Chapter 222: Escaping

Far inside a small church situated on the outskirts of Salzburg... Inside this humble sanctuary, dozens of weary Austrian monks and local villagers knelt on the hard wooden benches. Their heads bowed in silent prayer.

At the front of the altar, the parish priest was entirely lost in his Latin sermon.

The peaceful atmosphere of the church meant nothing to the man standing half-hidden in the cool shadows at the back of the room. Leaning against a stone pillar near the doors, he ignored the prayers.

To any observer, he seemed like just another tired traveler wrapped in a cloak. But beneath the hood lay a young rogue with sharp eyes, a messy mop of wind-swept blond hair, and a lithe, athletic build.

This stranger, whose name was Lukas, possessed a charming smile that easily concealed his total lack of morals, and fingers that were far faster than the blink of an eye.

At this very moment, his eyes were locked onto one specific target. The offering plate made of pure gold, resting near the back of the altar.

He slipped through the shadows of the stone pillars. He reached out and grabbed the gold. It was incredibly heavy, almost slipping from his fingers, but he managed to keep his grip.

He shoved the plate into his leather pouch, followed by a handful of the donated silver coins.

*Creeeak...* A wooden floorboard groaned loudly beneath his leather boot.

An old monk kneeling in the back row slowly turned his head. His eyes widened as he saw the thief clutching the treasury pouch.

Lukas merely flashed a charming smile, winked playfully at the old man, pressed a finger to his lips, and dashed out the side door before the monk could even catch his breath to scream.

He burst outside into the bright sunlight, laughing loudly. He effortlessly vaulted over a low stone wall surrounding the churchyard and landed in an endless field of golden wheat.

Today was harvest day in the Austrian countryside.

Hundreds of local serfs, strong women, and even children were out in the mud, swinging their sharp scythes to cut down the tall wheat before the winter froze the ground.

"A beautiful day for the harvest, my friends!" Lukas shouted, running right past a group of sweating farmers.

He offered them his smile, acting like a normal, friendly traveler. "Keep up the good work! May the Maker bless your crops!"

"Thank you, traveler!" an old farmer waved back happily, wiping the sweat from his brow. He was entirely unaware that the polite young man was carrying ten pounds of stolen church gold in his bouncing leather pouch.

Lukas paused for a brief second to steal a fresh green apple from a resting cart. He took a crisp bite before continuing his lighthearted sprint toward the city.

After running for a few miles, Lukas finally reached the bustling outer edges of the Salzburg merchant district.

He expertly dodged stray dogs, shouting merchants, and huge puddles of freezing mud until he arrived at a large two-story building near the center of the city.

It was a highly popular local bakery. The aroma of warm, freshly baked bread, sweet honey, and melting butter wafting from the open windows was incredible.

A line of hungry customers stretched out the front door.

However, Lukas was not here to buy a soft loaf of bread or a sweet pastry.

He walked right through the front door, ignoring the angry shouts of the people waiting in line. He offered a polite nod to the busy baker, who was covered in white flour and sweating near the hot stone oven.

Lukas tossed a small silver coin onto the counter as a tip to keep the man silent. He slipped into the back storage room and climbed a hidden staircase leading up to the second floor.

The moment he reached the top of the stairs, the delicious scent of fresh bread vanished entirely.

The windows were boarded up with wood to prevent the neighbors from peering inside.

Sitting directly in the middle of this chaos was Diego. The huge Imperial warlord was wearing his wolf furs. He used a small dagger to clean the black dirt from beneath his fingernails.

Surrounding Diego on all sides were piles of empty clay pots, and dozens of heavy cloth sacks filled to the brim with the stolen magic of the Swabian King.

"I brought you more gold, Diego!" Lukas laughed, walking toward the main table and emptying his pouch. The golden offering plate and dozens of silver coins spilled out, ringing loudly against the wood.

"Good work, Lukas," Diego grumbled in a rough voice. He reached out and picked up the golden plate, weighing it carefully in his hand. "This will do perfectly. We need every piece of silver and gold we can steal to bribe the Archbishop’s outer gate guards, pay off the bakers downstairs to keep their mouths shut, and buy more clay from the local potters."

"Those greedy Austrian guards would open the city gates for a half-eaten apple," Lukas chuckled, pulling up a wooden chair and sitting down. "But Diego, why the hell are we hiding in a bakery? If one of those hot ovens downstairs shoots a stray spark through these dry wooden boards, we will blow a hole straight down to the Underworld."

"Because the smell of bread yeast masks the sour stench of the black powder, you fool," Diego explained, tossing the golden plate back onto the table.

Despite that, Lukas looked nervously at the hundreds of clay pots stacked around the room. Some were large enough to hold water, while others were as small as a melon.

It was an insane amount of explosives. It was enough firepower to level a small mountain to the ground, let alone a stone palace.

"So... what is the actual plan?" Lukas asked, leaning forward. "Are we really going to carry all these heavy sacks and clay pots to the Archbishop’s palace in the dead of night? The guards are corrupt, sure, but they are not blind."

"No, we do not have to carry them," Diego smirked, reaching into a nearby sack and pulling out a handful of the deadly black dirt.

He let it slip slowly through his fingers. "I walked through the market earlier today. I stopped at a tavern for some stout, and spoke with a friend. An old, highly placed friend who knows what we are planning to do with these clay pots."

"You told someone the plan?!" Lukas whisper-shouted harshly. "Curse it, Diego! Did you slit his throat? If he runs to the guards and tells them about the bombs, we are all dead men!"

"Relax, Lukas," Diego grinned broadly. "He is with us. He was passed over for a promotion by the Archbishop last year, and he is greedy enough to sell his own mother for a pouch of silver. He wants to see that old bastard burn."

"Who is he?" Lukas asked.

"He is the man who runs the royal wine cellars at the palace," Diego whispered, leaning forward. "He is going to smuggle these clay pots inside empty wine barrels directly into the tunnels beneath the Archbishop’s Great Hall. He will stack them right against the main stone foundation."

"However, we do not have the luxury of time. We must pack every single one of these pots and seal them with wax at least before the week is over."

Lukas frowned. "Why the rush and risk making a fatal mistake with the fuses?"

Diego rose from his chair, his head nearly brushing the bakery’s ceiling. "Because in exactly one week, the Archbishop will host a royal jousting tournament. Every wealthy lord, every corrupt Austrian nobleman, and the Archbishop himself will be sitting together in the same arena."

Lukas stared at the warlord. "But Diego... if the explosion is this big, and we are going to place a hundred of these pots beneath the stands... how are we supposed to light the fuses and escape the tunnels before the palace collapses on our heads?"

Diego paused his turning of the clay pot.

"...And who said anything about escaping, Lukas?"