A Crusader with System in the Middle Ages

At some point, the rain had stopped.

Belem had been shouting at the top of his lungs, so his voice was piercing. The knights beside him heard every word. Soon, murmurs broke out among the Norman Knights, and the news quickly spread to the rearmost ranks. Everyone now understood what had happened—and the betrayal they had suffered.

Some of the knights who had just surrendered even began to snicker and jeer.

This was like adding fuel to the fire, and the entire company of knights erupted.

"Despicable, shameless lowlifes! Arrogant, ignorant fools! You will pay the price for your stupidity!

"Why wait?! I’ll make those lowlifes’ heads roll at my feet right now!"

"I’m going to rip out the tongues of those treacherous merchants!"

"The Knights of Normandy will never accept such an insult!"

"..."

"Brother Eric, you see, every Norman Knight here believes it’s necessary to punish these arrogant townspeople. What do you think..."

Having fanned the flames, Belem turned to Eric. But before he could finish, Eric gave him a sharp chop to the head.

The blow made Belem see stars.

"I think you’re a fool!" Eric snapped, grabbing Belem and pulling him a short distance away.

"Only an idiot commander lets his soldiers decide when to fight! You can’t seriously think we have time to waste here in Southampton, can you?" Eric tapped his own head, looking completely exasperated.

"But, Brother Eric, this is a naked insult! Every fiber of my being screams for me to avenge this for the honor of the Montgomery Family! I have never suffered such humiliation, especially from mere lowlifes! Eric, believe me, this matter wouldn’t have ended peacefully even if I’d said nothing.

Not unless you think every Norman Knight here is blind and stupid! Brother Eric, you can’t always be looking for the perfect solution. A Knight must uphold his honor—that’s more important than winning a battle."

"We don’t know William’s current position. If Walter has already defeated Count Mortain, or if Count Mortain has defected to their side, their three forces will unite, and our numerical advantage will be gone!

Just you wait. The best-case scenario will be us packing our bags and crawling back to Normandy. Or maybe we won’t even get the chance to crawl back—we could be annihilated!"

Eric did his best to suppress his emotions, lowering his voice.

Belem did have a point. There was no reason for them not to enter the city and rest after lifting the siege. They had been waiting in the open for three days, and in the rain, no less. It was miserable, and some of the Knights had even caught colds.

"If you let them get away with this, word will spread. Every city from now on will treat us the same way! Who will take us seriously then?"

Belem pulled a thin cord from within his robes and tied back his hair.

"Eric, I don’t know how long you’ve been in England, but let me tell you, those Saxons are an ungrateful lot. If Southampton were a city in Normandy, I could endure this.

"But against these Saxon lowlifes, I will not retreat a single step! Brother Eric, think of the honor of the Outville family!"

Belem stretched out a hand and jabbed Eric hard in the chest. The Chain Armor beneath his Monastic Robe rasped with the impact.

With that, Belem raised his Longsword and roared to the Norman Knights behind him, "Not one step back! Make them beg for mercy! God and Normandy are with us!"

"God and Normandy are with us!"

"God and Normandy are with us!"

"..."

The Norman Knights immediately echoed the cry.

Eric muttered under his breath, ’Go ahead, make a scene. Let’s see how you clean up this mess in the end.’

After all, Belem had brought most of the Knights here. If he insisted on attacking the city, Eric had no way to stop him.

’I need to build my own sizable army, and fast.’

The roars of the Norman Knights clearly alarmed the guards on the city walls. Spearmen fell back, replaced by Archers who nocked their arrows and aimed them at the agitated Knights below.

Some of the Norman Knights grabbed the Crossbows from beside their saddles and aimed back at the guards on the wall.

It was Eric who had them equip the Crossbows. William’s surprise attack had killed a number of Crossbowmen, leaving a surplus of their weapons. Since Crossbows were relatively easy to use, and some of the Knights had learned a bit of Archery, they were quite proficient with them.

Normally, they would have scorned such a weapon, believing it to be a vulgar tool fit only for lowlifes—a disgrace to the code of a Knight. But blinded by rage, they no longer cared.

After all, since they couldn’t break down the city gates, their Longswords and Lances were useless. It seemed only the Crossbows could have any effect.

A few other Knights turned their Warhorses and galloped toward the location of Baron Velen’s Catapults.

Eric watched the Knights’ actions and sighed.

’I hope these lordly Knights finish their tantrum soon and we can get on our way.’

He then glanced toward Southampton. ’These townspeople must have lost their minds to make a decision like this.’

’Or perhaps there’s chaos within the city...’

Before Eric’s thoughts could run any deeper, a WHIZ cut through the air. A stone projectile, about an inch and a half in diameter, slammed into Southampton’s stone wall. It struck at the perfect angle to shatter a merlon, and the flying debris knocked down several guards.

The battle was about to erupt. Just as the Archers on the wall were about to retaliate, the blast of a horn halted their actions.

Eric also walked to the front of the Norman Knights and raised his right hand.

The city gates slowly swung open. It was not a militiaman, nor a representative of the townspeople, but a lean, middle-aged man. He wore the black robes befitting a High Priest. His hair was straight, jet-black, and glossy, and his pale face featured a sharp nose. The black robes lent him an air that was at once elegant and authoritative.

However, what drew the eye was not the man himself, but the three members of the Clergy of similar age following him. The man in the center held a red banner, wide enough for two men to carry. On it were two crossed Celestial Gate Keys—one white, one gold—and suspended above them was the white papal tiara.

This was the Shepherd’s Emblem, which belonged exclusively to the Pope.

The restless Knights quickly grew quiet.

"May the will of the Lord of Heaven be done on earth, as it is in heaven!" Eric shouted, seizing the moment. "The Holy See is here among us! It is the will of the Lord of Heaven! It is the will of the Holy See!"

"It is the will of the Lord of Heaven! The will of the Holy See!"

"It is the will of the Lord of Heaven! The will of the Holy See!"

"..." The surrounding Knights joined the chant.

The lean, middle-aged man—Anselm—quickly walked to Belem’s side. He glanced at Eric, his eyes noting the Monastic Robe he wore.

But it was a mere flicker of the eyes, a glance he quickly retracted before turning his gaze quite naturally toward Belem.

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