ctnovel Chapter 213 Handling the Aftermath
Chapter 213 Handling the Aftermath
Chapter 214 Handling the Aftermath
After dealing with battlefield matters, it was already evening.
The prisoners were kept under close guard in the woods outside the village, watched over by fully armed soldiers, while they cooked their meals over a fire.
Peter Brunswick did not linger. He led "Hell Guardian" Muller and a core group of Silver Dawn Knights, along with the villagers, back into Old Kutna Village.
Peter was still preoccupied with one thing, a crucial matter concerning the past and redemption that had been interrupted by the sudden arrival of the grain requisition team—the rest of Mary's family.
Carrying torches, the group walked through the village paths and finally stopped in front of the shocking ruins.
The charred wooden beams, like the broken ribs of a giant beast, grotesquely pierced the deepening night sky. On the remaining walls, the traces of the fire were still clearly visible in the dim torchlight.
Peter reined in his horse, his gaze sweeping sadly across the ruins, his voice clear and heavy in the silent night: "Gentlemen, look."
This is the power of unrestrained power!
Like a runaway mad horse, it wantonly trampled the wounds it left behind.
It was not merely the destruction of a few walls; it was the end of peace for a family, even a village, and the origin of countless tragic cycles.
His words struck like a heavy hammer, resonating in everyone's hearts.
Müller had already dismounted, his tall frame slightly hunched before the ruins, his hands, which had struck fear into the hearts of his enemies on the battlefield, now trembling uncontrollably.
He slowly knelt down, his rough hands grabbing a handful of scorched soil mixed with ash and mud, and clenching it tightly.
His breathing became heavy and labored beneath the dog helmet, and past images surged through his mind like ghosts.
The other members of the knightly order rode on horseback, circling the sorrowful land with solemn expressions.
No one spoke, except for the soft crackling of the villagers' torches burning, the occasional impatient snorting of the warhorses, and Muller's low sobs.
"The tragedy has already occurred, and the perpetrators have paid part of the price."
Peter continued, his voice low but with an unspeakable firmness, "However, six years have passed, and the remains of the kind and innocent Mary family are still exposed here, unable to return to the Lord's holy cemetery, their souls unable to find peace, enduring wind, frost, rain, and snow day and night."
Tonight, I, Brunswick, will use this action to guide their souls out of their wandering and to the eternal land of redemption.
.
He turned his head and shone the light on the villagers who were gradually gathering around, yet still carrying a hint of timidity.
"Fear often takes root in the unknown darkness, and I will personally dispel the gloom that has shrouded your hearts for six years."
Now, we trouble you, fellow villagers, to respectfully remove the remains of Mary and her family of three, carefully wrap them, and rebury them in the church cemetery so that they may rest in peace.
"As you wish, Your Highness!" an elderly man with gray hair and beard responded first, his voice choked with emotion.
"We—we've wanted to do this for a long time, but the rumors about that demon were too terrifying—"
"Yes, now that the truth is out and the curse has been lifted, we are no longer afraid!"
The villagers seemed to be infused with courage, and they all echoed each other, taking out the simple stretchers and clean white cloths that they had prepared in advance from the corner.
They carefully entered the depths of the ruins, their movements gentle, as if afraid to disturb the souls that lay there in eternal rest.
As three charred skeletons, whose human forms were still vaguely discernible, were solemnly wrapped in white cloth and carried out one by one, suppressed sobs rose from the crowd. Many people secretly wiped away tears from the corners of their eyes, repeatedly made the sign of the cross on their chests, and whispered prayers.
Guided by the firelight, the procession silently made its way to the village church cemetery. The church bell tower cast a long shadow in the moonlight, as if it too were in mourning.
Upon arriving at the cemetery, Muller dragged his leaden legs forward step by step. Under everyone's gaze, he took a deep breath, raised his hands, and slowly removed the iconic dog helmet that had once symbolized merciless judgment.
Beneath the helmet was a face etched with the marks of time and inner turmoil.
In his sunken eye sockets, those eyes that were once filled with fanaticism and obsession now held only endless regret and sorrow. His new skin, still unhealthy and pale, spoke of his inhuman past and his difficult return.
"Let me dig their graves."
Muller's voice was hoarse, like a broken bellows, yet it carried an undeniable resolve: "Six years ago, it was I who pushed them into the fire with my own hands, and—I did nothing."
This grave sin, this desecration of life, should be repaid by my hands, stained with guilt, and cleansed of its filth with my sweat.
Gravediggers were a very special group in the medieval social structure. They were richer than ordinary people, but because they dealt with death all year round, they were regarded as unclean and suffered widespread discrimination and alienation.
Muller, a nobleman with the status of a knight, actually volunteered to take on this most lowly and ostracized job. His repentance made the surrounding villagers nod in approval.
He took a heavy shovel from a villager, walked to the reserved open space in the corner of the cemetery, chose a spot, and then raised the shovel high and plunged it hard into the cold earth.
Each shovelful of soil seemed to drain all his strength. His arms trembled violently from the exertion and the turmoil in his heart. Large tears rolled uncontrollably from the corners of his eyes, mingling with the freshly turned soil and disappearing.
That night—
As Muller mechanically and frantically dug, he muttered to himself as if in a dream. His voice was not loud, but it carried clearly to everyone's ears in the quiet night.
"Mary—she knelt before me, holding her child, her eyes like those of a frightened doe, pleading that they were not evil, that they had never harmed anyone—"
She said she just wanted to protect the children.
