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Pulled by a massive draft horse, the wooden cart slowly rolled along the forest trail. The wheels occasionally creaked and clattered, bouncing on the rocks protruding from the ground. A hunched figure sat on the driver's seat, tightly wrapped in a cloak. The reins hung loosely from their hands. The driver seemed to be dozing off, swaying on the narrow seat in rhythm with the bumps and potholes. His face was hidden under a hood pulled deeply over his eyes. The contents of the cart were also concealed under a thick canvas tarp. Occasionally, when the wheels hit a larger hole, an unpleasant metallic clank could be heard from under the cover, as if two pieces of iron were clashing against each other.

As the cart approached the point where the path turned into a small ravine, a group of armed horsemen emerged from around the bend. Protected by light chainmail armor, breastplates, and capalines, they carried light crossbows attached to their saddles. Their attire bore Hussite colors - red chalices embroidered on black waffenrocks. They were undoubtedly Hussite skirmishers. Despite their galloping pace, as soon as they spotted the cart, they abruptly halted their horses. One of them pulled the reins so tightly that he almost fell out of the saddle.

As they calmed their mounts, they carefully inspected the approaching wagon. The foremost rider, who had ventured closest, raised his hand and shouted something in Czech. The driver raised his head slowly, glanced at the Hussite, and halted the cart. He scrutinized and counted the riders. There were five of them. One wielded a longsword and shield bearing an unknown coat of arms, another carried a short spear, while the rest had swords at their belts. He immediately noticed the symbol they bore. The red chalice did not bode well. He knew there would be no easy way out. He only wondered how zealous the Boží bojovníci he encountered were.

- Greetings, traveler! - exclaimed the foremost rider, who now rode up to the cart within arm's reach - Where are you heading, sir, and for what purpose, if I may ask?

- I am heading to Greater Poland. I hope to seek employment there - the driver replied calmly.

- And what is your name? - continued the rider.

- Jacob. Jacob from Hoabeschwerde.

- So, Jacob from Hoabeschwerde, you say you're seeking employment. Yet I was certain you were a merchant, judging by your loaded wagon - the rider smirked unpleasantly.

- No. Not a merchant. Rather a craftsman - the man on the cart gazed impassively at the tips of his boots.

- A craftsman, you say? Then to which guild do you belong? - the Hussite probed further, his tone becoming increasingly unpleasant - Perhaps you'll show us what you're transporting? What goods are you hiding under the tarp? Or perhaps weapons or provisions for our enemies? Or are you carrying some precious valuables? What?

Jacob dismounted from the cart without a word. Only now did the riders realize that he was a tall man with broad shoulders and a hefty build. Tall, with hands as large as loaves of bread and a slightly protruding belly, he resembled more a bear than a man. When he removed his hood, a large, bald head was revealed, adorned with a dense black beard and wide mustaches at the bottom. His blue, cold eyes sent shivers down the spine of anyone who met his gaze. His slightly flushed, oval face gave off an unsettling vibe. Overall, the appearance of the driver could be described as highly repulsive... or even more so, terrifying.

As he approached the tarp, he tore it off with a strong, swift motion and tossed it aside. On the cart lay a pile of strange and terrifying implements. The most striking was a massive axe with a sturdy handle and a large sword with a broad blade. Additionally, among the pile of ironware, one could see wide hoops, chains, handcuffs, spiked logs and rollers, and a strange pyramid covered in sheet metal and steel shoes. On top of it all lay terrifying masks with canine and swine snouts, made of metal rods and plates, bearing traces of dried blood and reeking of death.

At the sight of the gathered tools on the cart, all Hussites recoiled instinctively.

- Jesus Mary! What the hell are you? Some kind of sodomite? - exclaimed one of the armored men, making the sign of the cross with his hand.

- He's a hangman - spoke up one of the riders standing farther away - A Master Executioner.

Almost complete silence fell for a moment. The atmosphere was becoming denser by the second. So dense that it seemed one could hang the axe in the air. Jacob, although he didn't show it, awaited the unfolding events with tension. Finally, the silence was broken by the armored man next to the cart.

- A Master Executioner, you say? - he hissed menacingly, his face now changing from frightened to disgustingly hateful - An executioner... from Hoabeschwerde, or more exactly Kladská Bystřice. Does that mean you've cut and burned our brothers? What?

- Enough, Milosz. Let's go, there's nothing for us here - one of his companions tried to calm him down - We were supposed to check if they're not transporting weapons or provisions for the Latins, not to rant at the executioners from hell.

- What do you mean nothing for us here?! Speak, executioner! Have you burned our brethren?! - the other persisted.

- Maybe I have, maybe I haven't - Jacob shrugged indifferently - And what's it to you? It's my profession that when needed, I burn people. You also burn, only innocent ones in villages and towns. And I burn the guilty at the stake. Well, usually the guilty...

- You dog!

