CHAPTER 55: DESERT BANDITS

Chapter 55: Desert Bandits

The sergeants all crowded onto the ramparts, watching the cavalryman gallop past, their eyes filled with envy and jealousy.

"That lucky bastard!"

"I used to herd livestock for a lord too! Later, I’ll go find Knight Hans and try out. I also want to become that... what’s-it-called... winged cavalryman?"

"It’s Winged Hussar!"

"I only just realized Ulm’s horsemanship is actually so good! Look at that shiny armor; it’s practically like a mirror a noblewoman would use."

On the city wall, Marlus silently watched this scene, a somewhat nostalgic expression on his face.

Once upon a time, he too had forged many suits of Winged Hussar armor, each one more exquisite than what this cavalryman wore. But that, after all, was in the past.

Ever since Grand Duke Jagiellon had fallen in battle and he himself had been expelled from the borders of the Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth, he had never seen a Winged Hussar again.

The once-mighty Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth was gone, replaced by a weak nation caught between Tsarist Russia and Prussia, suffering repeated defeats, its territory shrinking year by year.

’Crack—’ A severely weathered wall brick fell to the ground, breaking in two with a snap.

Marlus was astonished to find that the brick had loosened and fallen merely from his "touch." He subconsciously looked around, his gaze meeting Lothar’s.

"I assure you, Milord, I really didn’t use any force."

Lothar forced a smile. "I believe you. This castle indeed needs repairs. For now, it’s just the inner keep, but sooner or later, the outer walls will also be made anew."

’Yeah, right!’ he thought. ’If not for your terrifying strength, equivalent to five ordinary men, who could possibly pull out a wall brick just like that?’

Marlus was silent for a moment, then added in an attempt to remedy the situation, "Milord, I can build a blast furnace for iron smelting today. Then I can begin forging your armor. Although limited by materials and tools, I can only forge you a suit of half-plate armor, I guarantee it will be the most exquisite armor in all of Jerusalem."

"That’s sufficient."

If not for the fact that only "native" system-trained units could use the armor and weapons from the Winged Hussar Barracks at the cost of gold coins, and only one set per person, Lothar would have wanted to exploit this loophole himself.

Because the full armament and combat skills of a Winged Hussar were clearly worth far more than 50 Solidi. Half-plate armor of such quality, at this time, could only be forged by the most skilled craftsmen in Milan, and its quality was no better than that of the Winged Hussars’.

Just then, Ulm had completed a full circuit around Jorgklusburg and galloped towards the castle gate.

"Gather everyone!" Lothar ordered.

"Holy Son, Milord!" As soon as Ulm entered the gate, he leaped off his warhorse and knelt on one knee. "Thank you for the gifts from the Heavenly Father and yourself! You have made me feel the meaning of life anew. I will surely repay your generous bestowal with the sword and spear in my hands!"

Lothar gestured for Ulm to rise, then said, "Everyone, I hope you will not call me ’Holy Son.’ Infidels and evil forces will not sit idly by and watch a Holy Son descend upon the mortal world. They will do everything in their power to stifle, obstruct, and threaten him—just as they did to Jesus."

"Miracles do often accompany me, and perhaps the Heavenly Father does indeed favor me, but please, never call me Holy Son. I am a secular lord, now and in the future! Offer me your loyalty with peace of mind. I guarantee, all loyalty will be rewarded!"

The sergeants immediately cheered.

"Long live our noble, divinely favored lord whom we serve!"

"We are willing to give everything for you, be it blood or bone!"

Lothar turned and returned to the inner keep.

Fringilla stood by the window watching these excited people, saying with some pride, "Look, they revere Milord so much! I guarantee, even if Milord told them to assassinate the Pope right now, they wouldn’t hesitate in the slightest. In my opinion, Milord will soon become a king."

Banu gave her a cold, sidelong glance and let out a soft "heh."

"What are you heh-ing at?" Fringilla frowned, thoroughly displeased.

Banu rarely retorted, but now she did: "Laughing at someone’s unrealistic dream of becoming queen."

***

Two days later, velvet curtains shielded the windows. Lothar was hunched over his desk, his quill pen moving rapidly. He was writing letters.

One was to Count Leopold of Austria, inquiring when he would depart for the Holy Land, including some greetings and concerns about the current situation in the Holy Land.

