A Crusader with System in the Middle Ages

According to marital tradition, a Feudal Lord and his new bride were to tour their domain after the wedding, and their Vassals were obligated to host them.

This tour would typically take over a month—even longer for a larger domain.

While the Nobility would cover the expense of hosting the Marchioness, the traditions of the Italian Cities dictated that any major event must also include large-scale donations and alms.

As these were extraordinary times, Gregory was anxiously awaiting a resolution to the threat posed by the Emperor.

A large-scale tour was out of the question. Touring every city in the whole of the Tuscan domain would take at least two months, if not more. The official tour was thus postponed for five months, replaced for now by a smaller, symbolic one.

The tour was limited to the cities and small towns near Canossa. The most distant towns and villages were less than a day’s round trip away.

Eric and Matilda were now crossing a plain where the Forest had given way to pastures and farmland.

The Canossan coat of arms—a white hound on a red field—was displayed prominently on the carriage, stark against the backdrop of the windswept road. Beside it hung Eric’s own crest, one he had designed himself by modifying the sigil of the Outville family.

The original crest featured a diagonal band of blue and white squares. Eric had added a second, symmetrical band to it.

Matilda had been unwilling to ride in the carriage, but she had only voiced her complaint halfway through the journey. Then she had promptly alighted, mounted a white horse, and left Eric all alone inside.

Then, as if worried Eric might drag her back in, she had bolted to the very front of the procession.

She had clearly done it on purpose. Tradition dictated the man ride on horseback while the woman rode in the carriage. Yet, when they had set out, Matilda had eagerly insisted he join her inside.

’Great. Now *I’m* the bride.’

For the rest of the journey, Eric was alone in the carriage. No, that wasn’t right. To be precise, he was alone with two handmaidens—young twins, about the same age as Jeanne.

They were handmaidens, but they were also ladies of the Nobility—daughters of Baron Azolet’s Family. They had been sent to Canossa to serve Matilda and, in doing so, to learn courtly etiquette.

The only problem was, Eric couldn’t understand a word they said. After Matilda’s departure, the two handmaidens had been chattering away in the Tuscan dialect, giggling from time to time. He couldn’t understand any of it.

Then again, maybe this wasn’t such a bad thing. They kept rubbing their feet against his calves, whether by accident or design, growing bolder as time went on.

’If this is part of the arrangement, I certainly have no complaints.’

Just as the two young ladies were leaning into him, ready to take things a step further, the carriage came to a halt. They had arrived.

A pair of knocks sounded on the carriage, and the door was thrown open. Eric saw Matilda on her white horse. She tilted her head, eyeing him inside the carriage as if she had noticed something.

Eric stepped out of the carriage, feigning nonchalance, and gave Matilda a perfect smile. The young ladies inside, however, couldn’t stop giggling.

Matilda’s white horse seemed restless, eager to move on. She pulled tightly on the reins, but the steed just kept prancing in place.

Eric offered Matilda his hand. She took it and dismounted with his help.

"It looks like you were enjoying yourself," Matilda said, patting down her trousers without looking at Eric.

Matilda had been wearing a red riding skirt, but she had since detached the skirt to reveal tight-fitting gray breeches underneath. Her black leather gloves were adorned with golden embroidery.

"It was fine," Eric shrugged.

"Did I arrive too soon? A pity, perhaps?" Matilda’s gaze swept over the two giggling handmaidens, who immediately fell silent and moved to her side, lowering their heads.

"Does it bother you?"

"No. In any case, only a child I bear can inherit the Tuscan domain." Matilda tilted her head back proudly.

"Yes, yes. I’ll get you pregnant soon enough. But you’ll have to give me more opportunities." Eric pinched her cheek, pulled off her glove, and took her hand in his, smiling. "Of course, if you insist on running in the other direction, I won’t mind too much. I’ll just have to find my own fun."

"Control your desires. You were once a Cultivator."

Matilda blushed. She still hadn’t grown accustomed to her new Identity as a wife. She was only just beginning to accept her marital duties, which she subconsciously tried to avoid. Even after several days, she still wasn’t used to having another person in her bed.

From their wedding night, she’d felt that Eric was nothing like a Cultivator, but she had brushed it off, thinking he was just a bit overexcited. The days that followed, however, had only confirmed her initial assessment.

The man completely lacked the traits she expected of a Cultivator. He excelled in academic matters like logic and reason, but his personal life showed no signs of simplicity, moderation, or—least of all—abstinence. It seemed the only thing he had left of his former life was the Monk’s Robe he’d worn.

While there was nothing to criticize in the behavior of a secular nobleman, this was far from the married life of a standard, devout believer.

For Matilda, it made her feel like a temptress... or perhaps, *he* was the tempter.

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