A Crusader with System in the Middle Ages

In any case, the commotion among the Knights ceased.

"I have brought the decree of the Holy See, Sir Belem." Anselm’s tone was level, as if he were speaking of some unrelated matter.

He was just a Priest, yet he exuded a strange, intimidating presence. At least, that was how Belem felt.

"The English Channel has been rather treacherous of late. It’s such a short distance, yet there are so many mishaps.

Perhaps the King’s recent maritime ban has some merit. After all, making so many of Normandy’s obedient and respectable subjects risk a watery grave to come to this God-forsaken island... it truly is cruel in every sense of the word.

Fortunately, blessed by God, you have safely crossed the channel and have not been so easily returned to the embrace of the Lord of Heaven. I, Belem, your former student, am immensely gratified and pleased by this. Otherwise, who knows when Prince Robert’s cause might ever succeed.

I offer my heartfelt congratulations on your first journey to Britain, most learned Anselm, head of the monastery."

For once, Belem didn’t speak French, but Latin, piling on ceremonial vocabulary, yet without the slightest hint of respect.

What surprised Eric was that Belem pronounced several of the more advanced words with surprising accuracy, as if he’d practiced them over and over.

"Indeed. I, too, am most grateful that the blades of the battlefield have not touched your heart, Sir. After all, England’s ceaseless rains would wash such putrid matter into the pristine sea, and that would be a greater loss than it is worth.

You are an indispensable shade on Normandy’s palette. After all, without a dull, gray hue, how could the fools of Normandy comfortably believe themselves to be men of noble virtue?"

Anselm’s tone remained level, his gaze lowered as he quietly regarded Belem.

It gave one—or at least, it gave Belem—the distinct impression that the man was treating him like an insignificant buffoon.

His teacher, Anselm, always had this infuriating way about him.

Belem curled his lip, shooting Anselm a defiant glare.

He then slowly backed away to Eric’s side and whispered, "Eric, what did he just say?"

Eric: "???"

"If you couldn’t understand him, why did you insist on speaking Latin?"

"That guy used to be my tutor. At my knighting ceremony, right in front of the King and my old man, that old coot said I was an uneducated good-for-nothing. I just wanted to prove him wrong."

"Prove that you are, in fact, an uneducated good-for-nothing?" Eric stared at him, utterly speechless.

"This isn’t the time to be roasting me. Hurry up and translate, Eric. What did he say?" Belem, feeling his pride slip, gave Eric a nudge.

"He said what happened last time was his fault, and he apologizes for his rashness. He’s genuinely pleased with the progress you’ve made and feels honored to have been your teacher," Eric said, looking at Anselm while feeding Belem a complete line of bull.

Anselm’s gaze shifted from Belem to Eric, but he didn’t contradict him.

"For real? Oh. I see. You’re trying to play the mediator, are you? Let me tell you, when it comes to this, no matter how many nice things you say, it’s absolutely not going to..."

Belem clearly didn’t believe it.

However, Anselm didn’t give Belem the chance to burn that bridge, cutting him off directly.

"You have all rushed here from London to relieve Southampton City, an act that deserves this city’s gratitude, no matter how one looks at it. Of that, there is no doubt.

However, rather than dwelling on whether or not to enter the city, I believe you Knights, you warriors of God, you future helmsmen of England, have more pressing needs.

Hunger and fatigue. These are a Warrior’s greatest enemies. Why not tend to these needs first? Then, the matters of attacking this city and punishing its citizens can be reconsidered.

I, Anselm, the Pope’s Envoy, head of the Bec Monastery in Normandy, promise you all in the name of the Holy See. I will represent the Church as an impartial mediator in this affair, casting aside all lies and deceit. I swear this now upon the Shepherd’s Emblem of the Holy See.

If I break this vow, may my soul be damned."

Anselm glanced at the banner behind him, the one bearing the Shepherd’s Emblem.

The Knights began to whisper amongst themselves, but they were clearly much calmer than before.

Someone recognized Anselm.

"I know him! He’s a student of the Archbishop, Master Anselm!"

"Yes, that’s Master Anselm, the sage from Italy!"

"Master Anselm has brought the banner of the Holy See! Victory is assured this time!"

"The Holy See is on our side!!!"

"..."

Some of the Knights began to chant Anselm’s name.

This made Anselm breathe a sigh of relief.

"Follow me, all of you. There is a Monastery not far from here. Before the Holy Image of the Lord, I doubt anyone would be foolish enough to play the part of Judas. You may all rest there. I, along with several brothers in faith from Rome, will remain with you."

Anselm took a few steps forward, heading right for Eric.

Eric’s gaze lingered on Anselm for another few seconds. The man’s eyes were as resolute as a statue’s.

He said nothing, simply turning to the side and gesturing for Anselm to proceed.

Perhaps because Eric had taken the lead, the other Knights nearby also cleared a path for Anselm, choosing to trust his words for the time being.

The Pope’s support was the foundation of their rebellion, and this banner representing the Holy See was part of their plan. Thus, Anselm, the Pope’s Envoy, was more or less on their side. To say nothing of the fact that, as an Italian sage who had journeyed to France, he had long enjoyed a great reputation in Normandy.

It made no sense for a sage of his renown to go to such lengths, and tarnish his own reputation, for a city of Saxons to which he had no connection.

Seeing the Knights’ resolve waver, Belem immediately grew furious.

He deliberately turned his back to them and began to rail against Southampton City.

"These unscrupulous, fickle Saxons are trying to strip us of our glory and claim it for their own!

Those wretched commoners are on the walls right now, laughing at our foolishness and weakness! How can a Norman Knight bow to such rabble! How can we endure their humiliation!

What are hunger and fatigue? A Norman Knight lives for honor and does not fear dying for it!

Triumphant Knights shall not suffer any insult!

On this point, I will not yield! This city is mine for the taking! Even if the Holy See himself were to appear, he couldn’t save it! Mark my words!

Because their actions are, without a doubt, a violation of the worldly order established by God!"

Belem roared the magnificent lines he had improvised on the spot.

’Damn, I’m a fucking genius. Maybe I should become a Minstrel, publish a collection of poems or something. Who knows, I might even go down in history.’

Belem stroked his chin, admiring himself.

’Those uncultured louts must have heard my passionate speech. By now, they should be weeping with regret as they come to their senses.’

But after waiting for a long moment, there was no sound from behind him.

"Ahem~~"

He faked a few coughs, trying to give his subordinates a hint.

"Ahem, ahem, ahem, ahem, ahem, ahem~~~"

Belem turned his head, only to see his army about to disappear in the distance.

"Hey! Hey! I haven’t even gotten on my horse! I haven’t gotten on my horse! I’m still here! Your Lord, Belem, is still standing here!"

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