vassal to King Sigismund of Hungary, and a boy destined to forge his own legend.
He gazed up at his lord atop the walls with eyes full of awe.
"My lord truly is a marvel. Makes me want to stick by his side and watch forever."
Janos melted seamlessly into the shadows.
Soon, the dark alley held only the three fresh corpses, steam still rising from them.
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇
"The enemy's retreating!"
"The Hussite scum... those devilish bastards are running!"
One soldier's shout ignited a throat-shredding roar of triumph atop the walls.
These men who had trembled in death's grip not long ago now embraced each other, hurling helmets aside as they bellowed under Sternberg's banner.
Relief and ecstasy filled their cheers.
I felt the same.
"We won..."
Below the walls, the acrid stench of burning corpses assaulted my nose.
"..."
I'd killed people with scientific knowledge. Hundreds of them.
My stomach churned. But the cheers exploding around me... the soldiers' faces held no more fear of death. They had hope now.
In this nauseating reality, a strange sense of fulfillment mingled with a crushing responsibility that gripped my heart.
"...Is this the weight of being a lord?"
Then, one soldier, drunk on victory, couldn't contain his excitement and yelled.
"My lord! Now's our chance! We should hit the fleeing Hussites from behind!"
"He's right! Let's wipe out every last heretic!"
Assenting shouts rose here and there. But I didn't get swept up in the fervor.
"No. We won't pursue."
The soldiers paused, cheers dying, but my resolve was ironclad.
This isn't a win. We just survived.
Too early to celebrate. We'd barely crested one ridge among many ahead.
I surveyed the surroundings. Wounded strewn everywhere, walls battered from battle. That was the castle's harsh truth.
"Huh, it's over already?"
That's when Janos appeared out of nowhere, climbing the walls with an awkward grin. Not a speck of dirt on his clothes.
"This is just the start. Thought you'd run off scared—what've you been up to?"
"Me, leave my lord's side? Nah. Just spotted some trash rolling around inside and stashed it where it won't be seen."
Janos shrugged playfully, then jerked his chin toward the fleeing Hussites.
"But seriously, no pursuit? They're practically begging to be chased."
I shook my head.
"They're beaten, but not annihilated. Hundreds still intact. What if they regroup, lure us in, and encircle? Then what?"
Janos nodded, convinced.
"Hmm... fair point."
"With their commander alive, they'll attack again soon. No time to gloat—focus on cleanup first."
I issued crisp orders to the soldiers.
"Tend to the wounded at once, and honorably recover the fallen!"
"Y-Yes, sir!"
They sprang into action with disciplined fervor.
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇
Even after the battle, the castle buzzed with frantic activity.
Under Sir Kuno and Konrad's command, cleanup proceeded, and damage reports came in.
The results were miraculous. Facing a thousand foes, our losses were just seven wounded and one dead.
The sole fatality was a new auxiliary recruit, unlucky enough to catch a stray arrow in the chaos.
His sacrifice was tragic, but anyone could see it was an overwhelming victory. Joy rippled through the castle.
But the elation stopped there.
By evening, my retainers gathered in my study wore shadows instead of victors' ease.
Konrad continued his grim report.
"Arrows are gone. Fewer than a hundred left. Can't guarantee we'll hold the next fight."
"Molotovs?"
"Over half spent. About thirty remain."
I pressed my throbbing temple.
"Won't be as easy next time..."
The enemy weren't fools—they'd counter our firebombs next assault.
Wet hides on siege gear, or catapults lobbing from afar.
Sir Kuno added gravely.
"Not just that, my lord. The men's fatigue is at its limit. Victory kept them going, but now they're collapsing."
He was right. Below, soldiers stood scattered watch, barely upright.
Weeks of grueling labor plus nonstop brutal combat had drained their minds and bodies long ago.
Yet with Hussites possibly returning anytime, no rest for them.
"Food stocks?"
"Three days safe... but a long siege, no promises."
