kingdom of nations

Chapter 348 What good is mercy?
César, however, was able to understand Frederick I's thoughts.

Frederick I was an arrogant and conceited man, but it's not surprising, as there was almost nothing of nobility in his blood—he was born into a hereditary count family in Swabia, which was the original home of the Hohenstaufen family—which later rose to prominence through marriage with the royal family.

His father's early death did not lead to the decline of the family; instead, it highlighted the young Frederick's military talent and tenacious will. At the age of twenty-five, Frederick became Duke of Swabia, and at thirty, he became King of Germany, was crowned King of the Roman People of the Hohenstaufen dynasty, and was subsequently crowned Holy Roman Emperor of Germany.

In this holy war, he set out from Sicily, crossed the entire Anatolian peninsula, and arrived at Arrassa. He not only encountered no obstacles or contempt, but even defeated the Turkic Sultan Arslan II. Even though Arslan II was an old man, he could not change the glorious record of the Holy Roman Emperor who had once conquered his capital and plundered it.

Such a record not only ensured that his soul could ascend to heaven, but also made it difficult for the Roman Catholic Church to criticize his actions while he was still alive. After all, compared to Conrad III and Louis VII, who returned empty-handed during the Second Crusade, his prominence was unparalleled.

But such glory dimmed upon arriving in Arathi Basin. If the king of Arathi Basin—that young fellow—had only a crown and no real achievements, Frederick I might even have wanted to compete with him for the position of Crusader Commander.

Unfortunately, despite his young age, even younger than his son Henry, he had already achieved several miraculous victories.

For example, he led a few hundred men to storm Nur ad-Din's camp of tens of thousands, and in the battle captured Sultan Nur ad-Din, the great thorn in the side of the Christians and the light of faith of the Saracens.

For example, after receiving a plea for help from the Byzantine Emperor Manuel I, they defeated the Turkic Sultan Arslan II on an unfamiliar battlefield (yes, the same person defeated by Frederick I), forcing him to sign a peace treaty. Although they did not enter his capital, they received Mersin and Cyprus as rewards.

Not long ago, he led the combined forces of Antioch, Tripoli, and Arazari to defeat another Christian enemy, Saladin, and captured Damascus.

Although the fall of Damascus and the subsequent policy of leniency led many to speculate whether it was another untold peace. However, for others, the ability to capture a city without bloodshed further proved the bravery and benevolence of King Baldwin IV of Arathi Basin. After all, while an invincible Caesar was the ideal, a benevolent ruler like Antony Pius (one of the Five Good Emperors of Rome, known for his humility in maintaining peace) could also earn the respect and love of the people.

Even though Frederick I received sufficient respect in Arrassa, this disparity still left him with a sense of resentment. Moreover, he was older than Amalric I, almost old enough to be Baldwin's grandfather, and had spent decades in military campaigns. When facing younger people, he always wanted to adopt the demeanor of an elder.

Because of his previous victories, he couldn't help but feel some contempt for those Saracens.

He sent his son, Henry the Younger, as an envoy not because he didn't love his son, but because he believed that once they knew the other party was Frederick I's son and heir, they would certainly not dare to treat him lightly.

For Henry Jr., this was also a remarkable achievement.

But neither Baldwin nor Cesar thought so. Of course, there was also Richard, who had participated in the holy war to Egypt and witnessed how Bilesby was reduced to ruins in the fire. Amalric I could have become the undisputed victor through this expedition, but he failed and ended up being ridiculed.

Moreover, he didn't die on the battlefield at the hands of an evenly matched opponent, but rather from the machinations of a despicable and shameless villain, which is truly regrettable. However, it also illustrates that you should never place your hopes on the enemy's morality or preferences.

Moreover, judging from Ibn's behavior, he was not a person of high moral character, integrity, or tolerance.

If how he dealt with prisoners was his own business, then his harsh treatment of his chaste wife, simply because he felt her reputation might surpass his own, reveals how narrow-minded he was.

