A Crusader with System in the Middle Ages

Eric caught the incoming arrow.

This time, however, it was a close call. He had grabbed the fletching; if he’d been just five or six centimeters slower, the arrowhead would have torn through his neck.

’My reflexes seem to have slowed down.’

’Probably a side effect of the Frenzy Potion. I wonder how long it will last.’

"You sure travel in style. Always have a Divine Archer for a bodyguard?"

"Of course. Now, you should put me down, then think of a way to make me forget this unpleasantness and cheer me up. If you do, I might consider letting you go. Otherwise, my subordinate will definitely stuff your ass full of his arrows."

"You talk a little too much, don’t you? Don’t forget, you’re just a prisoner! If I felt like it, I could shove this arrow up your ass right now. Of course, compared to your ass, I can think of a much better place to stick it."

Eric pressed the arrow against the girl’s backside, then shifted it slightly in a certain direction.

"Have that person come out. Or else..."

"I don’t think so. If he comes out, that’s when I’ll be in real danger." The girl seemed unmoved, not at all afraid.

Eric hated this feeling.

It meant the situation was slipping out of his control.

"Fine. You’re the one who chose this. Remember, I didn’t force you."

With that, Eric slammed the girl to the ground. He grabbed her collar with both hands, looking as if he was about to rip her clothes open.

Yet, the girl still showed no sign of panic.

"You don’t seem scared at all. Am I not making my intentions clear enough?"

Eric burst out laughing, trying to make himself look like a depraved villain.

"Oh, it’s clear. But on this one thing, I’ll bet you definitely won’t do it. Lord Cultivator."

The girl looked as if she had him completely figured out, which infuriated Eric.

"Then I’d say you’ve lost your bet." Eric, of course, knew what she was talking about.

His peers with their... special tastes had completely ruined the reputation of Cultivators.

"Is that so? Then go on, do it. Hmm?"

"But your companion doesn’t seem to think so."

Eric turned his head and looked at a young man not far away—or rather, calling him a boy would be more fitting. He looked quite young and was very handsome, almost like a girl at first glance. He was about the same age as Hessin, wearing a homespun ochre outer coat and a leather cap.

He had his longbow drawn, an arrow aimed at Eric.

At the same time, Eric also saw the longsword at his waist. It was the Viking Longsword that Ansebel had given him.

’That’s definitely mine. There’s no way a boy like that could own such a valuable Viking Longsword.’

"Let go of Gwen. You vile Danish brute."

The boy was speaking Welsh. Eric had little contact with the Welsh, and he’d been in England for less than two years all told, so he hadn’t had the chance to learn the language and couldn’t understand.

Gwen said something to the boy.

Eric couldn’t understand that either.

"What did you say?"

"I said he shouldn’t have come out. He’s actually in more danger from you than I am." Gwen bared her teeth at Eric in a provocative gesture.

"Alright, alright. You’ve shown me the piece of vegetable in your teeth quite clearly. I get it now, you’re not one for hygiene, are you, Miss Wales." Eric pointed at Gwen’s teeth.

This time, Gwen reacted immediately, clapping a hand over her mouth.

"Boy, I think we need to talk. And the rest of you friends hiding nearby, come on out. I see you."

「From a nearby bush.」

"Damn, he found us."

"So what if he found us? Mr. Hereward could take on seven of these corrupt Cultivators."

"Jack, a comment like that is a great insult to Mr. Hereward. That’s too conservative! Mr. Hereward can take on at least seven Norman Knights, and one Norman Knight can handle three Cultivators like this one."

"Why only three! It’s clearly ten! As his Attendants, we can each take on three ourselves!"

"So why are we hiding?"

"Yeah! Let’s show them what we’re made of."

Then, two figures leaped out of the bushes—one fat, one thin. Unlike the boy, these two spoke English.

The fat one held a little axe completely at odds with his frame—probably for chopping firewood in the village. The thin one held a short spear, if you could even call it that. The tip had such a pitiful amount of iron on it that it probably couldn’t even kill anyone.

"To the ungrateful Danish bandit, I am Gary, Left Attendant to Hereward!"

"To the ungrateful Danish bandit, I am Tokel, Right Attendant to Hereward!"

"We command you to release our companion, the kind and brave Miss Gwen!" they both shouted, though not in unison.

The fat man and the thin man stood back-to-back, striking what they clearly thought was a cool pose, looking at Eric out of the corners of their eyes.

Incidentally, due to a lack of coordination, it took them two or three tries just to get the back-to-back part right.

The bow-wielding boy, as if inspired, quickly walked in front of them, crouched down, and naturally joined their pose.

"And me, Ared, assistant to Hereward!" the boy added in very broken English.

"A bunch of idiots."

Gwen, utterly speechless, facepalmed.

"Your subordinates are quite interesting," Eric couldn’t help but laugh.

"No, I don’t know them."

"Don’t be afraid, Gwen, we’ll save you! Danish bandit, let Gwen go at once! You’re surrounded! Disarm and surrender, and we’ll let you live!" shouted Gary the fatty.

"Surrounded? No, you’re the ones who are surrounded by me."

"Arrogant!"

Gary the fatty and Tokel the skinny then charged toward Eric, brandishing their weapons.

The next second, both of them were squatting on the ground, clutching the large lumps now swelling on their heads.

Eric tossed the nail hammer in his hand. He had used the handle, not the head, and hadn’t used much force, so the two of them just had sore heads.

"What about you? Surrender, or keep resisting? Boy, this isn’t the first time we’ve met, is it?"

Eric advanced on the boy, step by step.

The boy seemed to grow a little fearful, starting to back away, albeit very slowly.

Just now, Eric’s speed had been too fast—so fast that before he could react, two people were already down.

Just as the atmosphere was growing tense, another person walked out from the bushes behind them.

Unlike the fat and thin duo who looked like total nobodies, this man was powerfully built with dark skin. A prominent scar ran across his right eye, splitting his eyebrow, giving him a fierce and intimidating presence.

This man was on a completely different level from the others.

"Haha, you vile Danish man, hurry up and surrender! This is the ’Knight’ Mr. Hereward, the hero of us English! The bane of the Normans!"

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