Drawing Cards in the Middle Ages to Rise in Ranks

After parting with Losa, old Hassan and his group took a detour to Eira Port.

Sea transportation might be more convenient.

But the pirates on the Red Sea are no pushovers. The young men in the tribe are good at land battles but have never been on a boat.

Although it's been said that there are fewer pirates on the Red Sea recently, only the Holy Fire knows if this news was intentionally spread by those greedy pirates.

Old Hassan and his tribe, surrounded by foreign Hanji, instinctively harbored deep wariness towards everything around them.

Coupled with their inland location and closed-off information, the news they received was already outdated.

"Father, do we really need to do business in the territory of Butcher Losa? Why not sell the goods in Aqaba and head back?"

The young Kurd warrior wore leather armor, his face filled with deep worry and unease.

Old Hassan sighed lightly.

"In Aqaba, we can't sell our goods at a good price. If we do, we might as well sell directly in Yanbu and save on trade taxes along the way."

The Kurd warrior tightly gripped his weapon, tense, as they were already near the territory of those Crusader demons.

In the distance, dust rose into the sky.

It seemed like a strong wind carrying tons of yellow sand was sweeping towards them.

"Father, is that a sandstorm?"

The young Kurd warrior asked in confusion.

Old Hassan took a glance, his face suddenly changing: "It's robbers! Run quickly!"

The swift Bedouin bandits did not care whether you were one of their own.

"Father, we are a tribe under Rauf's protection. They won't do anything to us, right?"

The young Kurd warrior asked in confusion.

A flash of anger crossed old Hassan's face: "Shut up, follow my orders, everyone run quickly!"

Perhaps nothing would happen to them.

At least, they might get skinned, and considering the trade tax along the way, it's not worth the hassle. They might as well deal with the goods in Yanbu and avoid this unnecessary trip.

The robbers got closer and closer.

The heavily laden double-hump camels were clearly no match in speed for the lightly equipped, single-hump camels of the Bedouin bandits.

But as they crossed a half-dried river, the Bedouin bandits suddenly stopped in unison.

In the distance, you could still hear their unwilling cursing.

"They didn't catch up?"

Old Hassan and the young men in the tribe felt a sense of relief for narrowly escaping danger.

They were almost caught.

A metal arrowhead used by the Bedouins was even lodged in the rump of one of the double-hump camels. Thankfully, it wasn't deeply embedded, and some herbal ointment would suffice after removal.

But just then.

The robbers lingering behind turned around and left without hesitation.

Judging by their actions, they seemed frightened.

Old Hassan was startled, instinctively turning to see a Double-headed Eagle Banner flying on the distant hillside.

The winged, imposing Armored Knights appeared slowly on the hill.

They stood quietly, solemnly, like statues, yet they seemed ready to rush down the hill like an avalanche at any moment, exuding an overwhelmingly terrifying sense of oppression.

"Damn, it's the demons with the Cross."

"They won't attack us, will they?"

"Who knows?"

Old Hassan was pessimistic about this.

In his impression, those demons bearing the Cross were even more cruel and violent than the Bedouin bandits.

Especially the Normans.

Even in Europe, many knights out of work would often moonlight as bandits, and there had been cases of robbery involving nuns that brought shame to all knights and the Church.

But fortunately.

These knights with wings just observed them from a distance without taking any action.

After a long time, one person finally rode forward to meet old Hassan.

Old Hassan quickly raised his hand to stop the young clansmen from reaching for their weapons, unable to restrain themselves.

He knew very well that, in front of this imposing Armored Cavalry, they would be slaughtered like lambs.

"You are merchants, right?"

The person didn't appear overbearing and instead asked fluently in Arabic.

"We are a Patrol Team under Count Losa, and I am the Sergeant of the Ulm Knights."

Old Hassan was surprised and then realized that this knight was also a Bedouin.

He replied with a smile: "Yes, exactly, we plan to do business at Eira Port."

The knight nodded slightly: "A wise choice. What goods have you brought?"

As soon as he said this, the Kurd warriors tensed up again.

Old Hassan quickly calmed them, reprimanded them a few times, and answered honestly: "Salt, cured meat, cheese, and some ores."

The knight did not extort them or check their goods, but instead said amiably, "The trade tax on your goods is very low. Evading taxes would be counterproductive—in the Count's territory, as long as you don't evade taxes, you're protected by the territory laws. If you need anything, you can ask us anytime."

Old Hassan was stunned, completely not expecting such good fortune.

"Go on."

The knight waved his hand and returned directly to his group.

Old Hassan and his group exchanged glances. Some young men had been ready for a desperate fight, never expecting to pass so easily.

When they were far away, someone exclaimed:

"They really didn't follow us!"

Old Hassan was speechless, unconsciously recalling what that young Frankish man had said along the way.

"Perhaps the imam was really deceiving us."

His expression changed.

The further they went, the barren land gradually transformed into greenery.

The area was densely populated with oases and many farms supported by them.

Majestic aqueducts transported water from unknown sources to irrigate the fields.

On the road, more and more merchant caravans like theirs appeared.

The sound of camel bells and bustling conversations filled the air.

"Is this really Count Losa's territory?"

The tribesmen from the countryside couldn't help but wonder.

Although they hadn't seen much of the world, they were not fools; if the ruler here was as brutal as the imam described, how could there be such a vibrant scene?

How could such well-equipped, larger-scale caravans possibly come here?

In the afternoon.

They finally caught sight of Eira Port's city walls in the distance.

The towering, majestic Siegfried Tower left them amazed.

The knowledgeable merchants traveling with them laughed and said, "I heard that this tower was built overnight by Count Losa with the help of divine power. The Franks privately call him the Holy Son, but Count Losa never allows people to address him that way."

Built overnight?

Old Hassan looked at the magnificent, seemingly miraculous tower, with a hint of disbelief on his face.

How could that be possible!

As they queued to enter the city, they were finally approaching inspection.

The line moved slowly.

Yet, what old Hassan expected did not happen—the soldiers with shiny armor were just diligently checking for contraband.

"Father, look!"

The young Kurd warrior pointed to the bulletin board beside them.

The board displayed an interesting mural: a Saracen noble arrogantly pointing a dagger at a poor man's throat, but behind him stood a handsome man in a Double-headed Eagle cloak, appearing as a savior.

Above it was written: He saves us from the mouths of wolves.

Old Hassan pondered these words, feeling a budding realization that perhaps what's said there made sense.

In Rauf's territory, there wasn't a patrol team specifically for dealing with bandits.