A Crusader with System in the Middle Ages

In the flames he himself had lit, Torod was called to God.

Perhaps he never intended to come out in the first place.

Thanks to the cooperation of a certain Knight, no one grew suspicious of Eric.

Later, Eric rewarded the Knight for his prudent judgment.

The Cultivators’ attention, however, was focused on the Demon in the library. With Dean Torod gone, there was no longer any need for silence, so for several days straight, the courtyards of Peterborough Monastery were filled with the sounds of heated debate.

The Cultivators cited scripture and canon, arguing themselves red in the face over the Demon’s very existence.

Eventually, this disturbed the peace of the Monastery’s Knights. Several of them stormed over, flipped a table, and strung up the loudest Cultivator for an entire afternoon.

For the next few days, the debates were moved to the Monastery’s rear courtyard, which was farther from the Knights’ quarters.

With Dean Torod gone, the Knights breathed a sigh of relief. Guarding a library around the clock in shifts was no easy task.

The powder from Torod was a highly toxic substance. Although Gwen had been given a vial of antidote, it wasn’t until the third day that her body recovered enough for her to have the strength to walk.

During this time, Eric also received news about Robert, which Hereward had brought.

The details were unclear, but rumor had it the King had been defeated. A new Sheriff had arrived in town, appointed by London under the authority of Prince Robert.

The town had also sent representatives to London.

It seemed the battle had been won.

Eric breathed a sigh of relief. He waited one more day, then requisitioned a batch of supplies and several strong horses in the name of the Bishop of Langxiang.

Most of the supplies were intended for Hereward, who was still leading a small resistance force in the north. However, his group was on the verge of collapse, short on both food and money.

「In a forest near the Monastery.」

"Mr. Hereward, won’t you reconsider? Your own prince, the last heir of the Wessex family, Prince Edgar, also stands at Prince Robert’s side.

He has promised to build a united Kingdom of Saxons, Normans, and Franks. As for the lands Sain lost, there is room for negotiation. Why not come with me to London?"

Eric hung the Viking Sword beside his saddlebag. Ared bared his teeth at him. Ared was very fond of that Viking Sword.

"Edgar...唉, the Saxons are a forgiving people. They’ve placed all their hopes and dreams for mercy on this one Prince.

In the end, it was Alfred the Great who bestowed an undeserved glory upon the Wessex family.

But peel back that veil of glory, and you’ll find nothing but a mediocre and confused child. To pin all one’s hopes on a child... it’s both laughable and tragic."

Hereward laughed and shook his head slightly.

"Eric, you are a man of wisdom. You see clearly the path that the Normans’ England should follow. You are also a cunning man. You know how to wield the power of language to its fullest extent.

Even the most foolish man would briefly question a simple lie. That’s why mixing truth and illusion is far more persuasive. Am I not right?

Eric. You are a master among orators, and that is a fearsome thing. In this world, perhaps only you know how much truth and falsehood are in your own words."

"Mr. Hereward, sometimes compromise is not a bad thing," Eric sighed.

"Perhaps, Eric. But I have already made my decision. Also, I must remind you, Eric—in this world, not being a good man isn’t so terrible. What is terrible is being neither a good man nor a bad one. Of course, the Nobles are an exception.

Now, I believe you have something to say to someone else." Hereward waved dismissively at Eric and turned to leave.

Eric walked slowly to Gwen’s side.

Of course, Ared, as always, blocked the space between them.

"Why don’t you come with me?"

"Where to?"

"Lon... maybe... Wang Bridge?"

"No. I have my own things to do."

"Alright."

Eric shrugged, then pulled two books from his tunic and pressed them into Gwen’s hands.

Without another word, Eric mounted his horse.

"What are these?" Gwen called out.

"The Medical Canon. A work by one of the Persians. Don’t you want to be a healer? How can you do that without reading? And by the way, nettles aren’t very useful for sword wounds." Eric turned his horse around.

"But I can’t read them!" Gwen said, holding up the books.

"Then go to Wang Bridge!" With that, Eric kicked his horse’s flanks, and it galloped away.

...

Eric was alone again. He rode south from Lincolnshire, and the farther he traveled, the denser the population and the larger the cities became.

The journey from Lincolnshire to Essex—the county where London is located—would take over a week by horse.

Eric asked for news of Robert as he traveled.

The closer he got to London, the clearer the news became.

Robert had successfully routed the King’s Army. He had been brilliant on the battlefield, even knocking King William from his horse. However, out of respect for their bond as father and son, he ultimately allowed William to escape.

King William had lost all momentum. The common folk were all discussing when he would sue for peace with Prince Robert, praising the prince for his magnanimity and mercy.

Many townspeople were full of praise for the plans Robert had proposed, eagerly anticipating his governance. However, just as many were filled with anxiety, feeling it was just another Norman lie. After all, when William first came to England, he had also put on a false show of granting the English their freedom.

Still, since William’s reputation among the English had hit rock bottom, most were at least somewhat pleased by the prospect of a change on the throne.

Once he confirmed that Robert held an absolute advantage, Eric couldn’t help but grow anxious.

After all, the spoils of victory were about to be divided, and he had to ensure he was granted a fertile fief.

After four days of hard riding, he arrived at Luton City on the fifth day.

He allowed himself a small luxury, choosing an upscale tavern to rest for the night.

Luton City was just a stone’s throw from London, and Eric couldn’t help but feel a thrill of excitement.

In high spirits, he ’instructed’ the tavern’s Minstrel and covered the tab for every guest that night.

He bought up all the tavern’s ale and black bread, distributing it to the beggars and the homeless on the street.

The beggars chanted praises of God’s greatness and mercy, the tavern patrons lauded the compassion of the stranger Cultivator, while merchants and passing townsfolk cursed the Cultivator’s extravagance and lamented the fall of the Church.

Though Eric had gone to bed late, he woke up very early.

Eric simply splashed some cold water on his face. He felt no trace of fatigue or drowsiness.

After packing his few belongings, he walked out of the tavern, ready to depart.

It was the last day of the month. Dawn had just begun to break, but merchants had already set up their stalls. Villagers from the countryside were appearing in the market, selling their wheat, vegetables, and livestock. In turn, they bought shoes, clothing, and iron goods from the merchants...

And, of course, there were the indispensable wool merchants, buying up fleece.

Luton City was the main gateway to London from the north, making it far more prosperous than Xialing.

As Eric made his way out of the city, he suddenly caught a glimpse of a familiar figure.

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