The rider standing by the cart drew his sword with a sudden movement and unsheathed it. However, before he could make a swing, the strong hand of the executioner grabbed his wrist. With his other hand, the Master Executioner grabbed the rider's belt and kicked the horse's belly with his knee. The steed bolted into a gallop, throwing the armorer immobilized by Jacob out of the saddle. The Hussite collapsed unconscious to the ground, releasing his weapon. The executioner swiftly picked up the sword and, with a swift, powerful blow, drove it into the lying man's neck. The thrust was so powerful that the blade pinned the unfortunate man to the ground. Writhing in agony, the rider tried in a final reflex to tear out the blade embedded in his throat. In his frenzy, he grabbed the blade of the sword with his bare hands, which slid along the edge, cutting his fingers and palm. It lasted only a few seconds. Eventually, his eyes bulged and filled with blood, and a geyser of thick fluid burst from his mouth.

The remaining ones sat motionless on their horses, with eyes wide open and mouths agape. Everything happened so quickly that none of them had time to react. Finally, the rider armed with a halberd shook himself, leaned his weapon, and charged at Jakub. However, the distance to the target was too short for his attack to develop full momentum. The executioner cunningly took advantage of this and skillfully dodged the charging path, rolling to the edge of the track. After riding several dozen meters, the Hussite stopped his horse and almost turned it on the spot. Now he had enough distance from his prey to properly accelerate the steed. However, the Master Executioner did not wait idly until he was trampled or impaled. He quickly jumped back to the cart and retrieved his executioner's axe from under the pile of ironware. When the armored rider approached, Jacob made a powerful swing while simultaneously avoiding the opponent's thrust. The massive blade struck the horse with great force, severing one of its front legs. The horse flew forward, throwing the rider from the saddle with momentum. The rider flew several meters through the air before crashing into one of his companions with a loud thud. Both of them slammed into a nearby tree and fell unconscious into the roadside ditch.

Suddenly, Jacob heard a quiet whoosh. A bolt from a crossbow flew past his ear. Fortunately for him, the projectile missed and lodged into the side of the cart. He turned his head. One of the two remaining Hussites stared at him with a bewildered look. He couldn't believe he missed. He released the light crossbow from his hand, grabbed the reins with both hands, and forcefully pulled the horse around. However, before he could gallop away, Master Jakub raised his axe high above his head and with a powerful swing sent it towards the rider. The weapon rotated several times in the air and hit the fleeing man squarely in the back. Although the blade did not pierce with its edge but struck with the top of the axe head, it was enough to knock the armored man to the ground. Unfortunately for him, one of his legs got stuck in the stirrup. The galloping horse dragged him along the rutted track, tossing him on every protruding stone.

The last Hussite raised both hands high, showing that he had no ill intentions. Jakub looked at him with a cold gaze.

- Stay calm, Master Executioner. I won't reach for my weapon.

The headsman reached for a long pugio with a straight hilt and a short blade, which he carried fastened across his back. Doubt appeared on the rider's face. However, Jacob slowly approached the whimpering and kicking horse with a severed leg. He firmly grabbed its head and swiftly slit its throat. After a moment, the animal stopped kicking, and a deafening silence fell around. The calm, almost indifferent voice of Jacob broke it.

- God is my witness that I didn't want this. You saw for yourself that I had to defend myself. You were the first to resort to arms.

- I know. And I don't hold it against you for dispatching my comrades - the knight looked at the Hussite's body with a sword pierced through his neck - There will be no seeking of vengeance here.

- I would like to believe you - the executioner smiled bitterly.

- I give you my word! I'll testify that it was Milosz who started the altercation. Let me just gather my companions before they breathe their last.

- What good is your word to me if I don't even know your name - Jacob turned around, picked up the axe from the ground, and then grabbed the tarp and threw it back onto the cart.

- Peter of Lichwin, of the Stirrup coat of arms. A Polish knight in the service of the Crusaders of God - the rider recited in an overly solemn tone - I command the Nimptsch garrison.

- Well, you don't have much hearing from your subordinates... - the executioner smiled sarcastically.

- Oh… - Peter of Lichwin blushed and lowered his head - not worth talking about. The Crusaders of God have hot blood, they rush into fight. It's often hard to control them.

- Hmph - Jacob snorted softly - I'll surely regret this, but so be it. I'll refrain from further altercation. I just want to continue my journey in peace.

- Thank you, Master Jacob. I won't forget this - the Hussite bowed slightly - As a token of gratitude, take my advice. Less than a mile ahead, turn left off the road and head towards Legnica. Our patrols don't reach there, and no one will bother you.

Jacob only nodded, got on the cart, grabbed the reins, and clicked to the horse. The cart jerked and slowly rolled along the rutted road, disappearing around the bend moments later. In the middle of the road, there stood a lone knight. He looked around at the battlefield and shook his head disapprovingly.

- Who the hell did I end up working with... Czech knights from the Middle of Nowhere, fucking hell...

Prologue [eng]

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