A Crusader with System in the Middle Ages

"God is all-knowing and all-powerful, the unsurpassable one. He would never use ambiguous images for His revelations. To discern the divine will from such omens is the fantasy of Heretics.

All things in the world—wind and rain, thunder and snow, and all other scenes of nature—simply operate according to the fixed patterns established by God.

Fine, let’s say you believe God would send you a revelation through such a vague omen. Everyone in Essex can see this snow, so why would you assume it has anything to do with you?

Perhaps it was just some thief who murdered an innocent believer of great Devotion." Eric shrugged.

"I recall you saying nature is also God’s scripture," Robert said, a faint smile on his face as he looked at Eric, seemingly remembering his words.

"Yes. ’The heavens declare the glory of God; the firmament sheweth his handywork.’ God created the world, and through this world He created, we can perceive some of His wisdom—but only a fraction of it.

Revelation is another matter entirely. If God wishes to reveal something to you, it will be simple and direct, so that you understand He is always with you—always with His believers.

Think about it, Robert. You are still standing here, with a Crown upon your head. If God were displeased with you, you would be the one lying in bed, unable to move.

Your father, on the other hand, is merely paying the price for his past brutality and ruthlessness in England.

Morality has never been God’s primary standard for judging a worthy believer. The primary standard is Devotion. We use Devotion to please God. Salvation is something unattainable for humanity, which consumed the fruit of original sin. It is the grace of God, born from His mercy, and it has nothing to do with morality."

"Eric, you are as steadfast as ever," Robert said with a shrug.

"Only because I have no power to choose. I would rather not be so steadfast."

"Speaking of which, do you still plan to return to Apulia?" Robert asked, changing the subject instead of responding directly.

"Me? We’ll see. If you keep this up, I’ll probably never be able to go back. So spare me, please. I’m still planning on making that old bastard in my family beg me for mercy." Eric clapped Robert on the shoulder.

"Is that so? I’m rather looking forward to it."

As he spoke, Robert led Eric over to his desk, upon which lay a map of England.

It was the very one Eric had given him before.

Robert tapped the map with a quill. The map was already covered in circles and marks.

"Let’s talk about something more pleasant. Before I return to Normandy and deal with that treacherous King of France, I intend to redistribute the land. Are there any territories that interest you?"

"I won’t be a part of this. You should decide for yourself."

Eric stepped away from the desk, putting some distance between them.

’He knew very well which matters to involve himself in and which to avoid.’

"Is that necessary?"

"No, it’s quite necessary. By the way, how did your talks with Prince Edgar go? His price is..."

Eric suddenly recalled the Prince of Wessex. He was also a potential claimant to the throne.

’Historically, he and Robert had a very good relationship.’

"I will give him Somerset. It’s the ancestral land of the Wessex family."

"You trust him that much?" Eric asked, surprised.

"I will marry his sister and make her my Queen, though I hear she is rather plain. To be honest, I’m starting to miss Margaret." Robert sat down, looking troubled by the matter.

"But a pretty face has never been the primary standard for judging a good wife, has it?" Eric said, repeating Belem’s words.

"Indeed. It will soothe the fragile pride of the English and temporarily stabilize relations with Scotland." Robert tapped his forehead with the quill.

"Right, and there is the Earl of Hereford. What do you plan to do about him? I brought his children with me. They suffered a great deal because of your father."

"He is a loyal vassal. I will restore his title and reward him. Tomorrow. Tomorrow, I will announce the reallocation of England’s lands, as well as the new peerages..."

Robert dipped his quill in ink and resumed his scrutiny of the map.

Eric did not respond. He placed a hand over his heart, gave Robert a slight bow, and then withdrew from the room.

After the door closed, Robert continued, "...and the new Divine Offices..."

Then, with a faint smile, he glanced toward the bookshelf to his side.

"My Lord Envoy, what are your thoughts?"

As Robert finished speaking, a tall, middle-aged man stepped out from beside the bookshelf. He had a pair of sharp eyes, a prominent aquiline nose, and wore the black robes of a high-ranking Cultivator.

This was none other than Anselm, the Pope’s Envoy whom Eric had met in Southampton.

"His knowledge is vast, his speech eloquent and powerful, rivaling my own master in his prime. Even at the Paris Divinity School, few could surpass him. His only shortcoming is his youth. I fear he may not command the respect of others.

However, I believe the Holy See will take Your Majesty’s needs into consideration."

"As for my promises to the Holy See, they will certainly be fulfilled. England and Normandy will forever recognize and acknowledge the authority of the Holy See under Gregory VII, God’s sole Shepherd on earth.

Once Normandy’s troubles are resolved, I will give my full support to the Holy See’s choice of candidate for Archbishop of Milan.

My Archbishop of Canterbury, Anselm."

....

In the evening, Eric brought Emma to the Earl of Hereford’s chambers.

Eric had visited earlier in the day, and the Earl of Hereford’s condition was worse than Belem had described.

He was still lying there, deathly ill and unable to rise.

Eric had him drink two bottles of Calendula Potion and replaced the cloth strips binding his wounds with fresh bandages. Only then did the Earl manage to regain some of his strength.

Eric did not disturb the father-daughter reunion. As for Richard... he and Belem had gone off somewhere.

...

Compared to the relative calm on Eric’s side, the scene with the old King, Conqueror William, was entirely different.

「Chester City.」

Outside the city walls, Archers led by Arno lit pitch-soaked arrows and fired them at the buildings on the outskirts.

Soon, the buildings to the south were ablaze. A curtain of thick smoke rose between them, separating the old King from his Kingdom.

Arno and Odo hoped this would stoke the panic within the city, weakening William’s position for any potential negotiations.

The King’s condition was dire. His wounds, festering in the squalid environment, made it nearly impossible for him to stand. The pain prevented him from thinking of anything else.

He still insisted on being carried to the city walls, where he weakly directed the battle.

The Conqueror’s pride would not allow him to show any weakness, even though he was at the end of his rope. His supporters had already sent out a peace proposal behind his back.

The two sides held their ground for two hours before the wind suddenly shifted, whipping the flames back toward the city, setting it alight and showering it with embers.

Thatched roofs caught fire and caved in, bringing down their support beams. Walls collapsed inward or tumbled into the streets. Trapped animals shrieked, and the city gates sagged on their hinges. Seeing these omens, the King’s supporters gently lifted him onto a horse and escorted him back to the main keep of the fortress.

All the while, William’s hoarse roars echoed.

"God... You listen to me... You have chosen to drive me from the city I love most in this world... the city where I gained my glory and pride... the very place where my conquest began... You do this only to increase my humiliation, for no other reason...

So I will repay You, mark my words... You forsook me in my time of distress... Very well... Then I shall take from You what You love most among mankind... I refuse to give You my soul...

Do what You will, for You have already lost me..."

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