Mount & Blade: Rebuilding Rome from Mercenaries

In the late autumn of 1052, in the Count's Domain of Aversa, southern Italy.

Lu Yuan woke up slowly in a deserted camp, struggling to get up from the musty straw and tattered blankets.

"It stinks! It stinks so bad!"

The stench of decaying grass, horse manure, cooking fumes, and human sweat mingled together, assaulting his nostrils. This was Lu Yuan's first impression of this unfamiliar world.

He forced himself to stay awake and looked around, finding himself in a dimly lit, cramped tent. The only light seeped in through the cracks, illuminating the dust motes floating in the air. Beside him were several rolls of parchment and a well-worn prayer book, while in the corner lay a dusty battle axe, spear, and shield.

"Oh, little Tank Red, you're finally awake!"

Seemingly hearing Lu Yuan get up, a middle-aged man with a weathered face lifted the tent flap and stepped in. He had a hideous scar across his face, wore patched chainmail, and had a faded cloak draped over his shoulders.

"My dear nephew, the deadline is the day after tomorrow!"

"If we fail to complete another commissioned task, the Earl's officials will formally disqualify us from being mercenaries. At that point, our group will be considered illegal armed thugs."

"Furthermore, I must remind you again that you also inherit a large debt your father owed to that Jewish merchant, and the repayment deadline is fast approaching!"

Seeing Lu Yuan's blank expression, the middle-aged man shook his head in exasperation.

What's going on here?

Everything before him left Lu Yuan completely bewildered.

Last night he was still engrossed in conquering all sides in the CK3 mod that combined Mount & Blade II, but when he woke up, he found himself in a completely unfamiliar scene.

What's even stranger is that the middle-aged man with the ferocious face but kind expression just now was definitely not speaking Chinese, yet I could understand every single word he said.

Lu Yuan looked down and saw that he was wearing a shirt woven from fine linen, with a well-fitting soft leather armor over it. Every stitch and every texture of the leather was terrifyingly realistic.

He instinctively reached out and grasped the silver cross hanging on his chest, the cold metallic touch spreading from his fingertips.

All the signs point to one unmistakable fact—

"I've time-traveled!"

The moment he realized he had transmigrated, a flood of memories that were not his own rushed into Lu Yuan's mind like a burst dam.

Just as Lu Yuan had guessed, he had indeed traveled through time.

It is now 1052 AD, the early Middle Ages, and he is in southern Italy.

The original owner of this body was named Tancrède de Conteville, eighteen years old, the only son of a Norman mercenary captain. However, unlike his father, the original owner loved poetry, literature, and theology, but had no interest in the life of a mercenary.

His mother died early, and he only had an older brother, John, who was Tankred's uncle. His father, Old Tankred, was a well-known mercenary captain, but not long ago, he was caught red-handed while sneaking into a village to steal cattle and was stabbed to death by angry villagers with pitchforks.

The mercenary group's second-in-command seized the opportunity to usurp the position of leader and expelled the original leader from the group. In the end, only a small number of mercenaries who remained loyal to Old Tankred chose to continue following him.

What a disastrous start!

As a veteran player with thousands of hours of CK3 experience, Lu Yuan knew exactly how terrible the situation was in southern Italy at that time.

The Byzantine Empire, the Papal States, the Holy Roman Empire, Lombard lords, and Norman mercenaries—so many powerful forces were physically clashing in southern Italy. Meanwhile, Arabs established the Emirate of Sicily on the island of Sicily, and these Muslims would occasionally cross the sea to plunder and pillage the wealthy southern Italy.

A nationwide battle royale competition is in full swing, with war and killing as common as drinking water, and no one knows if they will see the sun rise tomorrow.

Worst of all, as the original owner's uncle, Old John, said, because the original owner's father's mercenary group was usurped, their current remnants are not legally qualified to be mercenaries.

While the medieval world was as "simple" as Gotham City, it was not a lawless place. Especially in southern Italy, due to the "glorious deeds" of the Norman ancestors, the local nobles paid more attention to the possession of weapons and armor by civilians.

To become a recognized mercenary, one must register with the noble lords. Only by completing a commissioned task and proving one's ability and worth to a lord can one become a registered mercenary on the military register and legally possess weapons. Otherwise, one will be labeled an armed thug, and everyone has the right to kill him.