Now that his wife and most important hostage have escaped his control, and with his search proving fruitless, he must be burning with rage. The envoy who is to negotiate with him will inevitably be the first target. Frederick I's decision was indeed somewhat unwise.

Philip II stood silently to the side the whole time, but when he saw César, his eyes lit up. Richard's contempt for him was not without reason, but he knew very well that he was at a disadvantage in terms of strength and favor, especially when facing these two behemoths. If they argued and lost their temper, they could easily beat him black and blue with a single wave of their hands...

Keep in mind that Philip II is now roughly equivalent to 0.5 Lorenz... and probably needs some extras...

He had even considered going outside to avoid the noise when he felt the tent trembling from their roars, but now there was no need.

Philip II breathed a sigh of relief, and then saw César walk between Frederick I and Richard. Frederick I had, of course, heard about this young man—although initially only from unfavorable rumors. Now, having seen him with his own eyes and heard from him firsthand, and after interacting with the young man, Frederick I immediately changed his mind.

In any case, as a servant and subject, César truly lived up to the highest standards.

“There’s nothing to argue about,” César said. “If we’re going to send an envoy to Damascus, who else but me?” Baldwin frowned at this, and Richard immediately objected: “Why take the risk? If they really want to beg for mercy, they can open the gates now, kneel down, and respectfully invite us in.”

Since they haven't sent any, it means they've decided to fight us to the death. Sending any messenger—even their prophet—won't change anything.

Richard was right, but César had his own ideas. "There are still about four or five thousand Christians in the city," he whispered. "Ibn has decided to kill them all when the war begins. I want to try and see if I can rescue them."

An expression of disbelief appeared on Frederick I's face.

If you ask me, which monarch in Europe hasn't had a reputation for benevolence? Even if the cardinals in his territory and the Pope in Rome hate him to the core, they still have to shower him with compliments when they see him.

Those heads bowed before him dared not utter a sound that would displease him, and the nobles and officials he encountered mostly used benevolence to portray themselves and build a good reputation, but their ultimate goal was to seize power, or to gain the favor of a noblewoman, or even further—to ascend to heaven.

But Frederick I saw no benefit in Cesare's actions.

“I have my reasons for doing this,” Cesar explained patiently. “Perhaps you don’t know that I once saved Saladin’s sister outside Damascus, who was also the wife of Ibn, the governor of Homs.” He even blushed slightly as he said this, after all, the instigator was also a Crusader knight. Although he could be considered a black sheep, it was an undeniable fact that he had been indulged.

Moreover, for Cesare, he was not only rescuing an innocent woman, but also a newly signed, still-wet contract. If Saladin's sister were to suffer an accident on their territory, Saladin would have to go to war with him immediately, whether he liked it or not. Otherwise, not only would future generals and people be affected, but even his current subjects would desert him.

In the Saracen world, a woman's chastity was entirely equivalent to the honor of her male relatives, an honor worth sacrificing her life for, and her father, husband, and brothers were all obliged to thank Cesar.

This is also reflected in Christian culture. For example, William Marshall, during the war between Richard and his father, King Henry II of England, resolutely sided with Richard because he had received favors from Queen Eleanor, which greatly angered Henry II.

Even so, he never stripped William Marshall of the official positions and titles that had been bestowed upon him.

The Saracens, on the other hand, place greater emphasis on gratitude and reciprocation, which may be related to their past as a nomadic people living in the vast wilderness and deserts. If ingratitude and betrayal were encouraged, this ethnic group would likely have wiped out itself before the Christians even arrived.

“I might be rejected, or I might be expelled. But at least my life is safe.” Cesar wasn’t wrong, but Richard’s face still showed some resentment. “They’re just civilians,” he muttered, knowing he couldn’t change Cesar’s mind.

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Ibn was certainly not happy; Emina's rejection and escape were undoubtedly a slap in the face to him.

