novelODS Chapter 181 The Robbery of the Horse Farm
Chapter 181 The Robbery of the Horse Farm
Chapter 182 The Robbery of the Horse Farm
The night was as dark as ink.
The outer perimeter of the horse farm south of Malesov Castle.
The group of fourteen, like a pack of wolves blending into the shadows, moved silently along the edge of the sparse woodland and reached the horse farm fence.
There were scattered lights, and the occasional snorting of horses could be heard, mingling with the calls of owls from the distant forest.
Malesov Castle was originally owned by the Russard family, mining magnates from Kutenberg.
During the reign of Wenceslaus II, Jan Kunkelin Russard, an ancestor of the Russard family, amassed a great fortune in the Kutenberg region through mining.
When the king visited his home, Yang not only treated him with great hospitality, but also wisely said when the king toured the mountain of silver bars in the cellar, "This silver is all yours, Your Majesty, if you wish."
The king was deeply moved. Later, during an outing, he broke off a willow branch from the roadside and handed it to Yang, meaning "Let this branch remind future generations not to forget the king's kindness."
Yang understood the king's deeper meaning, and so he painted the image of the king's hand and willow branch on his shield.
When the king saw the design, he recognized its authority, and it became the official coat of arms of the Rutherd family.
The Rusold family became a formal noble family due to the king's favor. They not only expanded their residence in Kutenberg, but also bought an estate outside, continuously adding to and expanding it, eventually forming the present-day Malesov Castle.
However, when Sigismund invaded Kutenberg, the son of the Russard patriarch led an army in rebellion, but was ultimately defeated.
Based on this, Sigismund stripped the other party of ownership of Malesov Castle and transferred it to von Polgao.
This is also where von Polgao settled after fleeing from Trossky to Kutenberg.
The Malesov horse farm was formerly the property of the Russard family, but now it belongs to von Polgów.
The entire site is divided into two breeding areas: one for pack horses and the other for warhorses, covering a considerable area.
Because of the current chaotic situation, the horse farm not only had grooms to look after it, but von Boalgao also hired a group of Hungarian soldiers to guard the farm and occasionally do some "small business" with the Spanish grain requisition team.
"Look over there."
The Pole, Adel, spoke in a low voice, his rough fingers pointing towards the packhorse stables. "Judging by the brands on the horses," he said, "it seems the Sigismund tax collectors not only collect grain, but they've also taken the draft horses from the villages."
The drunkard Hynik spat, "You son of a bitch! Those are our Bohemia horses! They must have plundered them from the farms and sold them to von Polgów."
"Perfect, it saves us the trouble of figuring it out. Taking it back from the invaders is perfectly justified."
Peter vaulted over the fence with fluid movements, signaling the others to follow.
Jerry the mouse and Robert the white-haired man have infiltrated the stable master's residence and are guarding the door of the cabin. If anyone comes out to check, they will be met with their attack.
The others first tethered the packhorses and draft horses deep in the woods, and then, using the terrain as cover, stealthily made their way to the horse farm.
The wooden fence of the horse stable gleamed damply in the moonlight.
At the entrance of a wooden house, two guards dressed in Hungarian light armor leaned against the door, holding halberds, their heads nodding off.
The air was filled with the smells of horse manure, hay, and a hint of cheap beer.
Keep watch? I can't even keep watch for a minute!
Peter made a gesture, and Kubinka, the most agile of the drunkard's men, crawled along the ground like a nocturnal weasel, bypassed the main gate, found a broken section of the fence, and silently slipped inside.
A moment later, two muffled thuds came from deep inside the wooden house, like something heavy falling to the ground.
"Make your move," Peter hissed.
Like a taut bowstring suddenly released, the crowd burst out of the shadows and kicked open the door of the wooden house.
Jessica and his companions rushed in and quickly wiped out the Hungarian soldiers inside, their movements as swift as eagles swooping down on their prey.
Hynik led his men toward the stables, their goal being to gain control of the horses as quickly as possible.
Peter's target was the largest tent, where the flag of a Hungarian officer was flying.
He moved nimbly past a pile of hay, and suddenly the tent flap was lifted. An officer wearing chainmail and a Hungarian red and black coat of arms rubbed his eyes and came out, muttering complaints about the damned weather and the damned watch duty.
He spotted Peter approaching at a glance, along with the longsword already drawn from Peter's sheath. The officer's drowsiness vanished instantly; he opened his mouth to shout, while simultaneously reaching for the sword at his waist.
Peter gave him no chance. He stepped forward, the tip of his sword slicing through the cold air, and delivered a clean and crisp "short strike" to the officer's half-drawn sword guard, the sound of metal clashing ringing out.
The officer's wrist went numb, and his sword slipped from his hand and fell to the ground. A flicker of fear crossed his eyes, and he instinctively stepped back, wanting to shout.
Peter followed closely, pressing his sword down with the momentum, and suddenly gripped the middle of his own sword with his left hand, using the hilt as a hammer to deliver a swift "hilt strike" that slammed heavily into the officer's jaw.
A sickening sound of bones cracking rang out, the officer's voice was choked in his throat, turning into a muffled sob, and he fell backward, silent forever.
There seemed to be some movement inside the tent.
