Chapter 49: The Blacksmith
On the streets of Jerusalem's Old City, pilgrims from afar were making their way along the "Via Dolorosa," translated as the "Way of Suffering." Legend held that Jesus, bearing the cross, had ascended Mount Calvary along this path to his crucifixion.
This street leading up the mountain was thronged with pilgrims from distant lands. They knelt on the ground, praying devoutly.
Not far from Lothar's feet, an elderly man in ragged clothes was prostrating himself. He repeatedly kissed the stones on the ground, murmuring prayers in a low voice, allowing the sharp gravel to chafe his forehead raw and red.
Lothar couldn't clearly hear what he was saying but could vaguely discern it was Latin. French was derived from Latin, intermixed with numerous Germanic words. Although Lothar only knew French and not Latin, he could still identify the language the man was speaking.
The old man's beard was already white, his body aged and his movements slow. When he prostrated himself on the ground once more, his head resting on the uneven stones, his stiff body remained down for a long time, unmoving.
He had died.
Someone exclaimed joyfully, "Old John has ascended to Heaven from here! That enviable old fellow! The Heavenly Father has forgiven all the sins he previously committed!"
Lothar had no interest in climbing Mount Calvary again to venerate the Church of the Holy Sepulchre. He was preparing to leave when a familiar figure appeared before him.
This person held a Bible, wore a white holy robe, and was shouting loudly.
"The Holy Land is in peril! Pilgrims from afar, your piety is moving, but mere worship alone cannot completely wash away your sins!"
The pilgrims looked at each other in dismay. Someone said with a sorrowful face, "Heavens, merciful Lord, even here, closest to the Kingdom of Heaven, can its gates still not open for us?"
"Did Old John not ascend to Heaven at all?"
Someone asked with a sob, "How then can we attain redemption? We have already given so much."
Amidst the clamoring crowd, the priest spoke again. "Saladin's evil running dogs are gathering! The infidel armies have surrounded the Holy Land! Only by defending the Holy Land, by dying in battle against the infidels, can true redemption be attained!"
He waved the Bible in his hand, as if everything he had just said could find its justification within that sacred text. "Go and join the Crusade! All who can bear arms, go and fight! All who can contribute coin, go and donate! All who can labor, go and work! We will surely achieve final victory!"
The pilgrims' fervor was quickly ignited. "May the Heavenly Father protect us! We will fight to the end!"
The priest raised his voice higher, shouting, "In the name of Jerusalem! In the name of the Father! Fight for the Heavenly Father! Kill all the infidels!"
"In the name of the Father!" The pilgrims cheered in response. Immediately, some stopped their worship and, flocking around the priest, headed down the mountain.
Lothar frowned. This priest was an old acquaintance—Father Beckett, who had traveled with him by ship to the Holy Land. It now seemed he had obtained an official clerical position and was putting his most proficient skill, "preaching," to use in the Holy Land.
Lothar felt no joy at this reunion with an old acquaintance; instead, a trace of discomfort welled up within him.
He looked at the few elderly pilgrims who clearly had no capacity for labor and no spare wealth. These people remained where they were, looking lost and bewildered.
They didn't know if they could still achieve redemption, or if what the priest in their small town had said when they set out—that reaching the Holy Land and repenting their sins would be enough—still held true.
Most likely, it had never held true.
***
Constance Manor.
Lothar handed the reins to Ryan. "Has there been a problem with recruiting blacksmiths and carpenters?"
Ryan looked somewhat ashamed. "Indeed, Milord. All the blacksmiths have been conscripted by the various lords of Jerusalem. We did find two carpenters, though, and their skills are quite good. One of them even built siege engines for Count Raymond once."
"That's good. As for blacksmiths... let's put that aside for now. Have those two carpenters gather their families and pack their belongings, ready to return to our fief with us." As Lothar had expected, Jerusalem had already mobilized for war, making it difficult to hire blacksmiths.
Ryan acknowledged with a "Yes, Milord," then, realization dawning, "A... a fief?" His face flushed with excitement. "Milord, have you obtained a fiefdom?"
Lothar shook his head. "Not a fiefdom in that sense, but a barony. His Majesty the King has enfeoffed me as Baron of Jorgklusburg. I now possess the qualification to enfeoff knights." He clapped Ryan on the shoulder. "You'll need to work harder. As long as you and Moder accumulate enough merit, I will not be stingy with a knight's title and a fief."
Ryan's face glowed with excitement. "Milord, I guarantee I will achieve merit!"
"Where's Moder? Have him give the new recruits extra rations to celebrate my promotion to Baron. Also, this afternoon, let's take them out for a drill. They've been training in seclusion for so long; it's time to let the nobles of Jerusalem witness the training methods of our Habsburg family."
"Yes, Milord! I guarantee they will not disgrace you!" Ryan said with firm conviction.
Returning to his room, Lothar immediately used the Extraordinary Retainer Card Draw. Unlike ordinary card draws, this time he had no opportunity to observe the card's attributes beforehand; dazzling cyan light simply burst forth. The light, finding no escape in the enclosed room, eventually converged before Lothar, forming a giant of a man, fully two meters tall, bare-chested, and holding an iron hammer.
His information immediately appeared.
[Name: Marlus
Occupation: Blacksmith
Quality: Extraordinary (4-Star)
Level: 1
Affection: Indifferent
Strength: 25
Agility: 5
Constitution: 10
Endurance: 20
Spirit: 5
Skill:
Master Smith: Marlus excels at forging all kinds of weapons and armor. His craftsmanship is exquisite, truly worthy of the title of Master.
Profile: Marlus the Blacksmith was once the chief master craftsman of the blacksmiths' guild in the Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth. He once forged a suit of fully enclosed plate armor for King Jagiellon VIII of the Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth, but it was ultimately pierced with ease by the Grand Master of the Teutonic Order in East Prussia, who wielded the divine artifact [Holy Lance], leading to Marlus's exile.
"A blacksmith?"
Lothar's eyes instantly lit up. 'Heavenly Father be praised! Getting exactly what I wished for!'
As if he had been exposed to smoke for too long, Marlus's voice was very hoarse. "Are you my Lord?"
Lothar nodded. "Correct. I am Lothar von Habsburg, lord of Jorgklusburg, enfeoffed by His Majesty King Baldwin IV of the Kingdom of Jerusalem."
Marlus lowered his head, his massive frame dropping to one knee like a small mountain. "Marlus is willing to serve you."
Lothar helped him up, his expression solemn. "I guarantee, Master Marlus, the unjust treatment you suffered in the Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth will absolutely not happen to you again here." He greatly respected Marlus, not just because Marlus was a four-star retainer, but because of his identity—this was undoubtedly a talent who possessed the most advanced knowledge of armor forging, far surpassing the Lombards. He could even spark an armor revolution that swept across Eurasia.
Marlus nodded slightly. He was also a taciturn, simple man, showing no emotional fluctuations. But Lothar's fine words were not spoken in vain; at the very least, his affection had increased slightly, though the change was not very noticeable.
"Let's go, Marlus. I'll take you to meet some people." Lothar pushed open the door and walked out.