He did not doubt Emina's loyalty (but that did not stop him from making a big deal out of it). After all, for Emina, the best option at the time was to stay by Saladin's side and wait for things to settle down. Even if Saladin cut off Ibn's head, Emina, as the Sultan's sister, could still get a satisfactory marriage, and her children could be properly taken care of. The only one who might suffer was Ibn.

But she returned to Holmes despite Saladin's objections.

But Ibn was not satisfied with this; he wanted more. Enraged by Emina's rejection, he declared that he would punish her and Saladin for her infidelity.

But that was just intimidation; he wouldn't actually do it. After all, it would be a disgrace to him. What bothered him, however, was that he vaguely sensed that Emina's escape wasn't just out of fear of death, but more likely out of... disgust for him.

How terrible it is for a wife to hate her husband, yet it actually happened to me.

What made it even harder for him to talk about was that Emina's love for him and her current hatred, or more accurately, her contempt, were both real and genuine, without a trace of falsehood.

Emina abandoned her honor as the Sultan's sister to return to him because she loved him. But upon discovering his incompetence and hypocrisy, she left without hesitation, just as resolutely as when she returned, leaving him inexplicably dejected.

He no longer even summoned women to serve him, for he feared seeing in their eyes the same indifference and mockery as Emina's.

But the problem is as César said. When Emina was attacked outside Damascus, although the sinner was also a Christian knight, the one who saved him was also a Christian knight—they even sent troops to escort Emina for a part of the journey.

In any case, Ibn had already acknowledged Cesar as his benefactor, and he had even given them gifts; now it was too late for him to regret it.

But then he thought, what trouble could a mere messenger possibly pose?

He could kill Christians in front of him and humiliate him with their blood and cries.

This wasn't César's first time in Damascus, but this time Damascus was shrouded in a gloomy fog, like a painting stained with ink. The bright patterns on the walls seemed to have faded, and the golden domes of the temples no longer shone so brightly.

Originally a Christian and an enemy of the Saracens, when he led his army into this place, there were still Saracens who dared to watch from afar or hide in their houses and peek through the cracks.

But all he saw now were soldiers: Turks wearing fur hats, Nubians with braids and dark skin, Bedouins or Kurds carrying bows and arrows, and some Saxons who were clearly from northern Europe...

Their military discipline was not strict, or rather, they never had any discipline to begin with. At a glance, Cesar noticed that many of them wore items that were inconsistent with their identity or beliefs.

Some of the soldiers were still draped in brightly colored cloth, the color and texture of which indicated that the original owner must have been a woman (Sarasan men were not allowed to wear silk), not to mention that some of them were stained with blood at the edges—they strung rings around their necks, and necklaces were intertwined and dangling from the edges of their backpacks, which were filled with heavy vessels.

Those once bustling shops, tranquil dwellings, noisy markets, and fruit-laden courtyards are now ruins. Some still retain a mere empty shell, while others have been burned by fire, leaving only charred ashes and the still discernible outlines of beams and supports.

He finally understood the old Saracen's anger. Their anger stemmed more from a lack of understanding—they couldn't understand why they could maintain their lives under the rule of their enemies, but were reduced to lambs to the slaughter in front of their own people.
With nowhere to turn for help and in a state of extreme anxiety, he finally erupted the moment he met Cesar.

The soldiers led César directly to the large square in front of the governor's palace, a square he knew very well. Compared to the outside world, it was like a paradise. The trees were more lush than when he left, and the ground was paved with flawless white marble. The base of the fountain was engraved with scriptures and gilded—although the phrase "An unrestrained tongue and a heart full of negligence and desire are the marks of the unfortunate" seemed rather ironic here.

The soldiers didn't lead them any further; instead, they abandoned them and left on their own. The knights beside Cesare immediately showed anger, but Longinus, standing beside him, showed no sign of it—when he was a wandering knight, he often encountered self-important masters who used this tactic, summoning them only to leave them idle, making them uneasy and constantly questioning whether they had made any mistakes, thus dampening their spirits before negotiations even began.

But what use was this to César? He had once been the master of this place. He merely paused to observe, ignoring the various gazes cast from the darkness, before walking toward the main hall of the governor's palace.

