Drawing Cards in the Middle Ages to Rise in Ranks

Losa's territory in Hebron is not like the desolate Gobi Desert in Transjordan, where no one is in sight.

The army marched past small farms cultivated by tenants, vineyards established on south-facing slopes, abandoned chalk pits, and woodlands legally owned by Losa but never organized for hunting.

The farmer soldiers even passed through their own villages, with some joyfully introducing to others their allotted fields, farms, and orchards.

In some places, villagers crowded by the roadside to watch the Knights in their splendid attire and spirited warhorses, offering snacks like dates to their fellow farmer soldiers.

Even though this was their first battle, the farmer soldiers' morale was quite high, occasionally shouting in excitement with the leading Imperial Knight.

Hans followed alongside Losa, and this was his first time observing Losa's Imperial Knights.

Seeing how they could inspire the farmer soldiers with just a few words, he remarked with sentiment, "My Lord, your Imperial Knights are truly eloquent."

Losa felt a bit smug about it, "Of course, before they headed to their fiefs, they underwent my personal training."

Hans expressed some concern, "But allowing these recently converted Saracens to combat their former brothers, is it really reliable?"

Losa recalled what he had once told Andreas.

"Hans, Saracens and Franks alike are merely regional labels."

Losa laughed and said, "Gaul, Albion, and Germania are the same. Do you think Normans regard Gauls as kin?"

Normans were a group of Vikings from Scandinavia who settled in Sicily and Northern Gaul, establishing their dominion. To the locals, they were conquerors, robbers, but certainly not their own people.

Losa spoke in a deep voice, "Moreover, to be safe, most of those I've recruited were once peasant slaves—you know the notion of a slave, don't you?"

"Once a slave, always a slave. Perhaps you believe slaves can buy their freedom, but where would they get the money from? All their labor on the land is for their masters."

"Hans, I gave them freedom, bread, land, and a future—do you think they have any reason not to be loyal to me?"

"Could a change of lord be kinder to them? Even if the Lord is Saracen?"

Hans showed a convinced expression, "No, they'd only hang these traitors upon a pyre."

Losa added, "No, Hans, if it were a Saracen lord, they'd likely opt for hanging or burial, as traitors are unworthy of dying by fire."

Hans showed a look of admiration, "My Lord, I always learn something new by your side."

Losa couldn't help but laugh, "Hans, it seems you've spent too long beside His Majesty the King, and your skills in flattery have grown."

...

On the desolate Gobi Desert, a caravan of pilgrims from Tarsus was slowly advancing towards Hebron.

They traveled the northeastern trade route, passing through the oases along the variant Jof line, heading southwards and passing Kaler Castle—this was also a significant trade route.

However, the traffic was far less than the routes heading north from Eira Port in the south via the Red Sea or south from the Eastern Mediterranean Coast.

A young Saracen pilgrim was sitting on a camel saddle, playing a reed flute.

"Grandpa Mubach, play along with me!"

An elderly man wearing a white turban laughed heartily, "Alright, let's play a hymn together," he carefully picked up a Balbarte stored in a wooden case and plucked the strings, starting to play.

"Holy Fire above!"

The members of the pilgrimage listened to the music, showing devout expressions, and began to chant together.

Then—a bow and arrow pierced the young pilgrim's eye socket, and he fell off the camel saddle with a thud, his reed flute quickly drenched in blood.

"Bandits!"

The pilgrims cried out sharply.

Suddenly, from the previously empty Gobi Desert, bandits riding single-humped camels and wearing black headscarves emerged from under sands and dunes.

They held sharp straight swords and round shields, each exuding a murderous aura, roughly counting, at least forty!

"Quick, run!"

"Holy Fire above, when did they appear?"

"Those among us with weapons, gather and prepare to fight!"

The pilgrimage turned into chaos.

Soon, the bandits swiftly swept into the pilgrims like a gust of wind.

Some Persian warriors tried to resist, but they were too few and scattered within the group, needing to divert their attention to protect their employers and family members. They were soon mostly killed.

Someone pleaded, "Holy Fire above, in consideration that we are pilgrims on our way to the Holy Land, spare our lives."

But what met him was an axe to the face.

A middle-aged bandit with a beard split his skull down the middle, holding a war axe aloft to boast his prowess to his comrades.

"Holy Fire above, supreme and great!"

The bandits shouted loudly, having been chased by the damn Patrol Officer of Hebron, they had finally managed to prey after so long.

As for what the pilgrims said?

They simply couldn't understand.

Even if they did, so what?

Some pilgrims on faster single-humped camels managed to escape the bandits' encirclement, but their faces turned pale.

On the slopes not far away, Knights in brightly shining armor stood.

Cavalry with feathered decorations on their backs and the unmistakable Cross Badge on their cloaks.

"The Crusaders!"

"It's those Demons with the Crosses!"

"Holy Fire above, are we doomed to perish here?"

The pilgrims showed expressions of despair; these Knights bearing Cross Badges were long portrayed as bloodthirsty monsters in the Zoroastrian World, feared even by children.

Just escaped one peril only to fall into another.

At that moment.

A Knight with a helmet resembling a bull horn approached the cavalry with Cross badges among them, letting out a terrifying battle cry.

Immediately afterwards, the cavalry on the mountain charged down with overwhelming momentum.

The camels beneath them stepped fearfully back and forth.

Seeing the leading "Bull Knight" aiming his lance towards them, they couldn't bring themselves to resist, chanting "Holy Fire Protection" over and over.

The sound of hooves filled their ears.

Yet at that moment, it gradually faded.

Bewildered, the pilgrims opened their eyes.

Dust settled, they remained unharmed, while those Crusader Knights had furiously galloped out of sight like arrows released from a bowstring.

At that moment.

A young Knight with short golden hair and clad in a black cloak stopped in front of them.

This young Knight wore armor that was more elaborate, adorned with gold-edged dragon patterns and the emblem of a double-headed eagle, the armor's smooth surface glittered in the sun.

He spoke, his tone gentle.

But none of the pilgrims understood.

A tall, black-haired woman, riding a warhorse, stepped out from behind the man.

From the woman's veiled mouth came a cool, harmonious voice, "This is the Lord of Hebron, Count Losa, he says he is obligated to protect all pilgrims passing through."

"But provided that you pay the legal taxes."

The pilgrims immediately spoke up, "Honorable Lady, we have paid the passage fee when passing the Castle overgrown with large oak trees, we assure you!"

The black-haired woman conveyed this to the cloaked Lord of Hebron.

He smiled and nodded to the pilgrims, said another word, and left with his troops.

The black-haired woman said, "Wait here, once the bandits are repelled, you can reunite with your kin. We apologize for your misfortune; this was our failure."

The pilgrims nervously returned the salute continuously.

Until Losa and his party left far behind, they couldn't believe they were released so easily.