The chill of the Swabian spring began to break, yielding to the muddy thaw of late April.

For Konrad, the past fortnight had been a desperate race. Baron von Waldburg’s men marched toward their borders, and Uncle Lothar’s treasonous betrothal hung over the estate like an executioner’s axe.

Konrad had not wasted an hour. He ate heavy stews and the bitter pea-bread to build his strength.

His body was lean, lacking a knight’s bulk, but his sickly pallor had vanished. His hands were rough from long hours shaping iron parts, and a sharp energy radiated from his dark eyes.

He knew his dozen aging guards could not defeat fifty veteran Landsknechts in open battle. Instead, he turned to the foundation of the estate: the common folk.

By paying true silver for stone and labor, Konrad had bought the loyalty of his people.

The serfs, once ready to join the Bundschuh uprisings, were now fiercely protective of their newfound wealth.

Klaus the miller and Franz the shepherd served as his eyes and ears, reporting every whisper in the valley directly to Konrad.

Through them, Konrad knew Lothar’s intent. Lothar believed the arriving Landsknechts would be his personal swords, allowing him to seize the estate once the match was forced.

Lothar avoided Konrad, spending his days drinking in the taverns and boasting of his coming triumph.

It was mid-morning when Konrad walked toward the village forge.

He rounded the smithy and stopped, a rare satisfaction showing on his face. Master Dieter had not failed him.

The water-powered trip hammer was working. An iron-shod beam, driven by the river wheel, rose and crashed onto an anvil.

Dieter stood near, his face black with soot, using tongs to shift red-hot steel beneath the hammer.

What would have taken Dieter three days to forge by hand was now struck out in hours!

"Lord Konrad!" Dieter shouted over the noise. He signaled his boys to halt the wheel. The cogs groaned, and the hammer came to rest.

Konrad approached, inspecting the cooling iron parts on the benches. "How true are the shapes, Master Dieter?"

Dieter grinned through the soot. "The shapes hold true, my Lord. The hammer stamps the rough springs, and the boys use your hand-turned stones to file them fine. We have forged forty complete locks in the last twelve days."

Konrad picked up one of the steel wheel-locks. He tested the spring with his thumb. It was stiff, taking great force to cock the wheel.

"Forty locks," Konrad said, "Are the wooden stocks and the barrels finished?"

"The carpenters finished the stocks yesterday," Dieter confirmed. "And we used the last of our good steel to cast the barrels. They are short, but thick enough to take a heavy powder charge without bursting. The women also finished sewing the leather belts."

"Good." Konrad said, his voice dropping. "We are in time. Baron von Waldburg’s men are camped ten miles down the valley." 𝐟𝕣𝗲𝕖𝕨𝗲𝐛𝗻𝗼𝐯𝗲𝚕.𝗰𝚘𝐦

Dieter knew the young lord’s plan. It was a terrible risk, defying the League’s might.

"The men are ready, Lord Konrad," Dieter assured him. "Klaus, Franz, and thirty of the strongest stone-breakers from the quarry. They have practiced loading in the deep woods every night. They know the locks."

"Issue the weapons tonight," Konrad ordered. "And hand out the powder. Ensure every man has two pistols loaded, primed, and hidden beneath his cloak before dawn."

Leaving the forge, Konrad returned to the keep to prepare for the coming farce. He found his sister Elise in the hall, nervously picking at her sewing.

"Konrad." Elise whispered. "Uncle Lothar wears his best velvet. He says the Baron’s men come tomorrow to take you to Waldburg. Is it true?"

"It will not happen, Elise," Konrad stated calmly, taking a seat. "You will stay in your chambers tomorrow until I send for you. Do not look out the windows."

...

The next morning, the valley was blanketed in a cold fog.

By midday, it burned off, revealing the truth of Lothar’s treason. Marching up the dirt road toward the gates was a tight block of fifty veteran Landsknechts.

They were huge, battle-hardened men in slashed clothing of vibrant yellows and reds, carrying steel-tipped halberds.

At their head rode Captain Heinrich, a scarred commander answering to Baron von Waldburg. Beside him, riding a borrowed horse and beaming with triumph, was Uncle Lothar.

Konrad stood alone in the muddy courtyard, leaning on his cane.

Captain Heinrich signaled a halt just inside the gates. The boots of the mercenaries stomped in unison.

"Lord Konrad von Frundsberg!" Captain Heinrich bellowed. "I am here for Baron von Waldburg to enforce the betrothal signed by your uncle, the acting lord! You will yield this keep, and you will ride with us to Waldburg at once!"

Uncle Lothar urged his horse forward, sneering down at his nephew. "It is over, Konrad. You played your games with the peasants, but you cannot fight real soldiers. Submit to the Baron’s will."

"Captain Heinrich," Konrad said, "You trespass on sovereign land. The betrothal is false, signed by a man with no right to yield my holdings. You have one minute to turn your men around and march out of my valley, or you will all die here."

The Landsknechts erupted into laughter. Captain Heinrich chuckled at the audacity of the sickly boy.

"You are mad, boy," Heinrich sneered, drawing his sword. "You have no guards. You have no army. I will take this keep by force, and I will drag you to the Baron in chains!"

"I do not need an army~" Konrad replied softly.

Konrad raised his cane and struck it hard against the stones.

Instantly, the doors of the stables, the granary, and the armory slammed open.

Thirty men stepped out into the courtyard, surrounding the Landsknechts.

They were Klaus the miller, Franz the shepherd, Master Dieter, and the hardened stone-breakers from the quarry.

Captain Heinrich laughed again. "You mean to fight my halberdiers with peasants? Where are their pitchforks?"

On Konrad’s unspoken signal, the thirty men threw back their cloaks.

Every man wore a leather belt across his chest. And in their hands, they held the impossible.

Thirty short, thick-barreled wheel-lock pistols, leveled straight at the mercenaries!

Captain Heinrich’s laughter died.

Wheel-lock pistols were the most costly weapons in the Empire.

A single one cost more than a mercenary earned in five years. And this ruined Lord had just armed thirty commoners with them!

"Make ready." Konrad commanded.

The loud CLICK of thirty steel springs drawn back echoed across the courtyard.

Uncle Lothar screamed in terror, nearly falling from his horse. The veteran Landsknechts, men who had survived brutal pike charges in Italy, broke formation.

They knew what those weapons would do at such close range. Their halberds were useless against a volley of lead.

"Wait! Hold!" Captain Heinrich screamed, dropping his sword into the mud and throwing his hands up.

"We yield! By God, we yield!"

Konrad leaned on his cane, staring at the captain and his treacherous uncle.