But I—I was blinded by foolish fear and blind fanaticism; I—I even thought that the flames could purify everything—”
His words were broken and fragmented by sobs and gasps, yet they pieced together the most authentic fragments of that tragedy from years ago.
Father Mari, dressed in a black robe, quietly stepped forward. He placed his warm hand on Muller's violently heaving shoulders and said in a calm yet powerful voice, "Lost lamb, God already knows your suffering."
You have paid a heavy price for your past. Remember, God never rejects a soul that sincerely repents. Only by laying down your burdens can you move towards a new beginning.
The tomb was dug quickly, its depth conforming to proper etiquette, and its layout orderly and solemn.
Three sets of remains wrapped in white cloth were gently placed inside, and a simple wooden cross brought by the villagers was placed on the grave mound. Although rough, it represented a belated respect and mourning.
Under the priest's skillful and solemn guidance, everyone bowed their heads in prayer, and the chanting echoed and swirled in the air above the cemetery, mingling with the night breeze.
The shadow of fear that once loomed over the old village of Kutna is gradually being dispelled and dissolved by these devout prayers.
As the last damp patch of earth was gently placed over the raised mound, the torches held high by the surrounding villagers flickered and danced in the deepening darkness, forming a warm band of light, like a luminous path guiding the soul to the other side of heaven.
The cool moonlight spilled across the ground like mercury, seemingly silently conveying the eternal truths of forgiveness, redemption, and the dignity of life.
The priest and the villagers gradually dispersed.
Muller bowed again before the graves of the Mary family, then lingered for a long time before the grave of old priest Richard in a corner of the cemetery.
After a long while, he slowly turned around, faced Peter, knelt on one knee, raised his head, and his eyes shone with a light that was a mixture of tears and unwavering faith.
"Your Highness, it was you who, through your actions and words, made me understand what true courage is. It does not come from fear and destruction of those who are different, but from upholding justice, protecting the weak, and facing and taking responsibility for one's own sins."
I, Muller, hereby swear that I will forever follow you, and with the sword in my hand, I will walk the path of redemption until my death.
"Ding, Muller's loyalty +10"—a notification sound that only Peter could hear rang clearly in his mind.
Peter smiled gently and with satisfaction. He stepped forward, helped Muller up, and patted his sturdy arm guard firmly.
"We're leaving tonight."
Peter addressed the people surrounding him, his voice regaining its usual composure and decisiveness, "But the peace here will be like the seeds of wheat sown, taking root, sprouting, and continuing to grow. Jerry, Bonac, he looked at the two lean, quick-witted figures in the group, "After we leave, you two stay."
The primary task is to establish a solid intelligence outpost here and monitor the surrounding area.
Secondly, continue exploring the mine to extract the sulfur within.
You should have witnessed its power in the battle during the day.
"Yes, Your Highness!"
Jerry the mouse and Bonac the tomb raider bowed in unison, their faces a mixture of lingering fear of sulfur, this "devilish substance," and a strong desire to control its power.
"I need you to collect at least 100 jin of sulfur as soon as possible. I will send someone to pick it up tomorrow afternoon."
Peter explained in detail, "If the two of us are not up to the task, we can cautiously recruit a few trustworthy local helpers, but this matter is of great importance and must remain strictly confidential for the time being."
"Once I find reliable allies with the necessary knowledge, I will then begin large-scale development of this mine."
"Yes, sir! We will definitely complete the task you assigned us!" Jerry and Bonac's voices were full of enthusiasm.
Peter then turned to Jessica, whose injuries had mostly healed, and a sharp glint rekindled in Jessica's eyes.
"Jeska, I need 750 catties of saltpeter. Such a large quantity can probably only be supplied by a large town like Kutenberg, where tanning workshops and armor workshops need large amounts of saltpeter. You have many connections, you can try to contact Catherine and Henry to complete the purchase as soon as possible."
After saying that, Peter handed over a heavy money bag containing nearly 1000 Groshen silver coins, enough to cover the expenses and smooth things over.
Jessica didn't stand on ceremony. Knowing the mission was urgent, he accepted the funds, nodded solemnly to Peter, then called his attendants, mounted his horse, and quickly disappeared into the night on the way to Kutenberg.
"In addition, we need 150 jin of high-quality charcoal with uniform texture."
Peter then instructed Hert, "Go to the nearby charcoal-burning camp and buy some as soon as possible." He handed her a small purse containing 100 groschen.
For the mining city of Kutenberg, which relies heavily on smelting, charcoal-burning camps of all sizes are scattered throughout the mountains and forests, making charcoal the easiest material to obtain.
"Understood!" Hert accepted the order and, without delay, spurred his horse and galloped off in another direction.
After making the arrangements, Peter did not stay in the village for long, but returned to the forest with the others and had a hearty meal.
Peter went to the ten fully loaded four-wheeled wagons and began loading the contents of each wagon into his own cargo space.
I'm already overweight anyway, so whether I'm overweight by one pound or ten thousand pounds makes no difference. I might as well just go for it and not do any sprints in the near future.
In long-distance running, others won't discover the secret of your slow pace.
After eating and drinking their fill and resting briefly, the knights, each riding two horses and carrying torches, crammed the prisoners into twelve empty four-wheeled carriages and set off.
Like a winding dragon shimmering with starlight, it began to move quietly southward, towards the ancient castle ruins called Zimborg.
The people of this land have suffered enough; Peter is going to sound the clarion call for change in Zimberg.
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