Some people scoffed. Ibn had forgotten, or rather, deliberately forgotten, and those around him dared not remind him that this Christian knight had once sat on the very throne he now occupied.

Everyone was indeed in the hall, and Ibn couldn't ask them to leave. Doing so would be like a child throwing a tantrum, and no matter how shameless Ibn was, he wouldn't do such a thing. Besides, he hoped that Cesar would realize that the city now belonged to the Saracens.

Therefore, when the gates opened, Cesar was greeted by a large gathering of important figures. Sitting in the main seat was undoubtedly Ibn, who was accustomed to this position, and surrounding him were the caliphs, sultans, or emirs' envoys, and even their sons and grandsons.

They worked together to extol Governor Ibn of Homs as the next Beacon of Faith, but their true intentions were to seize their own share of the spoils in the war. The problem was, even if Ibn realized this, he couldn't drive them away. After all, the pressure from this Crusade was unprecedented; without these men, their soldiers, food, and other supplies, he wasn't sure he could hold Damascus.

Ibn hesitated for a moment, then turned his head and picked up a glass of grape juice from the silver tray brought by the servant. He stood up from his seat and walked to Cesar.

“Drink it,” he said.

Cesar made no move to take the cup; he remained silent with a smile, while those around him began to whisper and murmur amongst themselves.

Ibn knew what he was waiting for, and his fingers unconsciously tightened around the golden cup in his hand. "Are you going to refuse my kindness, Christian knight?"

“I don’t mean to refuse your kindness, but it seems that I shouldn’t only receive this much in return.”

The Governor of Holmes stood here as a representative of all the people of Damascus, bestowing this favor. If Cesar accepted his gift and drank the grape juice, then the subsequent negotiations could proceed smoothly.

Whether Ibn agrees or not, their positions are clearly defined, one above the other. But César is obviously sticking to his principles. Ibn holds his cup and remains motionless, and the situation is at a stalemate. Looking at Ibn's twitching lips, Longinus can't help but feel anxious.

But to the others in the hall, the Christian's courage in not praying to his saint under Ibn's fierce gaze was commendable.

I had expected the other man to immediately shout that he had once saved his wife—although everyone knew of this favor, some people would still lose their composure out of fear. But he waited for a long time, until his hands were sore, and Cesar still did not give in.

Some people have already nodded slightly, believing that this Christian knight at least has some praiseworthy qualities.

Although Ibn was furious, he had no choice but to take Cesar's arm and lead him to the magnificent throne, where he sat on his own silk cushion. Ibn then sat down on a low couch that his servants had brought in time, his face ashen. In the Saracen world, the proper etiquette for one's benefactor was to welcome him to the most honored position, and even the Sultan would have to give up his seat.

Now a Christian knight has become the center of attention in the hall, which is almost laughable, but his demeanor is so composed and his eyes so bright that they do not even feel humiliated—except perhaps Ibn.

"You want us to surrender—to hand over Damascus like the cowards before us? That's impossible," Ibn said coldly. "As our prophet said, 'Whatever you want, take it with the sword in your hand.' We are here waiting for you. No matter how many of you come, their corpses will only pile up under the walls of Damascus, unable to advance an inch. Their blood will flow like rivers, attracting crows and wild dogs. They will never be able to return to their homeland. The souls of the dead will only wander and wail in the wilderness day after day."

Christian, you saved my wife and my reputation, and I thank you. Therefore, you can leave Damascus today unharmed, but you may not be so lucky when we meet again on the battlefield. I have sworn to Allah that in this war, I will not forgive any Christian except your king.”

“Then let’s fight,” Cesar replied.

"Countless wars have been fought for gold, women, and land, but we have a far more sublime goal: our faith. We are here fighting for God, and every drop of blood, every piece of flesh, every life is a tribute to Him and a sacrifice."

We are willing to do it, and we will not be afraid of it.

