From within the wooden and stone city walls came a sky-piercing cheer, the citizens of Kiev cheering for their Prince.
Although Rostislav couldn't see it, he could perfectly imagine the scene: the Prince riding on his steed, subjects lining the streets to welcome him, the Veche Militia striving to maintain order, maidens blowing kisses, trees and rooftops packed with people, hats, scarves, and all sorts of things thrown into the sky with the cheers…
However, the citizens cheering probably didn't realize that the Kiev nobles who saw off the Prince had an argument with him before the expedition. Prince Rostislav didn't know the content of the argument, but it was reportedly about the Kiev market. In any case, it had nothing to do with him, and he didn't care.
Prince Rostislav gathered the parchment covered in writing before him, mounted his warhorse, and the troops awaited the Prince's command. Since the Prince had already departed, it was time for them to move.
Rostislav had avoided the farewell ceremony for the army's departure. It wasn't that he wasn't allowed to attend, but simply that he didn't want to. A truly great battle was coming, and he had a lot to prepare for.
Moreover, Rostislav actually had a lingering resentment. He hadn't had enough time to be intimate with his wife, only to be called to battle again. He had initially thought that the army's departure would take at least half a month, but he returned and the army set off four days later.
Rostislav had to bid farewell to his wife. Recalling it now, his Greek sweetheart's pouting expression immediately appeared before his eyes. At the time, he even pinched her pouting little face, which made his wife instantly bristle, like a temperamental kitten. He had to soothe her for a long time, and finally "persuaded" her in bed.
The Prince and his wife shared a deep affection; both young people were filled with desire for each other's bodies, and separation only intensified that longing. They should have indulged for a while, having tasted the sweetness of intimacy, but war abruptly interrupted it. Now, after a brief reunion that felt like a new marriage, they had to go to battle again.
However, embarking on the journey once more, Rostislav's forces also grew significantly. He gained an additional fifteen hundred men under his command. Some were citizens of Kiev who joined due to his martial renown, but the majority were personnel provided by Metropolitan Ilarion.
The Metropolitan was very satisfied with the achievements Rostislav had made, and without hesitation, he increased his investment. Over a thousand armed Monastery farmers and nearly a hundred church guards were thus handed over to him.
There's not much to say about those armed farmers; aside from being more disciplined, they were no different from ordinary farmers. The guard unit, however, is worth mentioning. They were an armed force that the church had painstakingly organized, all devout Christians. When missionaries traveled to the barbaric Slavic lands to preach, protection was provided by them.
Their equipment was the best in all of Rus', practically armed to the teeth. They wore two layers of chainmail and scale armor, covering themselves so completely that only their eye sockets were visible. Each of them was skilled in tactics and combat, all battle-hardened elites.
Entrusting this force to him showed the church's trust; after all, this was their ultimate reserve.
And as Rostislav accepted this goodwill, he couldn't help but wonder why the Metropolitan would do such a thing, why he would make such a huge investment. However, caring about these things now was meaningless; he would consider it after this war.
As the Prince gave the order, the army advanced along the predetermined route, converging with the Prince's main force and moving together. However, they hadn't gone far when they encountered a peculiar group.
It was a group of ragged strong men, their faces smeared with strange white ash, yet they surrounded a crude idol being carried aloft. Rostislav saw the symbol of lightning on it, the divine emblem of perun.
Leading them was an old man, barefoot and wearing a tattered robe, adorned with a floral wreath, holding a spruce staff, and with a small pouch at his waist filled with herbs. Seeing these features, Rostislav realized this person was a sorcerer.
So-called sorcerers are the worshippers of the pagan gods in the Slavic lands; they often hold immense influence in local areas, their words carrying more weight than any Prince or noble.
They had clearly traveled a long way, many appearing very tired, but their faith still compelled them to advance, surrounding the idol. Some even self-harmed by whipping themselves. The occasional spurting blood combined with the stench from these people created an overwhelmingly strong odor.
Some of them wore wolf skins, with the wolf heads simply placed on their own heads. One look told Rostislav they were not to be trifled with, and he instinctively wanted to distance himself from this group.
Seeing such a group, Rostislav's expression changed, unable to suppress it.
"perun's pilgrims? There are at least a hundred of them. Why would they come to Kiev at this time?"
No one answered the Prince's question, as everyone was unsure how to respond. The pilgrims also had no intention of acknowledging the departing army; they simply walked past, carrying their idol.
This made the Prince somewhat annoyed. These pagans actually ignored him like that. He supposed that in the eyes of these fanatics, a Rurik descendant who betrayed the gods was not worthy of respect.
However, despite this, Rostislav chose not to do anything—what could he do? Use force against perun's followers?
Such an act would break the peaceful understanding between paganism and Christianity, leading to another bloodbath, and he would definitely not escape responsibility if the Prince pursued the matter.
As the idol was carried past, many soldiers respectfully moved aside, and quite a few even held up crosses resembling pagan divine emblems and prayed, with some even directly displaying pagan divine emblems.
The pagan faith in Rus' was, after all, deeply rooted. Even by the Prince's side, their presence was not uncommon, and this was why Rostislav, as a Rurik Prince, dared not rashly act against pagans.
Only a few steadfast Christians showed no fear, and the members of the guard unit were typical among them. They looked at the pagan idol with disdain, their hearts filled with contempt for false idols.
And the perun followers, in turn, seemed to ignore their disrespect and impoliteness, simply walking past with expressionless faces.
Fortunately, these guards did not directly insult the other party's faith, and Rostislav couldn't help but breathe a sigh of relief. It seemed they hadn't become so fanatical as to lose their minds.
But thinking about it, it made sense. Since these people were protecting missionaries preaching in Rus', they should have long known what to do and what not to do.
"These people going to Kiev at this time… Forget it, maybe I'm overthinking."
After the pilgrim procession passed, Captain of the Guard Granval muttered, and Rostislav happened to overhear him.
"Granval, is there something wrong with those people?"
The Prince asked. Although Kievan Rus' was now an Orthodox Christian state, paganism could still openly exist. Rostislav had also seen pilgrims carrying pagan idols in Kiev, but those people were much more civilized than the ones who had just passed.
So, it wasn't strange for pilgrims from outside to go to Kiev, though it was rare, it still happened. After all, there were always rural sorcerers who wanted to go to Kiev and contend with Christian faith.
"I was overthinking, my Prince."
Gvaran did not voice his thoughts, as he himself felt he was being too speculative. pagan activities were normal; what was there to be surprised about?
Rostislav glanced at him. Since the Captain of the Guard said so, he wouldn't press the matter.