As for laying down arms and returning to civilian life?

Please, stop joking!

At this time in Southern Italy, various forces took turns appearing, carrying out round after round of "sustainable exploitation" of this land. In the eyes of those noble lords, commoners were nothing more than one crop of leeks after another.

Moreover, Tancred owed Jewish merchants a large sum of money. If he didn't have a suitable weapon to rely on, he would probably only be devoured alive by those ruthless Jewish merchants.

"Lay down your weapons, and you're just waiting to die!"

After gradually accepting the fact that he had traveled to another world, Tancred realized that he had to complete a commissioned task as soon as possible to give the surviving mercenary group legal status so that they could better survive in this chaotic era.

But that damned original owner!

Why did you, a perfectly good Norman, become a poet?

Where is your Viking bloodline?

(The Normans were a people formed during the Vikings' expansion in Western Europe by the fusion of Vikings who settled in the Duchy of Normandy in France with the Franks and Gallo-Romans.)

"There's no future in following the path of a literary giant in the Middle Ages; all I can rely on is my warhorse and my spear!"

Tancred looked at the few dusty weapons in the corner of the tent, sighed heavily, and helplessly got up to wipe the dust off. The cold, rough touch of the metal gave him a little peace of mind.

"Oh, my little Tank Red, have you finally changed your mind and decided to become a real mercenary?"

As Tancred walked toward the dusty weapons, Old John's surprised yet gratified voice came from behind: "The way you look today reminds me of the day I left Conteville with your father..."

From old John's rambling recollections, Tankred learned about the deeds of his adoptive father, old Tankred.

The Conteville family, from which Elder Tancred descent originated, was a prominent Viking family during the Viking Age. After following the great pirate Rollo into France, the family migrated from Northern Europe to Normandy in northwestern France nearly a century ago. However, after several generations, the Conteville family had grown considerably, and Elder Tancred was not the head of the main branch of the family. Therefore, he followed the trend of the Normans at the time and went to Italy to work as a mercenary and establish his career.

"I still remember my first time on the battlefield. We were all terrified, but your father, wielding this Viking battle axe, beheaded the Greek leader like Thor. Oh my god, that was twenty years ago!"

"But Uncle John," Tancred said somewhat uncertainly, thinking of the original owner's body, which had never received professional training, "I've wasted too much time. Do I still have a chance to become a qualified soldier?"

"Don't think like that, little Tanker," old John said earnestly, patting Tanker on the shoulder. "Your father looked ordinary when he was young, but he was a completely different person on the battlefield. Your Conteville family is born with the blood of warriors!"

"And doesn't the Bible say, 'Now is the time of acceptance! Now is the day of salvation'? It's never too late to turn back; change is a good thing!"

Is change always a good thing?

Tankred's fingers unconsciously traced the surface of the kite-shaped shield in the corner.

The white mink fur base is adorned with a serrated red shield (d'hermines au chef dentelé de gueules), the emblem of the Conteville family.

The instant his fingertip touched the pattern, Tancred suddenly saw a blur before his eyes, and a line of text appeared in his mind without warning.

"Ding, system loading complete."

Then a semi-transparent panel appeared before his eyes.

Name: Tancredi de Conteville

Level: lv1 (0/10)

Vitality: 1

Control: 1

Physical condition: 8

Knowledge: 14

Social: 4

Available attribute points: 0

Prestige: -150 (Disgraceful)

Piety: 50 (obedient and dutiful)

Skill proficiency:

One-handed weapons 10, Two-handed weapons 0, Polearms 10, Bow and arrow 0, Crossbow 10, Throwing 0, Horsemanship 20, Stamina 20, Iron Bones (durability) 20, Theology 100, Engineering 100, Medicine 100, Charisma 10, Leadership 10, Negotiation 10

Traits:

[Insightful Thinker] (Upgradeable): Knowledge +4, Theology +20, Charisma +10

[Hercules] (Innate): Constitution +8, Iron Bones +20, Endurance +20

Tankred was secretly pleased after quickly glancing at his own panel.

After all, we have the legendary system, so what's there to be afraid of?

However, these attributes seem a bit weak!