Moreover, to die on the battlefield, head resting on a shield, body covered in armor, in a glorious and exhilarating battle, is perhaps the long-cherished wish of knights. And I believe that the God we worship will never allow our souls to fall into hell; He will surely rescue us, just as His Son did a thousand years ago.”

Ibn sneered, “It seems we all share the same idea. Very well, Christian. So what else do you want? This is your last chance, before you step out of the gates of Damascus.”

"How many Christians are left in the city?" "Two thousand three hundred and sixty-seven."

Cesar's expression froze slightly. Ibn had answered the number of Christians so easily. Clearly, he had counted them all and was just waiting to kill them all when the war started. Moreover, as far as he knew, there should have been four or five thousand Christians in Damascus before. Even if they hadn't all been captured and a few had escaped, the number couldn't be so disparate. It could only mean that Ibn had already killed some of them before.

His mood grew increasingly heavy.

“I want to buy them out.”

“No way.” Iben said without hesitation, but to his surprise, Cesar didn’t show any sign of frustration. He stood up and looked around, his gaze sweeping over each face, “Basti… Kotyak… Mistislav… Ryazan… Kubududin… Ajis…”

He called out each person's name, and those whose names were called all looked surprised, for the other party had accurately named them. They all knew that there were spies among the Christians in the city, but to be able to name them so clearly was extremely embarrassing. This meant that Ibn's control over the city was not as thorough and complete as he claimed. Ibn was furious. He jumped up from the low couch, gritted his teeth, and glared at Cesar.

“I am happy to see that you have so many friends, Governor of Holmes,” Cesar said coldly. Here, he did not need to use a respectful title—after all, in terms of status, he should be higher than Ibn, since Ibn had not yet become a sultan, and he was not even a great emir.

"First, I want to thank you for telling me the number of Christians, so I can calculate their ransom based on that number."

“I told you, I won’t let you redeem them.”

“I’m not talking about gold, but about life,” Cesar said calmly, his voice echoing in the hall, unhurried yet full of power. “As far as I know, everyone loves to swear oaths, but I rarely utter them.”

Because I have always believed that an honest man should keep every word he speaks, but here I swear an oath. Governor of Holmes and all those present, I cannot count how many innocent lives have been lost in the past, but from this moment on, these two thousand three hundred and sixty-seven lives hang around your necks; they are a noose, and the end is in my hand.”

As soon as these words were spoken, they caused a great uproar. Some hot-tempered generals and chieftains even drew their scimitars and waved them threateningly in the air. Some even stepped forward and challenged Cesar to a duel.

Cesar simply kept quiet, waiting for them to quiet down on their own. Such indifference was more intimidating than shouting. Cesar waited until all the surrounding noise subsided before continuing, "I cannot know their whereabouts, and I cannot take them all out of Damascus by myself."

But after we take Damascus, I will keep count, whether they died in the fighting, were caught in the crossfire, or, as you say, were used to intimidate us. He looked at Ibn, “But whatever the reason, even if they just died of illness, starvation, or fear, I will count them against you.”

Every life must be paid for with an equal price. Begin with you, then your families, your relatives, and your soldiers, until that number is reached.”

When someone realized what Cesar had said, he instinctively laughed, "Hahaha, ha, ha, ha..." But he immediately realized that his laughter was a bit monotonous, and it seemed that no one was echoing him.

He was somewhat puzzled. He was Arjis, one of the sons and grandsons sent by the Sultan of Khwarazm. The Sultan had hundreds, if not thousands, of sons and grandsons, but these two were the least valued—the Sultan had sent them only to probe the true state of the Syrian region. After all, Nur ad-Din, whom they feared, was dead. If the Saracens and the Crusaders were to fight to a standstill, the Sultan of Khwarazm would also develop a desire to expand his territory.

Since arriving in Damascus, few people have mentioned the Christian knight from before, which is not a good thing. Unless they want to deliberately provoke Ibn, few people will talk about this young man. They don't know César, and of course they don't know his past deeds.

