A Crusader with System in the Middle Ages

"This reminds me of what the Bible says: woman is the source of temptation. The Book of Ecclesiastes says her words are like a scorching fire, and the Book of Proverbs says she will prey upon a man’s precious soul. Even the strongest of men can be ruined by her.

Ecclesiastes also says that a woman is more bitter than death. Her heart is a snare and a net, and her hands are shackles. She is an instrument of the Devil. It seems now that a man can play the same role."

Delang sized up Gwen, who stood beside Eric. Gwen’s figure was slender, almost womanly.

Delang detested excessive intimacy between men, especially between fellow Cultivators.

But for some reason, he felt no such disgust now.

’Perhaps it’s because Gwen seems so gentle?’

"In the Gospel Books, at least, not a single woman described ever abandoned her faith in Christ for the sake of desire.

Believe me, Delang, God rejoices in human love and intimacy," Eric said with a soft chuckle.

Gwen tilted his head back to look at Eric, his thoughts unreadable.

"Alright, alright. I’ll leave these theological matters to you Theologians. I’m just a poor Herbalist," Delang said with a shrug.

Delang then led the two of them to his laboratory, managing to avoid the patrolling Knights.

Torod seemed to lack a sense of security, entrusting patrol duties to Knights rather than the Monastery’s Deacons.

Inside the laboratory.

Belenga’s corpse was laid out on a table.

The body had been stripped naked. His eyes were sunken, his face was contorted in a grimace, and his skin was pallid. He looked as if he had truly drowned.

"Have you ever seen a drowned man?" Eric asked.

"Of course. Many times," Delang replied. "I think I understand what you’re implying. The face of a drowned man would normally be swollen and the abdomen taut. Not like this."

"Exactly. Which means he was likely already dead before he was put in the water," Eric stated bluntly.

"But there are no signs of injury. How did he die? If it was poison, we all eat communally. The food is only distributed after it’s brought to the table."

"Perhaps it wasn’t ingested." Eric lifted Belenga’s hand and turned it over. The thumb, index, and middle fingers were stained black. "It was a contact poison. Think, Delang. What substance is lethal on contact with the skin?"

"Seric’s fingers were also black. I thought it was just dirt."

Delang seemed to realize something. He rushed into the adjacent storage room and returned a moment later with an empty glass vial.

The label on it read: ACONITE.

The sap of the Aconite plant is a potent poison. Its toxins can be absorbed through the skin, causing death.

"But why would the killer do that? Why poison Belenga, only to throw him into the water cistern and make a spectacle of it? Aren’t murderers supposed to be keen on hiding their work? Is he some kind of twisted person who gets pleasure from this?"

"Perhaps. But it’s more likely a warning," Eric said slowly.

"A warning?" Delang was confused.

"What were Belenga’s responsibilities?" Eric asked.

"The library..."

The word slipped out before Delang realized its implication. He recalled Dean Torod’s speech from that evening and was horrified by the connection he had just subconsciously made.

"Damn it, he’s a Cultivator! How could a Cultivator murder one of his own brothers! Impossible. Impossible! Belenga was one of his supporters."

"Perhaps he made a mistake?"

"What mistake could he have made? Even if everyone in the entire Monastery were guilty of something, Torod wouldn’t have punished Belenga. He was the most obedient one."

"Perhaps not so obedient." Eric pulled the parchment Seric had left from his pocket. "Seric was a brilliant Ornament Painter who created exquisite illustrations for books. He was fluent in Greek. Then one day, he discovered a hilarious book: a play by the great Greek dramatist Aristophanes.

But Dean Torod, stern and obstinate, held a prejudice against such ancient wisdom and kept the library’s collection under strict control. So, Seric went to Belenga—a man who had broken his vows and lusted after him—and gave himself to him.

With Belenga’s help, Seric gained access to the library and was free to read the book he so desired. What he didn’t know was that its pages had been coated with a deadly poison. After Seric died, Belenga must have tried to return the book, and was poisoned in the process."

"But... but, the Dea... How did he know? To kill someone over this? Even for the sake of his ideals, it’s..." Delang found it inconceivable.

"Perhaps Seric and Belenga saw something else in the library. Something that Torod was very concerned about."

’It was probably Brand,’ Eric thought.

’Did Seric and Belenga stumble upon Torod murdering Brand?’

"So... we need to get into the library. Delang. Perhaps you can get us in."

"But..." Delang hesitated.

The theory was just too astounding. He had originally thought the new Dean, Torod, was merely stern and rigid. While not a match for Dean Brand, he had seemed much better than the average Norman Lord.

’It seems the Normans truly are evil by nature.’

’If my transgressive actions anger Torod, my own life might be forfeit.’

"And for your lifeblood I will surely demand an accounting. I will demand an accounting from every animal. And from each human being, too, I will demand an accounting for the life of another human being. Whoever sheds human blood, by humans shall their blood be shed; for in the image of God has God made mankind. (Genesis 9:5-6)

But if there is serious injury, you are to take life for life, eye for eye, tooth for tooth, hand for hand, foot for foot, burn for burn, wound for wound, bruise for bruise! (Exodus 21:23-25)" Eric intoned fiercely at Delang.

Delang took a few steps back, but then he stopped. He raised his head to look at Eric, his expression hardening with resolve. "Thou shalt not murder, and anyone who murders will be subject to judgment. So be it. If death is to come, let it come. Martyrdom is an honor and a reward in itself... Follow me."

Delang led Eric out of the laboratory, heading toward the Saint Bone Hall.

Although the Cathedral was guarded by Knights, a secret passage existed that led directly to the library within.

The Saint Bone Hall was a structure found in every Monastery, a place for storing the bones of deceased Cultivators.

Fearing they might alert the Knights, they used only a single oil lamp to light their way. Its faint glow was barely enough to illuminate the path immediately before them.

The walls on all sides were lined with countless niches. Peering inside, one could see the bones they contained.

Some niches held only small bones; others contained nothing but skulls, piled high like pyramids.

The sight was deeply unsettling.

Eric reached out to take Gwen’s hand, but Gwen shied away.

"I’ve seen plenty of this. I’ll keep up," Gwen replied softly, not looking at Eric.

Eric said nothing more.

Finally, Delang stopped before a niche. Below it was a relief carving of a Demon.

He reached out and pressed his fingers into the Demon’s two eye sockets.

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