A Crusader with System in the Middle Ages

Immediately, there was a CREAKING, GROANING sound. The niche moved, rotating on a hidden pivot to reveal a pitch-black gap. Delang raised the lamp to shine light inside, revealing several damp steps.

Delang beckoned to Eric and Gwen.

The secret passage was not long, and they soon reached the end.

The library had three floors, each with its own scriptorium. The secret passage led to the library on the second floor.

Delang explained that the library’s collection was vast, and the books were arranged in a particular order. Only a handful of people, including Dean Brand, could find the exact book they needed. Belenga was one of them.

"I’ll go down to the first floor and keep watch for you. I hope you can find some useful clues." With that, Delang handed the oil lamp to Eric and headed down a nearby staircase.

That left just Gwen and Eric alone.

"Let’s get to work. You can hold the oil lamp for me."

Eric handed the oil lamp to Gwen and walked toward a bookshelf.

He began searching for that comedy by Aristophanes.

Eric guessed that after Seric and Belenga found the book, they must have stumbled upon Dean Brand being murdered—or something else entirely.

If he could just find the spot where the Aristophanes comedy was shelved, he might be able to find Brand.

Eric walked toward a nearby bookshelf, but after several steps, he noticed that Gwen was still standing in place, holding the oil lamp.

"What’s wrong?" Eric looked at Gwen.

"Nothing."

Gwen slowly walked over and illuminated the books in front of Eric.

Eric was familiar with Latin and Greek, so he scanned the shelves quickly.

In no time, he had searched through five or six bookshelves, casually stuffing a few interesting volumes into his storage space.

’They’re just gathering dust here, anyway.’

"You could at least be a little more enthusiastic. I’m the one working hard on the job you hired me for, you know."

"You owe us. I saved your life."

"Demanding repayment for a good deed isn’t a very noble virtue."

"There’s no need for principles when dealing with Normans," Gwen huffed.

"So you figured it out. Did Martha tell you?" Eric chuckled.

"Who else in England would have such short hair and speak such fluent French besides a Norman? Though I admit, your English is very good."

"Getting angry, are we, Miss Wales?"

Eric straightened up, having confirmed that all the books here were Latin works.

’The Greek books are probably on the third floor.’

"Let’s go to the third floor." Eric beckoned to Gwen.

They went up the stairs, one after the other, Eric walking quickly and Gwen a bit more slowly.

By the time Eric reached the third floor, Gwen had stopped again.

"I’m not Welsh," Gwen said very quietly.

"Hm? What was that?" Eric turned to look at Gwen, not having heard her clearly.

"I said, I’m not Welsh. Eric."

"Does it matter? It was just an offhand remark. If it bothers you, I take it back and apologize."

"No, that’s not it, Eric. Do you... want to hear my story?"

"If you want to tell it," Eric shrugged.

"I was born into a tragic family. It’s true that I’m half Welsh; my father was a Welshman. He claimed to have been born into a noble family, though I don’t believe it.

He was supposed to inherit his father’s meager lands, but he gave up his inheritance because of my mother."

"What? Don’t tell me your mother was something like the daughter of his sworn enemy. A Viking princess in exile?" Eric joked.

"No, she wasn’t of noble birth. In fact... in the eyes of many, she was lower than dirt. She was... Jewish." Gwen averted her gaze, unable to look at Eric.

"And?"

"Hm?" Gwen froze for a second. "I’m saying... maybe you should stay away from me."

"Everyone knows the Jews killed Christ, but who remembers that Christ himself was Jewish? We follow their covenant, we worship their God." Eric turned back to look at Gwen. "But before we get into that, I have to ask, why are you suddenly telling me all this?"

"I just felt that with us being so close, it might be a bit..."

Before Gwen could finish speaking, she was interrupted by Eric.

"Do you smell that, Gwen?"

"Huh? What?"

"Rot... a stench of decay."

Because of the low winter temperatures, the stench of decay wasn’t strong—it was actually quite faint.

Eric took Gwen by the hand and followed the smell.

Eventually, they stopped in front of the door to the third-floor scriptorium.

Eric noticed a faint light seeping from the crack beneath the wooden door.

’Is someone inside?’

Eric waved his hand at Gwen, signaling for her to move farther away.

Then, he violently kicked the wooden door open.

Light spilled out, washing over Eric, immediately followed by an overwhelming stench of decay.

Yet the light wasn’t harsh, not the light of a torch, but something softer, almost faint. It came from the wall directly opposite, where a small hole seemed to have been cut, the light streaming out from within.

Then Eric saw the source of the stench. Not far from the doorway lay a bloated corpse with grizzled hair, dressed in a Monk’s Robe.

Beneath its head was a pool of black blood, already dried and caked onto the floorboards.

"Gwen, come take a look. Is this the man you’re looking for?"

Gwen came in and searched Brand’s body. Then, as if confirming something, she drew a small knife, slit the back collar of his Monk’s Robe, and pulled out a letter from within.

"It’s him. A pity he’s dead. We couldn’t save him. Mr. Hereward will be disappointed."

Gwen let out a mournful sigh. Then, as if hearing a noise, she instinctively turned her head, looking so startled that she nearly fell to the ground.

Fortunately, Eric caught her.

"E-Eric!" Gwen pointed toward the wooden door in terror.

Eric instinctively raised his gaze. There, on the smooth wall beside the door, a ’person’ was staring at them.

It was Christ!

It was blurry and indistinct, like a phantom.

The ’Christ’ stared at them, His form emitting a faint glow, looking quite imposing.

Any ordinary person of this era, upon seeing such a sight, would likely have no choice but to bow their head and repent.

However, Eric quickly realized this ’Christ’ was an illusion. He strode over to the wall opposite the door—the source of the light.

He reached out, running his hand over the wall. After a moment, his hand stopped.

Just as he suspected. There was a fist-sized hole in the wall.

Eric stuck his hand inside. As his hand blocked the light, the phantom-like ’Christ’ instantly vanished.

A moment later, Eric pulled his hand back out of the hole, bringing something with it.

It was a piece of crystal glass—or rather, a ’Lens’—a piece of Fluorite, and a palm-sized statue of Christ.

The simple principle of a camera obscura.

’That fellow Torod was probably scared by this same spectacle,’ Eric thought.

’This Dean Brand really had a few tricks up his sleeve.’

Eric looked down at Brand, lying lifeless on the floor, his face already decomposed beyond recognition.

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