“I know your names and I remember your faces. I will keep searching for you,” Cesar said in a calm yet chilling voice. “I am only twenty-four years old today. If it weren’t for God’s calling, I would have stayed here for a long time until the last account in my ledger was closed. Otherwise, I would never stop this work. It may take some time, but I think I can do it.”

The Khwarazmian envoy found it impossible, but something in Cesare's words sent a chill down his spine. He couldn't understand: "They were just civilians. Could it be that your beloved woman was among them?"

“I love all Christians, or rather, I love all innocent people, whether they are men, women, old or young,” César said. In fact, everyone present knew that what he said was not empty words. If his seven days of mourning in Cyprus proved that he was not a coward, timid, or hesitant person, then his decision to remain in Bethlehem, ravaged by plague, and even incurred punishment from the Church, nearly being expelled from the Christian community, also demonstrated his deep concern for ordinary people.

Could these civilians be used to force him to make some concessions? Ibn quickly dismissed this idea; although the other party was kind, he was definitely not a fool.

But to say that so many people in the hall simply accepted his extortion would be incredibly shameful for anyone.

In the midst of this silence, a crisp tinkling sound broke the silence.

Some people looked down in displeasure and discovered that the "clang" came from a crossbow bolt—it was unclear who had managed to bring the crossbow into the hall, or perhaps they had ordered the guards outside to bring it in while César was speaking. In any case, the bolt wasn't aimed directly at César, perhaps because he was worried about displeasing Ibn.

Regardless, Cesar still held the title of benefactor, but the crossbow bolt was shot at Longinus behind him. Although the knight seemed ordinary, he was always by Cesar's side and was clearly a highly regarded knight.

It would be ridiculous if César were to spout nonsense while watching his servants die a wretched death—they would not only drive him out of here, but also strip him of his armor, confiscate his horse, and make him walk barefoot out of Damascus like a criminal, only because he had once saved the wife of Ibn, the governor of Homs.

But just as the legend says, a holy white light suddenly appeared, and the dark, thin servant behind Cesar stood straight without even closing his eyes. His arrogant attitude made the person who shot the crossbow look like a clown.

Not only that, before anyone could react, Longinus flicked his toe, picked up the crossbow bolt, grabbed it in his hand, and then, catching everyone off guard, casually flung it out, accurately hitting the assassin in the throat.

"I wonder if betraying one's benefactor is one of the virtues of the Saracens."

After he finished speaking sarcastically, he took a step back and continued to act as the submissive servant.

Throughout the entire process, even though some people knelt down and prayed for the prophet's revelation, they still could not stop this swift retribution.

“My revenge will be no slower than a crossbow bolt,” Cesar said, walking toward the door. The hall was large, but he walked quickly. “I will pursue you wherever you flee, whether it is India, Iceland, or Egypt.”

Wherever you go, my army will follow. I care not about time, energy, or the price to pay. You will be on the run day and night, unable to sleep, homeless, and hungry. Your relatives, your friends, and your descendants will suffer the same fate. When you walk the streets, people will avoid you as if you were a swarm of troublesome insects. You will be unable to do business or serve in the army. Your titles, territories, and soldiers will be worthless before me. I will use every means to bring peace to the wronged souls here.

Yes, gentlemen, I am paying with my own lives; this is the oath I swore, and I hope you will not try. But if you do try, then I will have fulfilled my oath.”

The distance from the governor's throne to the gate was about a hundred paces, and those hundred paces felt both short and long. Everyone was thinking intensely in their hearts. Some were skeptical, but what if he really did it? Would his reputation only spread among commoners and slaves?
Of course not, but accepting such intimidation was indeed a difficult thing for them. They kept looking at Ibn, as if to see what decision he would make. Would Ibn be afraid? Would Ibn hesitate? After all, it was he who first proposed killing all the Christians.

If Cesare had known nothing about Ibn, he might not have resorted to such drastic measures. But from Laila, he knew that Ibn was not a ruthless leader like Saladin, worthy of admiration and obedience. On the contrary, like many sultans or caliphs of the time, he was pushed into the position by those with ulterior motives. He himself did not possess any outstanding talent, and his acquisition of Damascus was entirely Raymond's own doing.

