Chapter 221: The Main Arsenal

November 15, 1527 AD

Salzburg, Austrian Empire

One full month had passed in the Austrian Empire since the discovery of Fernando, the Duke of Alba, and his underground factory.

For four entire weeks, Inspector Klaus and Captain Tomas had been living wholly like frightened rats in the cool shadows of the muddy kingdom.

They had traded their fine woolen coats and silver badges for dirty linen cloaks, disguising themselves as wandering beggars.

Klaus had been too panicked to deliver Fernando’s grim threat to the Archbishop of Salzburg, knowing the powerful local governor would likely execute him on the spot for cowardice.

Right now, the runaway tax inspector and his disgraced guard captain were crouching quietly on the damp thatched roof of a huge stable.

They were looking down into the enclosed courtyard of a wealthy Austrian noble named Lord Heinrich.

Though Klaus was a man who used to enjoy shaking down poor merchants for taxes, the scene below still made his stomach genuinely turn.

Lord Heinrich and his wealthy friends were sitting inside the Great Hall, drinking spiced wine and laughing loudly. But out in the courtyard, dozens of local serfs were being treated entirely like slaves.

Starving men, women, and even teenagers were dragging heavy carts of firewood and huge stone blocks through the thick mud.

Fat, cruel overseers stood in the freezing rain, cracking heavy leather whips over the serfs’ backs whenever they slowed down.

"I hate this place," Tomas whispered, his hand gripping the steel of his sword as he watched an overseer kick a fallen farmer. "We should just steal two horses from this stable and ride far away into the mountains. This is not our fight."

"Patience, Tomas," Klaus muttered. "If we steal horses now, the guards will shoot us full of crossbow bolts. We just need to wait until nightfall."

However, as Klaus scanned the courtyard, his eyes locked onto a man walking casually near the wooden pillars that supported the Great Hall.

It was a tall, scarred Spanish mercenary. He was wearing the forest green colors of Lord Heinrich’s personal guard, but Klaus recognized his scarred face instantly.

It was Carlos, one of the shirtless men who had been grinding yellow stones in Fernando’s bomb factory a month ago.

The man was laughing loudly, joking with the other Austrian guards, and walking with a wholly relaxed, carefree swagger.

In his large hands, the disguised guard was carrying a wax-sealed clay pot.

"Ah! Move out of the way, lads!" the guard laughed cheerfully, gently setting the clay pot down directly against the main wooden support beam of the hall. "The Lord wants his special Swabian wine kept cool out here in the wind!"

"Is that the good stuff, Carlos?" an Austrian guard asked, leaning lazily against his iron halberd.

"Oh, it is the best stuff in the world, mate," Carlos grinned, patting the top of the clay pot. "It will blow your cursed mind!"

Carlos casually walked back to a wooden cart parked near the stables, picked up another heavy clay pot, and walked over to the opposite pillar.

He was whistling a happy little tune as he placed the explosive devices in structural weak points around the wealthy keep.

After all, who would say that a simple clay pot is a thing that can explode skulls and bones?

To the ignorant Austrian guards and the enslaved serfs dragging wood through the mud, they were just ordinary containers of wine or oil.

But Klaus knew what was packed tightly inside that fragile clay.

If those clay pots detonated right next to the thick wooden pillars, the entire stone roof of the Great Hall would instantly collapse.

It would entirely crush the wealthy lords inside, but worse, the sweeping blast of stone shrapnel would rip right through the courtyard, slaughtering the innocent, starving serfs in a heartbeat.

"Curse it..." Klaus gritted his teeth, his hands shaking as he gripped the edge of the thatched roof. "Fernando sent this rat to blow up Lord Heinrich."

"Klaus, there are five pots placed around the hall. If he lights them all, the entire keep will shatter. We have to run right now."

"No," Klaus ordered, surprising even himself. "If we run, everyone in this courtyard dies... We have to take him down with our bare hands."

Down in the courtyard, Carlos finished placing the final clay pot. He looked around the yard, making sure the Austrian guards were distracted by the enslaved serfs.

Then, Carlos slowly reached into his thick belt and pulled out a small piece of flint and steel.

Even so, Klaus was entirely done hiding like a rat.

"Now!" Klaus hissed.

The tax inspector and the guard captain slipped off the thatched roof, dropping into the mud behind the stables.

They moved as fast as their shivering bodies would allow, ignoring the freezing rain beating against their faces.

Carlos crouched down next to the main clay pot. He struck the flint.

A small orange spark flew into the air, landing directly on the rope fuse sticking out of the wax seal.

The fuse instantly hissed, spitting white sparks as the fire began to race down the rope toward the packed explosives.

Carlos smiled, preparing to turn around and run for the main gates.

But a hand suddenly clamped directly over Carlos’s mouth.

"Going somewhere, you cursed rat?" Klaus whispered.

Before Carlos could even struggle, Tomas tackled the mercenary backward into the cool shadows of the stables.

At the exact same moment, Klaus sprinted forward, dropping to his knees in the mud.

He did not have leather gloves, so he used his bare fingers to pinch the burning fuse, burning his skin as he snuffed out the flame just an inch before it reached the deadly black powder inside the pot.

Carlos thrashed wildly in Tomas’s grip, trying to draw his sword. But Tomas, fueled by a month of pent-up fear and anger, easily twisted the guard’s arm behind his back, forcing him to his knees in the smelly hay of the horse stalls.

Klaus quickly ran around the courtyard, his heart pounding right out of his chest, and yanked the unlit fuses out of the other four clay pots.

"Quiet, or I snap your neck right here," Tomas growled, keeping his weight heavily on Carlos’s back as Klaus ran back to join them.

Tomas slowly loosened his grip, letting the guard gasp for air.

Carlos looked up, his eyes widening as the dim light of the stables fell across Klaus’s face.

He had expected to get caught by a highly trained Austrian guard, not the cowardly tax inspector who had cried on his knees a month ago.

"The... the Inspector..." Carlos stammered. "How did you find me?!"

"I am a very good tax collector," Klaus grinned, though his knees were still shaking.

He pulled a sharp dagger from his belt and pressed the edge directly against Carlos’s throat. "Now, you are going to tell me where your crippled boss is hiding. Where is Fernando?"

However, despite the blade at his throat, Carlos let out a chuckle. The man was a hardened mercenary, entirely loyal to his Imperial warlord.

He spat a mouthful of bloody saliva onto Klaus’s boots.

"You are entirely too late, Inspector," Carlos grinned, his teeth stained brown. "Fernando is already marching. You caught me, sure. You saved a few fat Austrian lords and their pathetic slaves... But you are looking at the wrong castle."

Klaus’s eyes narrowed. "Explain. Right now."

"Fernando just wanted to test the fuses in the rain," Carlos laughed, uncaring about his own life.

"Curse it," Tomas swore, gripping Klaus’s shoulder. "...Where is the main arsenal?"

"Fernando took the rest of the bombs to the capital," Carlos whispered.

The Archbishop’s grand palace was a sprawling structure located right in the center of Salzburg’s most populated merchant district.

Thousands of innocent people lived in the tightly packed wooden houses surrounding those walls.

If Fernando detonated a hundred bombs inside that city, the resulting explosion would trigger a huge firestorm that would burn all of Salzburg to the ground in a single night.

"Leave the pots. We do not have time to secure them," Klaus ordered, rushing out of the stables.

Tomas ran after him. They slipped past the distracted Austrian guards and sprinted out the main gates of the keep, untying two fast horses that had been resting near a wooden fence.

They kicked their spurs hard, riding straight through the pouring rain...