"So, you received a report about the existence of this warehouse, came to investigate, and then encountered an attack from these people?"
By then, the Prince and the captain had walked out of the warehouse, discussing how they discovered it.
Rostislav primarily came out because he disliked being in the warehouse, which was filled with too much oil-soaked firewood.
Just one spark and the entire warehouse would ignite instantly, leaving no escape, only to be burned alive inside.
As Rostislav spoke, he pointed at the corpses; there were no Magyar soldiers here, indicating the Magyars had massacred these people, and the pagan guards had no resistance.
"After we opened the door, this group rushed out, but unfortunately, they were just serving themselves up to us. These rioters didn't realize they couldn't withstand our swords, and we didn't even lose a single person."
The captain's words carried a sense of self-satisfaction; it was indeed something to be proud of, eliminating so many people without any casualties on their side.
Especially for him, a leisurely captain who rarely had opportunities to distinguish himself, now that an opportunity had presented itself, he would probably boast about this endlessly.
"I see, thank you, Captain. Now, please attend to your duties."
Rostislav thanked the captain and discreetly slipped a silver coin into his hand.
The man accepted it tacitly, a fleeting ambiguous smile appearing on his face before he returned to normal.
As Rostislav pondered, he walked over to his retinue, his mind filled with questions.
After the initial joy of uncovering the conspiracy faded, doubts arose; no matter what, it all seemed too easy.
Yes, too easy—that was precisely why Rostislav became suspicious.
He had found nothing for days, yet suddenly, such a large warehouse was exposed to them. It was strange no matter how he thought about it.
Moreover, the Moscow Prince had carefully examined the corpses; they were all mere farmers.
Although the pagan insignia on their bodies indicated their identity, that was all; it proved nothing else.
Rostislav believed these people were merely pitiful cannon fodder thrown out; there wasn't a single reliable warrior among them.
And what about Zhe'erji? If this was where he stored the kindling, why was he nowhere to be seen?
Given his lack of progress these past days, those people didn't seem like crude operators; otherwise, he would have found them long ago, instead of learning about this warehouse through a report.
But if they did this on purpose, then what was their motive?
"Meshko, suppose—and remember, I said suppose—all of this before us was intentional on the part of those pagans. What do you think they would gain by doing this?"
Meshko clearly hadn't expected Rostislav to ask him such a question; the Polish Knight visibly paused before beginning to answer.
"What do they want to do? I really can't think of anything."
Meshko rubbed his head in distress; he was skilled in battle but not in thinking. If he were good at handling such matters, he wouldn't have caused such chaos in his Northeast Rus' fief, taking several years to resolve the issues in his territory.
"Yes, what do they want to do?"
Rostislav wasn't dissatisfied with his answer; instead, he continued to chew on the sentence, as if savoring it.
The Moscow Prince felt that if he could just figure out this question, he would know what the pagans intended.
"Hmm? Prince Rostislav, look over there, that's Siczech. Why is he bringing people over too?"
As Rostislav was deep in thought, Meshko noticed a troop of Polish Knights approaching from the other end of the street, led by someone he recognized: Siczech, an important nobleman from Poland.
"What else could it be for? Of course, it's for these incendiary materials. Everyone in the city is concerned about this, and I estimate others have also sent people… Wait!"
Rostislav suddenly realized something, and he was surrounded by gazes drawn by his sudden shout; everyone wondered why the Prince had suddenly yelled.
"Damn it, this is to attract our attention and forces! This is a trap! This is a damned trap!"
Rostislav understood, he completely understood. Damn it, this was bait thrown out, and they had all taken the hook!
This warehouse was entirely bait, bait to lure them in.
Just as the Moscow Prince realized this, the warehouse suddenly burst into flames, the fire soaring into the sky, eliciting a chorus of gasps, followed by panicked cries from many—many people were still inside that warehouse!
Watching the flames, Rostislav's expression grew even worse; no matter how they started this fire, they had fallen for it!
— — — — — — — —
Just a minute ago, as Rostislav realized this was a diversion, a Magyar soldier inside the warehouse lit his torch.
At first, the man's face was etched with tension, but as he acted, that tension transformed into fanaticism, the fanaticism of a martyr.
Seeing the sudden appearance of the torch, everyone grew tense, with curses like "Damn it, what are you doing? Do you want to die?" echoing endlessly.
They were currently in a warehouse full of kindling; just a spark would ignite the entire place. Was this man trying to drag everyone down with him?
But the man merely showed a smile, a somewhat frightening smile, then he threw the torch into the firewood soaked with flammable oils.
Everything that followed was like magic; in that instant, the entire warehouse was consumed by flames, like a galloping wild horse. Those inside the warehouse found themselves in a sea of fire in the blink of an eye.
Many were directly engulfed by the flames, emitting inhuman screams so terrifying and chilling that it was hard to imagine the suffering of those set ablaze.
As for those still clinging to life, their faces were filled with fear as they faced the flames consuming them from all sides.
But they could do nothing about it, because the exit was consumed by flames in the very first moment, making escape impossible.
The soldier who started it all now had a serene expression; he calmly walked into the flames, letting them consume him.
— — — — — — — —
Back outside, the moment the flames consumed the warehouse, people first panicked; the populace scattered and fled, as the flames were spreading towards nearby houses.
After the initial panic, the soldiers immediately began to extinguish the fire, scurrying around like headless chickens in search of water.
The Poles who had just arrived also didn't hesitate upon seeing this scene, immediately joining the firefighting efforts.
Rostislav's subordinates wanted to help, but they were all stopped by their Prince. The Moscow Prince gravely looked at the burning warehouse, then scanned his surroundings, as if searching for something.
"Prince Rostislav, what exactly are we waiting for?"
Those who wanted to help fight the fire but were stopped all asked, not understanding Rostislav's actions. What was he doing by holding them back? Wasn't there a fire over there?
However, they still carried out the Prince's orders; Rostislav's authority in everyone's hearts had always been unshakable.
"Look over there."
Rostislav pointed to the end of the street, only to find a house there suddenly bursting into flames, followed by nearby residents scattering in panic. Further away, continuous gasps and screams could be heard, indicating that similar scenes were occurring elsewhere in the city.
"This…"
Meshko looked at Rostislav, completely bewildered as to why things had suddenly turned out this way.
"Today seems like it will be a very hot day. If I'm not mistaken, many places in this city have caught fire. We've completely fallen into their trap."
Rostislav bit his thumb, easing his inner tension; the current situation was truly dire…