But he wasn't sure if Ibn would agree, but at least Cesar had done what he could—after all, no one could predict what a madman would do, whether to him or to Ibn.

He waited quietly, certain that the vow he had made would be fulfilled.

The gate opened, then slammed shut again at Ibn's command. All that could be heard inside were arguments, threats, curses, promises, and even haggling.

The last thing the guards outside knew was that the 2,367 Christians had been released from the ruins where they had been imprisoned for months. Driven by soldiers, they wept bitterly and staggered toward their doom—or so they thought. Neither Ibn nor their guards concealed their malice; they only hoped that their death would not be too painful and that they could die together.

That way, they might still be able to hold hands when they go to heaven.

But then they saw the flag, the red flag—which had briefly flown over the walls of Damascus before being hastily removed and replaced by another flag, followed by countless chaos and slaughter.

A sudden wail rang out from the crowd, then abruptly stopped.

A knight carrying a flag dismounted and approached them, loudly announcing that they had been redeemed and that all they had to do now was leave Damascus with their redeemer.

They can survive as long as they leave Damascus.

As they walked onto the wide main street, the gazes cast upon them from all directions sent chills down their spines—those were the very soldiers who had ravaged Damascus, coming from all corners of the country, yet sharing the same ethos—to act like beasts rather than human beings.

They once held the power of life and death over the city's residents, and could arbitrarily humiliate, rob, and beat them.

The Christians dared not look anywhere else, their eyes fixed on the raised flag, which they saw as brighter and more dazzling than anything else.

Cesar carefully maintained Castor's speed. Although the adults in the hall had agreed to his conditions—of course, they would never admit it was because of Cesar's threat—they had also made a pact that if they were unfortunately captured by Cesar in the subsequent battle, Cesar would release them free of charge.

If they were taken prisoner by others, Cesar would pay the ransom on their behalf and allow them to leave with their own servants.

César had already agreed to all of this, and he knew that some people would probably laugh at his so-called mercy, thinking that it was a foolish thing for him to repeatedly waste his favor and money on these useless commoners.

In this chaotic world, where are there no lives, as insignificant as blades of grass, not burned by fire, swept away by gales, or swallowed by swamps? He was able to save more than two thousand people; could he possibly continue to save more?

can.

Cesar could answer them that he could, no matter how others mocked, scorned, or thought his efforts were futile—he would continue. This was fundamental to him as a human being, and even more so because without Amalric I, without Baldwin, without Heraclius, without Dean John… and being merely an ugly, or rather, ordinary mortal, he would simply be one of the masses.

When he became a Saracen slave or a captive of a Christian knight, wouldn't he have hoped that someone would come to save them?
Every life is precious, regardless of their beliefs or other external possessions, since everything can be taken away. When you are one of the masses, you should realize that saving others is saving yourself.

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Amy walked forward with difficulty. People like them, who could become corpses at any moment, could not keep any property. To prevent them from hiding anything, they were stripped down to their underwear before being thrown into prison. The women were humiliated, and the men were whipped or subjected to other punishments. In addition, food was scarce in the city, and they had not eaten or drunk anything for several days. But the desire to live still made them persevere and struggle forward.

Amy's feet touched the ground; her shoes and socks had been taken away. She had been a merchant's wife and had never suffered such hardship. Her feet were soft and tender, but now every step felt like countless awls piercing the soles of her feet.

She didn't dare look at her feet. Instead, she held her "eldest daughter" with one hand and her "youngest son" with the other, with another child on her back. People said it was a miracle that she could keep so many children alive in such circumstances.

Only Amy knew that, apart from the one on her back, the other two children belonged to other people. The older girl was someone she had found in the ruins, and the younger son was someone entrusted to her by another woman—that woman was already dead, but Amy had to be grateful to her because she had fed Amy's son when Amy was suffering from thirst and had no milk.

