A Crusader with System in the Middle Ages

"Yes. In this world, you can’t rely on much of anything. Yet many people, almost instinctively and wishfully, still believe in the magic of blood."

"In this era, a man’s greatest achievement is to have a connection to the Royal Family. As Robert’s half-uncle, Odo is already far ahead of most people."

"So you should understand that nothing good comes from opposing him. All you have to rely on is Robert’s trust, but as you just said, that trust might not last long."

"So no matter how I look at it, I think you should surrender to Count Odo, or at the very least, make a show of goodwill," Ansebel said, looking at Eric with narrowed eyes.

"And what about you, Ansebel? You, who held London and defeated Conqueror William twice even after King Harold had fallen. What was going through your mind then?" Eric met Ansebel’s gaze.

"Anger clouded my reason. I didn’t have time to think."

"I simply thought God must have accidentally sneezed at Hastings. You don’t know the specifics of Hastings, but I know them better than anyone. I was King Harold’s Standard Bearer."

"The defeat at Hastings was a surprise. No one thought that Harold, who had so easily defeated the King of Norway, would fall. You couldn’t fault any of his arrangements that day. He did everything an excellent commander should have done."

"So at the time, I wishfully believed that once God came to His senses, that little Duke and his laughable claim would go scurrying back to the other side of the sea."

"Even the immensely powerful Earl Godwin, who could murder the king’s own brother and walk away unscathed, couldn’t manage it. How could some little Duke succeed where he failed?"

"I foolishly assumed he was just some lucky fool who would shatter at the first blow."

"But as it turns out..."

Ansebel didn’t get to finish before Eric cut him off.

"Isn’t the answer obvious?"

"What?" Ansebel faltered for a moment.

"I don’t like having someone holding me down. If it’s the King, that’s natural. But if it’s anyone else, I’d much rather crush them."

"’Young and impetuous’ is not exactly a compliment."

Ansebel tilted his head back and held out his hand. A moistness landed on his palm. Rain.

It was starting to rain.

His rough palm changed color as the rain soaked it, turning a ruddy hue. But once the water dried, it would go back to the way it was.

"When you look back on your past in old age, if you’ve never done a single astonishing thing, then your life can basically be called a failure."

"But when Eight-Horned King Svein lay dying, who would have believed in that young man? The one driven from England, who slunk back to Denmark in disgrace? Who would have believed that ten years later, he would lead a fleet of unprecedented power and build a vast Empire that would swallow the entire North Sea?"

Eric took the horn from his waist and blew it.

The long, drawn-out call of the horn spread quickly through the air. It was the signal to make for shore.

"What are you doing? It’s only noon. We’ve been sailing for less than half a day. We won’t reach Bournemouth until evening at the earliest," Ansebel said, perplexed.

After being defeated at Winchester a few days ago, Count Moretan was forced onto the defensive. The King’s Army drove deep, conquering several castles one after another. Count Moretan’s main force is holed up in Bournemouth, afraid to fight.

And their relief force was small. In Ansebel’s opinion, the most prudent course of action was to reach Bournemouth as quickly as possible, join up with Count Moretan, and let him know that Robert had sent reinforcements. This would curb his urge to surrender.

"Once we reach Bournemouth, what can we change? Who can guarantee Count Moretan won’t surrender? A single defeat has him holed up in Bournemouth. You expect a handful of us to change his mind?"

"Then what do you intend to do?"

Eric threw the map in his hand to Ansebel.

Ansebel’s gaze froze for a moment. He had never seen such a clear map. He quickly noticed the marked location.

"This is Southampton?"

"Yes."

"Southampton is only a day’s march from Winchester. I fear it has already fallen. It’s a key approach to Winchester; there’s no reason they would have ignored it."

"Although a newly captured castle won’t have a large garrison, we haven’t brought any siege engines," Ansebel said with a frown.

"Not necessarily. Southampton City is bracketed by the De River and the Yiqin River. And by my reckoning, it’s nearly the middle of February. Surrounded by the sea on three sides, Southampton’s rainy season starts a fortnight earlier than most regions."

"If this rain didn’t just start, then it must have been falling for several days. The water level in Southampton’s moat must have surged. Unless..."

Eric noticed a green twig "floating" on the water’s surface. He leaned down and grabbed it, then gave a sharp tug. It wasn’t a broken branch, but a hibiscus sapling. It looked like it had been planted recently.

This seemed to confirm Eric’s theory. The rain had likely been falling for several days.

"Unless they surrendered voluntarily?"

"If that’s the case, then we can only go to Bournemouth and pin our hopes on Count Moretan, who’s ready to defect at any moment. But if not, then we’ve just gotten very lucky."

"Soldiers being forced to storm the walls in weather like this will break at the first sign of trouble; they’ll have no stomach for a prolonged fight. And focused as they are on the assault, they’ll never imagine another force could be here to attack them."

Just then, the boat reached the shore. Eric stepped out of the boat and planted his foot on the muddy bank. He deliberately used some force, but his foot didn’t sink in very deep.

Clearly, the water level didn’t normally reach this high.

"It seems my guess was right," Eric said, looking back at Ansebel.

"This is still a gamble. Even if they haven’t taken Southampton yet, their numbers are far greater than ours. Baron Walter of Langwell and Baron Velen of Surrey are both excellent military commanders. You..."

"Were you this indecisive when you held London? You know, you strike me as neither Danish nor Norwegian. You’re more like one of the English they so despise."

"English... The English? Yes, the English."

Ansebel froze, then, as if recalling something, he suddenly began to laugh.

"That’s the first time anyone’s ever said that to me."

"Maybe you don’t agree with this plan, but I am the leader here, and the decision has already been made."

Eric, with his back to Ansebel, walked away while waving a hand at him.

As if sensing something, Belem, who was moving things nearby, came over.

"What plan?"

"It’s nothing. Go on, get back to it."

Eric patted Belem on the head and pushed him away.

Eric looked at Ansebel, who was still standing on the boat.

"Remember, Ansebel. I am neither King Canute nor Earl Godwin. I am neither Danish nor English. I am a Norman. And for a Norman, cowering is an absolute disgrace."

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