Of course, this wasn’t the main point. The main point was to seek aid, whether in coin, or talents like bakers, tailors, merchants, and masons who could repair canals, dig wells, and mend city walls.

The second was to Count Werner of Aargau, offering routine greetings and updating him on his current situation.

He knew Count Werner was not wealthy and could hardly spare funds to support him, so he made no mention of Jorgklusburg being a barren place.

The last was to Baron Godfrey. The purpose, again, was to seek aid.

Although his savings were not inconsiderable, he was currently in a state of negative income.

The tax revenue from the nearby six villages was simply insufficient to maintain the large army Lothar planned to organize. It was enough to feed them, but not enough to pay salaries.

Moreover, he also had to pay vassalage tax to his liege lord, Baldwin IV. Though not a large sum, it was still an expense.

’His Majesty King Baldwin probably never intended for me to develop this fief, nor for me to support an army.’ Lothar calculated his accounts, a headache forming.

Baldwin IV likely wanted him to serve as a military officer in Jerusalem, commanding the royal army. But he had no intention of completely following Baldwin IV’s plan.

Although Jorgklusburg wasn’t a good place for farming, lacking special products or commerce, he at least had to build a framework, a system that could operate independently and allow the fief to develop continuously, rather than resorting to ruinous exploitation.

Among the six villages under Jorgklusburg’s jurisdiction, one had a population that was half Zoroastrian. In previous years, they had been heavily taxed. But Lothar didn’t plan to do so, because they were simply too poor; many even had to come to the castle to rent iron farm tools.

Even if he imposed heavy taxes, he wouldn’t collect much money. It was better to treat them well, which would also make them more compliant.

***

Castellan Leonard stood on the steps outside the Lord’s Hall, knocked the dust off his shoes, and straightened his clothes before timidly entering the inner keep.

He surveyed this familiar yet strange inner keep, his grey eyes filled with apprehension and nervousness. Exquisite relief sculptures adorned the walls. The once-narrow prayer room had now been widened into a proper chapel; behind the central cross was a mosaic icon.

Worshipping in such a chapel, wouldn’t the Heavenly Father be more willing to listen?

The entire inner keep seemed much more spacious than before. All the rubbish-like old furniture had been cleared away. But apart from having less furniture, this inner keep was far, far cleaner than before. There were no rats, no dust; even the air carried a hint of fragrance.

"Heavenly Father above!" Castellan Leonard exclaimed repeatedly in amazement.

This was the first time in three days he had summoned the courage to step into this Lord’s Hall, which the people of Jorgklusburg regarded as a sacred place. In their hearts, it was already a place of miracles no less significant than the Church of the Holy Sepulchre in Jerusalem.

He walked all the way to Lothar’s administrative office on the second floor. Seeing Lothar hunched over his desk, writing furiously, Leonard immediately put on a fawning smile. "Milord, your castle is still lacking some pretty girls to serve as handmaidens, isn’t it? It’s far too empty here, not even someone to help you dress. I know some lovely young lasses in the nearby villages. Let me bring them over for you. They would surely be delighted to serve the Ho— oh no, to serve Milord!"

Although they didn’t say it aloud, the people of Jorgklusburg still regarded him as a Holy Son. One could imagine that those lords who had witches in their service also used the witches’ "miracles" to boast and elevate their own status.

"That won’t be necessary. I did not come to the Holy Land for personal enjoyment." Lothar resolutely refused.

In this era, even few pampered noblewomen had looks that could catch his eye, let alone ordinary women who had to face daily sun exposure and hard labor.

"Leonard, how is the matter I entrusted to you progressing?" Lothar, seeing Leonard lingering and unwilling to move his backside, frowned and inquired.

An ugly expression crossed Leonard’s face. He stammered, "F-forgive me, Milord. The money you gave me to buy warhorses... was stolen. It was a band of desert bandits, swift as the wind. The mule I was riding couldn’t possibly outrun them."

Lothar’s face darkened. ’I’m already worried about money, and you go and lose some for me?’

He forced himself to calm down quickly. "Castellan, your incompetence disappoints me greatly. Tell me, what exactly happened with these desert bandits? I will then decide whether to hold you accountable."