A Crusader with System in the Middle Ages

He was surveying the city. Milan was a beautiful and famous city, encircled by the Ticino River and the Adda River. The soil was therefore quite fertile, and water from their tributaries had been used to carve out moats, fortifying the city’s defenses.

Milan was even larger than London or Rouen. Though both were major cities in the north, they paled in comparison to Milan. Even within Italy, there were few cities that could rival it.

Here, the city’s growth had already spilled beyond its walls. Outside, countless houses were packed tightly together.

But now, there was no one to be seen. In normal times, even the area outside the walls would have been bustling with activity. The sheer number of houses proved that the residents here could support a small market of their own.

Thistles, nettles, and all sorts of unrecognizable plants—or rather, weeds—grew right up to the city’s high walls.

Dozens of Wales Longbowmen under Eric’s command were venturing into the overgrown weeds, their eyes fixed on the city walls.

It was a sweltering day; the air before the walls seemed to shimmer. A light breeze from the north stirred the clouds high above and rustled the long grass in the ditches at the base of the wall.

The Crossbowmen on the battlements were too hot to be bothered with standing guard. They paced back and forth along the wall, drifting between shadow and light, desperate for a chance to rest.

Thus, the Wales Longbowmen’s approach went off without a hitch. Stealth was their specialty, and they successfully slipped into the crossbows’ effective range.

"There was no such rule when I left! Besides, even if the Grand Commander did issue that order, it would be for people outside the Black Rose. I’m a Deputy Commander, and I can’t even enter my own Black Rose..."

Seeing that Eric was ignoring him, Sforza prepared to use his Identity to pressure the man.

The Guard Captain came forward and quickly waved his hands, imploring Sforza to stop talking.

He was an Infantry Captain in the Black Rose Corps and Sforza’s direct subordinate. Now, he served as the Guard Captain for Milan City.

He and his men were all clad in black ’Priest’ robes, much like the ones Sforza had worn the other day.

Eric noticed a crudely embroidered rose stitched in gray silk thread on the corner of the ’Priest’ robes.

The emblem was poorly made; calling it a rose was a stretch. It looked more like a generic flower, and it was so small it was barely noticeable.

Eric had learned from Sforza that all core members of the Black Rose Corps stationed in Milan were required to wear these Priest robes. It was a show of allegiance to the Patulin Sect, though Sforza often wondered, ’What good could that possibly do?’

But the Grand Commander had made it a mandatory requirement.

"Deputy Commander, some things are better left unsaid. Besides, Milan City has only just settled down—at least, on the surface. The Grand Commander has worked hard to establish his authority.

We are still nominally loyal to the Patulin Sect... The Black Rose Corps and the common citizens are equal. At least, we have to appear equal on the surface.

And the Grand Commander forbids anyone from disobeying his orders. Otherwise, he’ll hang their head and hands on the city wall. See? Yesterday’s unlucky bastard was just put up there."

As he spoke, the Guard Captain pointed to an embrasure on the wall. A shriveled head was hanging there, along with two hands that looked like cured meat. Sforza noticed that both the head and the hands had been flayed.

Judging by the agonized expression on the head, he had likely been flayed alive.

Despite the sweltering heat, a chill ran down his spine.

"Please, don’t make this difficult for me," the Guard Captain said, his face etched with distress.

"I’m not the one making things difficult, Ludovico. We have an extremely urgent matter that must be reported to the Grand Commander immediately.

Fine. If you don’t grasp the severity of the situation, I’ll spell it out for you.

On our way back, we encountered a massive army. It’s approaching Milan, and we must immediately..."

Before Sforza could finish, the Guard Captain cut him off. "Deputy Commander, I don’t think a little delay matters. Your men can’t be that..."

Just then, the sound of a horn echoed from the distance. A long, drawn-out blast, followed by another, and then another, reverberated across the vast open space outside the city walls.

As the last echo of the horns faded, a dense mass of figures appeared on the distant hillside. They swarmed over the entire slope, streaming steadily toward Milan City. The sound of war cries and the clang of Metal on Shields grew louder, like the rumbling of a distant thunderstorm.

A moment ago, the horizon had been empty, with only shrubs and beech trees for a backdrop. Now, it was completely filled with a seemingly endless stream of men. The sky grew pale with the dust kicked up by hooves and boots. A great host gleamed in the sunlight, their raised Long Spears and banners forming a veritable Forest.

"We want our Marquis! You despicable city-dwellers, give us back our Marquis!"

"You city swindlers! Return the wealth you stole from us!"

"The city has no love for the countryside! Give us back our Marquis!"

"Milan belongs to Marquis Azo and all his loyal subjects! Mercenary chief, get out of Milan!"

"Attack! Attack! Save our lord!"

"..."

That United Kingdom army appeared to be at least ten thousand strong. For Milan’s defenders, it was a nightmare.

Several of the citizen guards were so terrified their legs began to shake uncontrollably.

"We’re doomed! We’re doomed! We’re utterly doomed this time! I told you we shouldn’t have provoked those countryside madmen!"

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