Chapter 681: The Prelude to Counterattack
The city of Nowy Sącz, on Austria's northeastern border.
Nearly a thousand citizens gathered in the square of the city's central cathedral, their gazes fixed with devout reverence upon Archbishop Marlough, also known as Mr. Mesmer, who stood on the church's stone steps.
"A new Crusader Holy War has begun!" Mesmer declared, radiating a holy glow as he raised a hand. "All Christians must answer His Holiness the Pope's call, turn eastward, and hasten to that sacred battlefield!
"There, wicked heretics shall be judged, and you, too, shall cleanse all your sins through this endeavor!"
Though the onlookers weren't as fervent as the Poles, they too began to make the sign of the cross and shout:
"Judge the heretics!"
"Answer the Holy War!"
Standing slightly behind "Archbishop Marlough," Bishop Borowski of the Nowy Sącz diocese had turned pale. The Papal Special Envoy had merely stated he would deliver the Pope's instructions, but the content proved to be surprisingly incendiary.
He yearned to step forward and intervene, but with so many eyes on him, he couldn't imagine how to resolve the situation.
"And you will be forced to pray with three ridiculous fingers. Your children will be thrown into vats for Baptism. You might even lose all hope of escaping the torments of Purgatory!
"Do you wish for this?"
As a professional charlatan, he naturally understood the importance of exaggeration.
Eastern Orthodox prayer gestures weren't mandatory. And Baptism simply involved immersing a child in Holy Water, not plunging them into a vat. As for Purgatory, it didn't even exist in Eastern Orthodoxy, nor was there any concept of atonement to escape its suffering.
But the crowd in the square erupted in a thunderous roar:
"No, never!"
"The heretics will not set foot here!"
"Holy War! Holy War!"
Mesmer nodded with satisfaction. "Then let your piety be shown by supporting the valiant warriors fighting the heretics!"
Bishop Borowski nearly fainted, frantically rubbing his forehead as he pondered how to mitigate the Special Envoy's impact once he departed.
Suddenly, his gaze sharpened.
'That's not right. For something as significant as calling a Holy War, why wouldn't the Holy See issue instructions in advance, instead of directly sending a Special Envoy?'
Just then, Mesmer concluded his speech and walked toward him.
Bishop Borowski, his face grim, quickly pulled him inside the church. "What do you intend to do? This is not the Pope's doctrine!"
Mesmer showed no trace of nervousness.
He had prepared for his cover to be blown even before he arrived. And the fact that his identity wasn't even questioned, only his actions, made this far easier to resolve than his previous escapades.
He calmly stated, "It might not be now, but it will be soon."
Bishop Borowski retorted angrily, "How is that possible? I will report you to the Holy See!"
"That is your right," Mesmer said with a slight smile. "By the way, you must have heard that Russia has issued an ultimatum to Poland, and war is imminent."
"So what?"
"The nations of Europe will soon learn that the Pope intends to launch a Holy War. If Poland's campaign doesn't go well, the Pope will certainly not deny the Holy War's existence, as that would make the world believe the Holy See fears Eastern Orthodoxy.
"And if the Poles defeat Russia, then the Pope's prestige will greatly increase for 'leading' this Holy War. In that scenario, His Holiness might even come to Nowy Sącz himself to rally Crusaders to the East."
Borowski paused, realizing it seemed true. Everything this Papal Special Envoy did was aimed at expanding the Holy See's influence.
Mesmer continued, "If you can promote the Holy War within your diocese, I will certainly commend you highly to the Holy See."
He remained so calm because even if something went awry, agents from the Intelligence Bureau would immediately extract him. Oh, and the Committee of Liberty and Security in Poland was also assisting him.
That afternoon, escorted by Bishop Borowski, Mesmer departed Nowy Sącz and hastened to Belz, Austria, to continue his Holy War speeches.
Before long, pamphlets proclaiming the Pope's call for a Holy War began to proliferate in Nowy Sącz. Citizens everywhere were eagerly discussing the matter.
Subsequently, religious zealots genuinely began to travel to Poland to join the Crusaders.
Though their numbers were small, only a little over a hundred, they mostly brought their own weapons and required no pay. As Mesmer passed through several cities along the Austrian border, he effectively added seven or eight hundred soldiers to Poland's ranks without cost.
More importantly than the manpower, of course, the news quickly reached Vienna. Everyone in Austria soon learned that the Poles, as the "Spear of God," were engaged in a Crusader Holy War against the Russians.
And as a Catholic nation, Austrians naturally believed they should side with Poland.
...
The town of Maryce.
Janek wiped his Flintlock Musket with a cloth, silently calculating in his mind. He muttered to himself,
'Seven days.'
It was his seventh day here.
In other words, the Russian Army had been held outside the town for a week.
Though news of the line being in peril arrived daily, and troop casualties were severe—his company alone had lost nearly a third of its men—the defense line had consistently remained unbroken by the enemy.
A small boy approached, carrying a wooden bucket, and began to wash the cloths on the ground.
Janek looked at him and said,
"Kacper, there's a wagon transporting wounded back to Warsaw tomorrow. You can go with them."
The little boy froze for a moment, then shook his head.
Janek urged,
"Listen to me, it's dangerous here."
Kacper still shook his head.
"You want to avenge your sister?"
Kacper nodded.
Janek reached out and ruffled the boy's hair, a sharp, piercing pain shooting through his own wound.
"Hiss—I know, but you're not even as tall as a Flintlock Musket."
"I can fire cannons!" The little boy rarely spoke, but these few words came out with immense force.
Janek chuckled. "Then you'll have to go back to Warsaw first and study mathematics before you can become a proper artilleryman. The enemy won't always walk right up to the cannon's mouth."
He had already decided to adopt the child, even though he himself was only nineteen.
However, he had been officially promoted to sergeant three days ago, and his allowance was roughly enough for Kacper to finish regular schooling. Military academies, he'd heard, were free.
Kacper looked at him again, thought for a moment, and nodded seriously.
"Alright then. I'll be back soon!"
Janek instinctively reached out to ruffle his head, but suddenly remembered his wound, quickly withdrew his hand, and instead pointed toward the ground.
"Until you learn how to fire cannons, I'll keep holding this place.
"Just like Drasowitz and the others."
The rhythmic beat of military drums from behind him interrupted his words.
He turned his head to look, spotting a Polish army emerging on the distant road.
The soldiers marched in remarkably neat formations, moving south with the drumbeats, their numbers stretching as far as the eye could see.
Kacper cast an inquiring glance at him.
Janek shook his head. "Perhaps they're here to assist with the town's defense, I'm not sure."
Just then, the company's Second Lieutenant arrived to inspect the firearms. Hearing their conversation, he looked up and pointed to the military banner at the very front of the column.
"That's the Royal Third Infantry Division, and behind them, I believe, is the Royal Second Cavalry Battalion."
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