A Crusader with System in the Middle Ages

"Oh, my Saint Dunstan."

Declan sighed.

"You speak a sad truth. About all we have left is the air we breathe, and they’d begrudge us even that if they didn’t need us to work for them.

The finest food is for their tables, the prettiest women become their wives, and the bravest soldiers fight for foreign masters. Their bones pile up on foreign battlefields, while most of those left here are either unwilling or unable to protect the unfortunate Saxons."

Suddenly, he raised his voice and shouted, "That’s it, that’s it! Good job, Fangsi! You’ve finally herded them all, boy. Be brave now, lead them home."

Wang Ba said, "I know you think I’m a fool, otherwise you wouldn’t be so reckless as to stick your neck out like this in front of me.

If Lord Theo or Baron Velen ever heard the treasonous things you say about the Normans, your life wouldn’t be worth a damn. You, a swineherd, would be strung up from these very trees as a lesson to anyone else thinking of stirring up trouble."

"You lackey! Are you trying to trick me into saying these things so you can sell me out? And here you are, clinging to that ridiculous getup and that absurd, tattered hat, even though they mark you as a clown for the Normans," Declan cursed at Wang Ba.

Despite the curse, there was no real venom in his tone. Wang Ba was Declan’s friend.

"That’s enough, Declan. Anyone who serves a Norman lord is a clown, deserving of scorn and ridicule. You know why I became a jester. I have to feed my family, and I haven’t harmed anyone.

And you, Declan, aren’t you managing this herd of stupid pigs for a Norman lord to provide for your family? The Saxons are always turning on their own, robbing their own people of freedom. But faced with a powerful, real enemy, they don’t dare to utter a single question. So, you could say the Saxons had this coming.

If I were God, I’d spit on the Saxons too."

Wang Ba spat at a stupid pig rubbing against his leg and gave it a kick. The pig squealed and fled back into the herd.

Declan’s dog, Fangsi, having finally understood his commands, successfully steadied the herd. They began to move along the path, heading out of the forest toward the camp.

"Damn it, you ought to be a wiseman. If you were clergy, you might even become a Saint, not some nameless clown trying to make people laugh all day."

"Forget it. I’m not interested in enlightening idiots I don’t even know. To those fools, a true wiseman is just another clown. The foolish love to laugh at the wise, because the wise show them the truth, and the truth is cruel. So they delight in turning the wise into fools.

Alright, quiet down. Sounds like someone’s coming."

Wang Ba made a gesture for Declan to be silent. He had heard the sound of horse hooves.

"Who cares who it is? It can only be about one of three things: go to battle, cook a meal, or dig a toilet. Honestly, if a fight breaks out, I’m the first one running!"

"Think of it as a bit of fun. Maybe it’s someone from the Immortal Realm, bringing news from King Oberon."

Wang Ba’s words piqued Declan’s interest as well. The two of them walked out of the forest and returned to the camp.

A strange youth had arrived in the camp. The boy was mounted on a warhorse, wearing a set of chain armor that was clearly ill-fitting. It looked as though the armor might crush his small frame at any moment.

"I’d bet he’s not a day over fifteen. Maybe he really is Oberon. But would the Elf King Oberon have such a thick Hereford accent? Damn it, my seventy-year-old aunt speaks more clearly than him," Declan grumbled endlessly.

"Alright, alright, we get it, you’re a high-and-mighty countryman from Oxford. But at least this proves he’s a Saxon, doesn’t it?" Wang Ba said with a wave of his hand.

"So can you understand what our ’Oberon’ is saying?" Declan asked, hearing cheers growing louder in the distance.

"The gist of it is that we can retreat. The arrogant Norman lords have gone to meet God."

"For real? There’s been a lot of jaw-dropping news lately. Just yesterday, I heard from the cripple that the King is dead."

...

Because he had unexpectedly found Theo, Eric handed command of his third detachment over to Ansebel. He ordered Ansebel to attack the rear flank of Baron Velen’s knights, joining Belem and Leif in a three-pronged assault to crush them.

Baron Velen’s knights, caught while resting and unarmored, managed to hold out for a while thanks to their superior numbers. But in the end, like that merciless one from nine years prior, their defeat was a foregone conclusion.

However, the fate of Baron Velen’s knights was much better than that of the merciless one. Many of the Norman Knights chose to surrender without hesitation.

After all, there was no shame in losing to their own kind. At William’s behest before the Norman Conquest nine years ago, most of them had sworn fealty to a young Robert. Thus, they felt no psychological burden in surrendering.

"My friend, Eric, in my epic, there must be blonde Persian beauties and a long-haired princess guarded by a dragon. You’d better arrange for me to defeat some heretics, preferably in Jerusalem. If not, Santiago will have to do.

I’ve even thought of the poses..." Theo chattered incessantly to Eric along the way.

Eric preferred quiet and couldn’t stand it when others babbled on. But perhaps because they hadn’t seen each other in years, he surprisingly felt no annoyance.

Theo’s endless chatter and outrageous demands only ceased when Eric reached the gates of Southampton.

The battle here was already over. Baron Velen had been defeated.

Baron Velen was currently tied up tightly, his mouth gagged with a strip of ragged cloth. He was bound to a long wooden pole suspended over a bonfire, and Belem was rotating the pole to ensure he was heated evenly.

"Velen, are you gonna talk or not!"

"Mmmph! Mmmph!"

"Alright, alright, so you won’t talk. I knew you were a tough nut to crack."

"Mmmph! Mmmph! Mmmph!"

"Damn you, how dare you curse at me!"

"Mmmph! Mmmph! Mmmph!"

"Oh, so now you’re insulting my old man, are you!" Belem, as if he could read minds, added more wood to the fire.

Seeing Eric, Belem quickly stood up, dusted off his hands, and pointed at Baron Velen behind him.

"Brother Eric, this Velen is a tough one. I’ve been torturing him like this, and he’s still unmoved. I don’t think we’re getting anything out of him," Belem said with a sigh, his face a mask of seriousness.

"Your spirit and integrity are admirable. Integrity is what a soldier needs most. Even if we are not on the same path, we don’t have to be enemies. We can still be friends."

Eric looked at Baron Velen, who was in a wretched state, his arms covered in blood and burns. Yet, he still glared back at them unyieldingly, his eyes filled with fury and determination.

’Truly one of William’s most trusted confidants.’

Eric waved to the attendants behind him, signaling for them to take Baron Velen down.

Then, Eric drew his longsword and sliced through the cloth gagging his mouth so he could speak.

The moment the cloth was cut, Baron Velen immediately roared, "Fuck your mother, Belem! If you’re going to fucking interrogate someone, then ask a fucking question!"

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