In the prison, many people gave up their own hidden food so that the two children could survive. Although they said they were about to die and there was no point in keeping the food, some selfish people would swallow everything before they died, just to survive for a little while longer.

Amy also swore an oath to them. If she lived, or if these children were to get out alive, she would hold an atonement mass for them, knowing that there were no Christian priests among those imprisoned with them; they were all found and killed by Ibn immediately.

Therefore, when people leave this world, they can only pray to the Christians around them, filled with fear that they will not be able to ascend to heaven.

But according to Amy, their last shred of kindness had already atoned for all their past sins. With her promise, those people felt much more at ease, and Amy recorded their names one by one in her long underwear, writing them in blood by biting her finger when she had no pen.

At the same time, these letters are like a brand on her soul, and she will never forget them no matter what.

Just as people could see the gates of Damascus in the distance, her knee was suddenly bumped by something. She thought it was her youngest son who couldn't walk, but when she looked down, she saw a girl who was only two or three years old. She stared intently at Amy with her big brown eyes.

Amy was taken aback. She looked up and saw a Saracen woman she didn't recognize pulling up her headscarf and hurriedly running away. But in that instant, she was caught.

For a moment, Amy felt that she hadn't revealed her whereabouts unintentionally, but deliberately. Undoubtedly, she immediately attracted the soldiers' attention; they rushed towards her, grabbed her, and dragged her into a house. What treatment she would receive afterward was irrelevant; Amy could only vaguely sense that the soldiers' last gaze was upon her.

The woman gritted her teeth, lifted her long undergarment, and covered the girl's face with it, her legs draped over her. She could feel the girl trembling all over. Logically, a child of that age shouldn't understand anything, but she didn't make a sound the entire time and tried her best to keep up with Amy's steps, stumbling forward.

The girl's appearance seemed like a signal; it was as if so many children had appeared out of nowhere—there were so many children in this city.

They were pushed out from all directions, from every corner and shadow, by their relatives or acquaintances. These elders even deliberately made noise to attract the soldiers' attention so that the children could run into the Christian ranks. The oldest among them was only ten years old, and they had already taken on the task of leading children younger than themselves out of danger. Amy even saw a child who was not even as tall as her armpit tumbling out, with one child under each of his elbows and another tightly hugging his knee.

And these two thousand-plus Christians unexpectedly remained united.

They raised their arms or let their hair down, arching their backs to hide the children in the crowd as much as possible. Some soldiers saw them but turned away, perhaps because they still had a conscience. But some soldiers, especially the Turks, rushed forward and tried to drag the children away, but a force enveloped them.

It was Cesare who received the grace from the saint, which protected not only God's knights but also God's people—even those people who had once fought each other in his name.

The soldier was pushed out and fell into a pile of rubble. His friends not only didn't come to his aid, but also laughed. This deterred some people who wanted to take advantage of the situation; they stopped, their expressions uncertain.

At this moment, the knights led by Cesar, including Longinus, summoned their saint and drew their swords.

Then, not only children, but also women and the elderly were pushed out. The soldiers shouted, but dared not approach any further.

The city gate was getting closer and closer. The guards were not from Damascus, but were brought here from Homs. And the warriors who were able to guard the city gate were, of course, the most trusted men of Ibn, the governor of Homs.

But at that moment, he could not meet the Christian knight's gaze. He felt ashamed and fearful. Finally, his lips trembled as he stepped aside. As soon as he stepped out of the gates of Damascus, Cesar saw Baldwin and their banners, white and red, fluttering in the wind.

Baldwin showed no surprise when he saw the person behind Cesar.

The knights behind him—Cesar and his men—quickly surrounded him, forming a steel-and-iron barrier between Damascus and these miserable civilians. Only then did someone burst into tears.

Baldwin silently put his arm around Cesar's shoulder, while Richard, not far away, chimed in, "I was wondering when Cesar would change his bad habits," he sighed, "He's just like those geese eager to settle down, frantically collecting eggs for his home."

Philip II was speechless, while young Henry laughed heartily.

(End of this chapter)