A Crusader with System in the Middle Ages

Anselm didn’t respond, merely muttering Eric’s answer to himself as they walked. It seemed to have struck a chord with him.

The group passed through the main gate—the only entrance in the outer wall—and onto a wide road, pleasantly shaded by trees, that led to the Monastery chapel.

To the left of the road lay a large vegetable garden. Beyond it, built along the curving Monastery wall, stood two buildings that housed a bathhouse, an infirmary, and an herbarium.

To the rear and left of the chapel stood the imposing Cathedral, separated from the chapel by a cemetery.

To the right of the chapel were several other buildings, all situated on the leeward side: the dormitory, the abbot’s residence, and the hospice for pilgrims.

Since the abbot had led the evacuation, this old Cultivator was the only one left in the entire Monastery, so those buildings were all empty.

The Monastery was vast. It also contained a farmers’ quarter, a stable, workshops, an oil press, granaries, cellars, and the novices’ quarters.

The orderly, flat terrain had allowed the builders of this holy place to align it perfectly in ancient times. The rising morning sun could directly awaken the monks in their dormitory and the livestock in the stable.

As they entered the main chapel, the Knights let out a collective sigh of relief. They finally had shelter from the rain. This was the most spacious area in the entire Monastery, the only place large enough to accommodate so many people.

Some Knights, with the help of their Attendants, began to strip off their heavy armor and change into dry clothes. They sat on the pews, their faces pale after a full day in the drenching rain. Seated on the benches, they started to eat bread that already tasted terrible.

Of course, some cautious Knights refused to let their guard down. They remained in full armor, skeptical about the safety of the Monastery.

Anselm pointed out the Monastery’s storeroom to some of the Knights, telling them there was still a fair amount of food inside.

Eric glanced at Anselm with a hint of suspicion.

Sure enough, a short while later, those same Knights emerged carrying food.

There was wine, cheese, olives, crackers, black bread, and raisins. The only downside was that with the rainy season approaching, the damp weather had caused the black bread and crackers to grow a bit moldy.

Still, it was far better than their own rations, which had been soaked by the rain for days.

The Knights swarmed over, scrambling for the food.

A few other Knights left the chapel to tell their comrades at the foot of the hill to come up.

In short, the chapel erupted into a flurry of activity.

Eric didn’t join them. The food he kept in his space was of much better quality.

Suddenly, Eric sensed something flying toward him. His hand shot out and caught it—a piece of black bread.

"Thought you’d fallen asleep," came Leif’s voice.

"You know this thing could kill a man if you hit him with it, right?"

Leif’s aim was true. If Eric hadn’t reacted, the black bread would have smacked him on the back of the head.

Medieval black bread was notoriously hard, nothing like its modern counterpart. During food shortages, peasants would often mix sawdust into their black bread to feel more full.

"But it didn’t hit you, did it?" Leif said, chewing, having bitten a chunk straight off without even bothering to break it.

"My teeth ache just watching you," Eric said, frowning at the sight of Leif eating.

"Maybe you’re just getting soft. So, what’s your plan? We’ve settled these noble Knights for now, but there’s no telling about tomorrow. Our original provisions are all ruined, and the way those townspeople acted was out of line."

"You want to attack?"

’It’s not entirely out of the question. The immediate crisis at Southampton City is over, so the guards might be lax tonight. The nobles in the city will probably hold a celebration—the townspeople love that sort of thing. They know very little about real war.’

’A small team could probably sneak into the city and open the gates without much trouble.’

"Odin is the god of war, and war is wealth," Leif stated. "A good Warrior can earn a fortune from one or two decent battles."

Although Eric had always avoided having his Warband engage in direct frontal assaults, preferring them to handle strategic maneuvers, Leif himself had already cut down more than ten Knights and claimed seven suits of Chain Armor and two decent Warhorses.

If he sold it all for Silver Coins, he would have enough to buy about Five Hides of land. In any country in Western Europe, that would be enough to become a Tenant Cavalryman serving a Lord, capable of shouldering high-level military duties.

"But," Leif continued, "I also know that one or two battles won’t change the final outcome. The overall victory is what matters most. It can get you something far more precious than wealth."

"’More precious?’" Eric repeated the phrase. A thought seemed to strike him, and he chuckled, looking at Leif, who always pretended to be so stoic.

’Aha. So that’s why this fellow is suddenly so talkative today.’

"What? You’re interested too?"

"Er... ahem, ahem."

Leif let out a few fake coughs, trying to seem less awkward.

"If there’s a chance to stay here, that would be for the best. The land in Greenland and Norway is too barren. England is much better."

"Perhaps."

"So, what’s your next move?"

"I’m not sure yet. We could continue west from Southampton to reinforce Count Moretan, or we could head straight north to take Winchester. We have too little information. We’re not clear on King William’s movements, nor on Count Moretan’s."

"Let me think on it."

Eric sighed and waved a dismissive hand at Leif.

He walked out of the chapel.

At the doorway, he saw the old Cultivator who had disappeared earlier.

The old Cultivator was carrying a golden water basin, tottering over with it. By the time he stopped, half of the water had already sloshed out.

It was for washing one’s hands.

According to the rules, laypeople entering the Monastery were required to purify their hands.

Perhaps due to his advanced age, his reactions were sluggish. He seemed completely oblivious to the fact that today’s visitors were over a hundred Knights.

There was no way he could manage all of them.

Eric paid him no mind and went to find the Monastery’s library. ’A monastery this large should have a decent collection of books,’ he thought.

’Maybe I’ll find a rare copy of a book from the Roman Era. I could give it to Philip.’

After some effort, he finally found it.

Using his Lock Picking skill, he easily opened the laughably simple lock and entered the library.

He took some candles from his space and lit them.

There were only two bookshelves, but fortunately, they were both packed full, holding perhaps forty or fifty volumes in total.

*First Defense of the Faith*, *On the Incarnation of the Word*, *Apostles’ Creed*, *City of God*...

Since many of the books were either missing their covers or the titles on them were worn away, Eric had no choice but to examine them one by one.

So far, they were all standard, common texts, the kind of books that could be found in the library at Wang Bridge.

"How dull."

The words had barely left his lips when he heard the sound of the door opening.

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