Peter lifted the curtain and entered. Inside, there was a clerk who was frantically trying to hide a money bag. When he saw Peter come in, he was so frightened that he collapsed to the ground, trembling like a leaf in the wind.
"No—don't kill me! I'm just an accountant!" he screamed, raising his hands high.
Peter's beam of light swept across the tent, revealing a bound boy in the corner, his mouth stuffed with rags. The boy wore linen clothes stained with horse manure, his body covered in bruises from beatings, and he was looking at him with eyes filled with fear and a glimmer of hope.
"What's going on?" Peter pointed the tip of his sword at the boy and asked the clerk.
The clerk stammered, "He—he's a villager from nearby who tried to let our requisitioned horses escape, and the captain caught him—he's going to be hanged at dawn—"
"Requisition? More like robbery!"
Peter knew without a doubt that the Hungarians had stolen horses from the surrounding village chiefs and sold them to von Polgar. This boy had come in the middle of the night intending to steal the horses back from his own village.
"Ugh, this damn world."
Peter went to the boy, cut the ropes binding him, and removed the rag from his mouth. The boy coughed violently, greedily inhaling the air.
"Thank you—thank you, sir!"
The boy's voice was hoarse and choked with sobs, "They stole the last three horses from our village to plow the fields; they were our village's hope!"
"I am Brunswick, the Knight of Redemption. I will return the horse to you. And you are a brave boy."
Peter patted his shoulder, his touch revealing the boy's bony frame beneath his thin clothing. "Can you still move? Go help the people outside, gather all the horses together, and pick out the three horses from your village."
A light ignited in the boy's eyes, he nodded vigorously, and scrambled out of the tent.
The battle outside was nearing its end. Žižka and Heinrik's men quickly took control of the situation, and the Hungarian soldiers who had put up a stubborn resistance fell in pools of blood. A fresh, pungent smell of blood filled the air, mingling with the original scent of horse manure and hay, creating an unsettlingly sweet odor.
In the stable, dozens of warhorses became restless due to the sudden commotion, pawing the ground with their hooves and snorting loudly.
Hynik was trying to calm a particularly tall black stallion, whose coat was jet black and glossy except for its four white hooves. The horse was now violently shaking its head, preventing Hynik from getting close.
Peter walked over. Before he could get close, he heard Hynek's warning.
"Be careful, sir, this beast is very fierce!" Hainik cursed, a red mark left on his arm from being grazed by the horse's hooves.
Peter stood a few steps away, observing the black horse. Its muscles were sculpted, its eyes defiant, and its mane cascaded like a black waterfall. Peter slowly extended his hand, palm up, and spoke softly, soothingly, as he approached.
The black horse watched him warily, its ears twitching back and forth, its nostrils flaring. Just as Peter's hand was about to touch its nose, it suddenly reared up on its hind legs and let out a long, threatening neigh.
Peter neither retreated nor forced his way forward. He maintained his posture, his gaze calmly meeting the horse's, as if engaging in a silent exchange.
His "animal-friendly" traits came into play. The black horse was no longer so resistant to him.
He noticed a distinctive emblem branded on the saddle: a silver flying fish on a red background.
Ha, it's the coat of arms of the Borgo family. Could it be Attila, the old count's spare warhorse?
He continued to whisper in a steady tone, the content of which was unimportant; what mattered was the soothing rhythm. He took a small piece of leftover rye bread from his pocket, held it out in his palm, and handed it to him.
The black horse hesitated for a moment, sniffed the bread, looked at Peter, and finally lowered its head and obediently ate the bread. Its rough tongue licked Peter's palm, bringing a ticklish sensation.
Peter then reached out and gently stroked its neck, combing its thick mane. The black horse quieted down and nuzzled his shoulder, as if it had accepted its new master.
"It seems it has chosen you."
Jessica walked over, looked at the scene, and said with a hint of barely perceptible approval, "This horse is worthy of you, sir. Give it a name."
"Attila, that was its original name."
Peter stroked the horse's smooth coat, feeling the power hidden beneath its strong muscles. He continued, "In the name of the Hunnic king who ravaged Europe, let it fight for true freedom."
"Attila? What a daunting name."
While marveling at the sights, everyone quickly gathered all the usable horses in the horse farm, about twenty warhorses and thirty strong ponies and mares.
The young groom came in handy; he knew the temperament of each horse and helped put on the simple reins.
He then pointed to a small shed: "Sir, there are still the saddles and horseshoes they stole over there!"
This was undoubtedly a pleasant surprise. The group immediately took the well-made saddles and supplies with them.
Before leaving, Peter said to the limp clerk, "Go back and tell your men that the land of Bohemia is not your playground to be plundered at will. Every debt will be collected. No taxes, no provisions, welcome King Brunswick! This is my declaration of war against you!"
After saying this, they rode their newly acquired warhorses, leading their packhorses, and quickly disappeared into the dark woods, just as they had come.
Behind them, the Malysov horse ranch was left in a mess, along with the Hungarian flag trampled into the mud.
"No taxes, no grain levies, let's welcome the King of Brunswick!"
The surviving document collapsed to the ground, repeatedly muttering the same sentence, as if chanting a spell to absolve him of his sins.
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