Total crisis. Supplies, food, stamina—all critically low.
The first win was sweet, but mere surprise effect. Didn't reverse our dire straits.
It's only a matter of time. We'll starve first at this rate.
Incendiaries worked, but not enough. Victory demanded explosive power.
Something beyond firebombs—irresistible destruction making foes flee at thought of battle.
One word flashed in my mind.
Gunpowder.
Yes, gunpowder. Black powder. The substance that rewrote war's history.
Recipe was simple: potassium nitrate, sulfur, charcoal. Mix in right ratios.
Charcoal everywhere—smithy, kitchens, hearths.
Sulfur? Used in alchemy and medicine; likely some stocked.
Potassium nitrate—saltpeter—was the issue. Near impossible to source in bulk this era.
But... I could make it. Forms naturally in nitrogen-rich spots like old walls, caves, manure piles.
Especially where animal dung and human urine piled and rotted long-term.
That thought hit, I bolted up.
"Konrad."
"Yes, my lord."
"Any sulfur stored in the castle? Even a little."
His head tilted at the odd question.
"Sulfur? Hmm... apothecary has a bit for skin treatments. But... what for?"
"Bring it all to my workshop. Sir Kuno."
"At your command!"
"Pick ten strongest-stomached soldiers, arm with shovels and sacks. Send to the oldest stables and privies."
"P-Pr privies?!"
Kuno's face twisted in shock.
"Yes. Have them scrape every damp wall soil and floor sediment. As much as possible."
Konrad, Kuno—even Janos beside them—gaped at me. Clearly thinking the lord had lost it again.
"M-My lord, pardon... but what for with that filth...?"
"Just do it. Our lives depend on this."
My firm tone silenced questions; they obeyed.
Soon, my old barn workshop brimmed with new materials.
Yellow sulfur powder jar from the apothecary, fine charcoal from the smithy, and reeking soil mounds hauled by nose-plugged soldiers.
Janos looked ready to hurl.
"Urgh... my lord, what're you making with this?"
"Watch quietly."
First, dumped soil into a huge tub, added water, stirred. Separating saltpeter from mud.
Let settle, skimmed clear top water into a cauldron, boiled.
Bubble bubble...
Water evaporated, white crystals formed at the bottom. Saltpeter. Low purity, but it'd do.
I ground the crystals with charcoal and sulfur in a mortar. Ratios etched in my brain.
75% nitrate, 15% charcoal, 10% sulfur. Black powder's golden mix.
Grind grind...
Powders merged into black dust. Janos watched, breath held.
Done, I scooped a handful, placed carefully on bare ground outside. Struck flint for spark.
Sizzle—
Janos instinctively stepped back.
Then—
Whoosh!
The gray-black powder ignited in blinding flash, exploding upward. Thick white smoke and stinging sulfur stench spread.
Only a scorched mark remained on the ground.
"...!"
Janos's jaw dropped. He stood dazed, uncomprehending.
"Wh-What... is this, my lord? Don't tell me it's what I think?!"
I brushed soot from my fingers, smiling faintly.
"Exactly what you think. Our new ace in the hole."
Pack it in containers, boom—perfect bombs.
But not enough. Gunpowder was last resort. Wouldn't turn the tide alone.
I glanced at the walls.
Victory's joy was fleeting. Soldiers' faces now showed deep fatigue and dread of the next fight.
Can they fight like this again? Morale crumbles fast once broken. Weapons matter less than the hearts wielding them.
Decision made, I carefully bagged the fresh powder.
"Janos, Sir Kuno. Follow me."
"Sure, but... where to?"
"The church."
Janos cocked his head curiously.
"Praying for victory? Didn't peg you for the type."
"No. I don't waste time on empty rituals."
Another blasphemous quip blanched Kuno's face.
To the devout knight, it was sacrilege. Yet he held his tongue.
My goal was clear. Not the stone building, but the people inside.
"I'm going to meet the yeomen."
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