A Crusader with System in the Middle Ages

In the end, he had been militarily defeated. When an Emperor is thwarted by force of arms, the resulting negative consequences spiral out of control.

To make matters worse, while he was busy quelling the Saxon rebellion, that detestable Hilbrand had seized the opportunity to excommunicate him.

’Recent events had been a complete mess.’

Yet, just as he lay down and Theodoric was about to leave, a knock came at the door.

"His Majesty has just lain down to rest. Whatever it is can wait until—" Theodoric began to scold.

"Who is it?" Henry forced his weary body to sit up. He waved a hand at Theodoric, motioning for him to step aside.

"Your Majesty, it is Eberhard, the Count of Nellenburg," the guard outside called out.

’Eberhard...’ He was one of Henry’s commanders for this Saxon expedition, attacking the Saxons from a different front. After Henry’s rout, the campaign on his front had been proceeding rather smoothly.

This was one of the reasons Otto had been willing to be bought off.

"Henry, take things slowly. It can wait until you’re well-rested. Things won’t change overnight. You need to rest now."

"Never mind. I don’t think I could sleep now anyway. Let the Old Count in," Henry said, shaking his head.

A moment later, a man of about fifty walked in.

"Your Majesty. The Old Count of Nellenburg pays his respects." The white-haired Old Count’s movements were still elegant, and he had a pair of very fine eyes. "Forgive my intrusion, Your Majesty, but this news is so troubling that I dared not delay even a moment."

"What has happened in the Saxon lands now?" Henry stood up from the bed, his voice trembling involuntarily.

The Old Count did not answer. Instead, he lowered his head and knocked on the door.

A soldier in ragged clothes entered, then knelt and presented the seal of the Commander of the Hasenburg garrison.

Henry’s mouth went dry. No one would be sent on such a long journey in this state without a critical reason.

The soldier raised his face to speak, his eyes like those of a man who had seen the flames of Hell. "Your Majesty, I am—I was—an Archer at Hasenburg." His chest heaved. "I am the only survivor of the garrison." Though a grown man, he wept without shame.

The news was so ominous, so dreadful, that Henry didn’t even know how to react. "Kuno, bring this man some food and wine," he said at last, immediately realizing the absurdity of the request. He knelt beside the soldier to meet his gaze and comfort him. "What happened?"

The man was covered in mud and bruises. He rubbed his eyes. "I have faced death in Swabia, fighting the Liutizi Heretics, and in Bavaria... but the hatred I saw there... it’s beyond description."

"Has Hasenburg fallen?"

"Burned to ashes," the soldier’s voice trembled.

Henry took a step closer. A look of shocked agony crossed his face, like that of a sinner in a Cathedral’s stone carving, preparing to face eternal damnation.

He didn’t know this Archer, who was not one of the Frank People.

Which meant all the soldiers from Franconia were dead.

’How many widows would he have to deliver this terrible news to?’

Henry fought to overcome his fear and find answers. "Who did this? Why?"

"Saxon peasants." The Archer wiped his face with his sleeve. "They didn’t like our Franconian garrison. I swear before God, I was strict with my men and didn’t let them abuse the villagers."

’Perhaps he should have been stricter, but now was not the time for blame.’

Tears mingled with dried blood on the man’s face. "I can still hear their screams," he said. "They said Otto von Nordheim betrayed them, that he sold them out to the Salian Clan."

"For years, Otto and his cronies fed them poison. Then he suddenly signed that peace accord..." The Old Count had seen much of the world, but his voice still shook.

Hearing a fellow Franconian accent, the Archer let out a sob, then straightened up, trying to compose himself.

"They were fed on lies and hatred." His face contorted as if he were still in Hasenburg, witnessing the horror. "So much hatred..."

Henry had a terrible premonition. "What aren’t you telling me?"

The man made the sign of the cross. "They smashed the altar, my liege. They desecrated the royal tombs."

’That can’t be.’

’His brother and his infant son.’

Years ago, Henry had interred their bodies in a marble crypt beneath the Church at Hasenburg to show the Saxons that the Salian Clan’s connection to the Harsen Region was more than just military or political.

"Those are children’s graves!" Henry cried out.

His face ashen like a shroud, he tried to speak of the unspeakable.

"They’ve forgotten what it means to be human. They’re worse than beasts," the Archer echoed his sentiment.

The Old Count placed a comforting hand on the man’s shoulder. "The Saxon peasants are still half-Heretics. They worship the Forest, and are only a small step up from the Heretics in Denmark."

The Archer shook his head. "They worship only hatred now. They burned the sacred groves around Hasenburg. That’s how the fire started."

"My Lord God." The Old Count made the sign of the cross.

"You will be rewarded for your courage and your suffering," Henry said weakly.

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