Chapter 50: The Duel
"This is my new retainer. Say hello to everyone, Marlus!" Lothar said to the crowd as he walked out of the manor's main building.
Following him, like a dark cloud descending from above, the towering figure, reminiscent of Mars, the god of war from ancient Roman mythology, instantly dominated everyone's vision with an extreme sense of pressure.
'Heavenly Father above!' Ryan and Moder instinctively swallowed. This two-meter-tall, giant-like, terrifyingly stout man had muscles as hard as granite. If he were clad in heavy armor on the battlefield, they simply couldn't imagine anyone capable of withstanding him.
Ryan exclaimed, "If he were a knight, I can't imagine what kind of magnificent steed could bear such a mighty frame."
Moder said succinctly, "He should be in the Eastern Empire's Varangian Guard!"
The Eastern Empire's Varangian Guard were the most elite infantry in the world.
"Heh, though Marlus is a bit strong, he's actually a blacksmith—the top-tier kind, who doesn't go to war."
Although Marlus had high base stats, his Constitution value was only twice that of an ordinary person. Lothar was unwilling to send such a precious technical talent onto the battlefield.
Yet, one could imagine that if Marlus were to appear on the battlefield, he would absolutely be a war-god-like figure, no less formidable than a legendary warrior of old.
Hans looked at Marlus's face and suddenly realized something, stammering a little, "A-are you that Great Master Craftsman from the Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth?"
Marlus lowered his head slightly, looking at the familiar white field with a black cross, a rare hint of disgust in his expression. "To think I'd run into a whelp from that Knightly Order here."
Ryan and Moder exchanged glances; they had no idea what "Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth" Hans was talking about, nor the "Knightly Order" Marlus mentioned. But it was clear there was bad blood between the factions these two belonged to.
"Marlus." Lothar's voice carried a hint of warning. "Remember, this is Jerusalem. The lord you serve is me, not some Commonwealth or Knightly Order."
Banu without a change in expression took a step forward. A subtle yet powerful aura immediately dispelled the sense of pressure Marlus had exuded.
She didn't know any Marlus; ultimately, he was just a mortal craftsman, incapable of forging a divine artifact like her demon-faced shield.
Fringilla, who had been about to step forward, quietly halted, murmuring, "The big dummy reacts pretty quickly."
Marlus was silent for a moment, then bowed deeply. "Milord, everything will be according to your will."
"Alright, I'll take you to see the smithy in the manor. If there's anything you need to procure, list it out as soon as possible. We must head to the fief tomorrow morning at the latest."
Ryan muttered under his breath, "How does it feel like Milord manages to pull one or two incredible talents out of nowhere every so often? Could it be that Milord isn't actually the Count's son, but an illegitimate son of the German Emperor?"
"Silence! Do not speak ill of our lord at will." Although Moder said this, his heart was also pounding. If not for a formidable background, how could a mere landless knight back then have gained the favor of two witches consecutively?
"In any case, this is definitely a good thing! It's all the Heavenly Father's will!" Moder devoutly made the sign of the cross before him.
"Right, the Heavenly Father's will!" Ryan deeply agreed with this sentiment, the kind that "the Pope would want to beat someone up if he heard it."
***
Knightly duels were not uncommon in Jerusalem. There were simply too many knights gathered in this city; landless knights from the Continent always came here dreaming of making a fortune in the Holy Land.
But when this duel concerned the esteemed Princess Sibylla of Jerusalem, people couldn't help but pay more attention.
In the afternoon, the area around the tournament field was packed with onlookers. Wandering knights, pilgrims yet to join the Crusade, nobles, and clergy crowded the streets. Guards loudly berated the commoners blocking the road, using their halberds to painstakingly clear a path for their lords.
Balian licked his chapped lips. Beneath his great helm, his expression was somewhat tense. He had arrived earlier than Guy of Lusignan.
He had drunk that vial of Dragon's Blood potion!
At this moment, he felt a terrifying power coursing through his veins. But at the same time, he felt somewhat apprehensive. He didn't know if using this power, which was clearly not a gift from the Heavenly Father, to fulfill a sacred duel was a blasphemous act.
Just then, gasps of astonishment rippled through the crowd.
"Good heavens, is that a giant from Rhodes?"
"This army, whose command are they under? To be so elite?"
From the stands of the tournament field, the already seated nobles and noblewomen stood up one by one, their faces showing expressions of incredulous surprise.
A titan of a man, incomparably imposing, carved a path through the crowd with an air of surveying all around him.
Behind him, a column of heavily armed and armored sergeants marched in neat formation, their eyes fixed forward, advancing in unison. They all wore white surcoats emblazoned with a red lion rampant emblem. Their movements were perfectly synchronized, and at a glance, an aura of fierce martial prowess assailed the senses.
A knight whose warhorse was even covered in black leather armor walked at the rear of the column.
"Is that Lothar of the Habsburg family?"
"He's returned to the Holy City?"
"I heard His Majesty actually promoted him to Baron?"
"Where is his fief? How could His Majesty decide such a major matter so easily, bypassing the council?"
"It's said to be a private royal domain, that remote Jorgklusburg."
People discussed animatedly, as if Balian, who had originally been at the center of the storm, had been instantly overshadowed by this rising new star of the Kingdom, Baron Lothar.
At this moment, Regent Raymond of Jerusalem, clad in a blue surcoat, slowly ascended the platform from below. Following closely behind was Count Raynald of Oultrejordain—this tall, thin man with a full head of red hair, having been meticulously groomed today, actually appeared quite handsome and imposing.
Baron Godfrey also slowly ascended the platform at this time. He immediately spotted Lothar's troop in the crowd. That troop's intimidating presence was so strong that it created a clear demarcation between them and the people around them. He beckoned, signaling Lothar to come forward.
Lothar ascended the platform with Banu, Fringilla, and Hans. He had originally wanted to leave Banu and Fringilla at home, but the former insisted she had to stay by his side for his safety, and the latter, Fringilla, also loved a lively scene and, upon hearing this, pestered him to go along.
Baron Godfrey teased, "Quite the display of power, eh? Has this army really only been training for half a month?"
Lothar, seeing his relaxed expression, was somewhat puzzled but still nodded. "Indeed, only half a month. For now, they can only be said to have initial combat capability; they can't compare to veteran soldiers."
"You've certainly made quite a splash. Didn't you see the change in Raymond's and Raynald's expressions?"
Lothar nodded slightly. "It's time I stepped up to share your burden."
This was the day Lothar officially declared his ascent onto the Kingdom's political stage.
Just then, Guy of Lusignan also arrived. This young knight, filled with arrogance, strode slowly forward, his hand on his sword.
"The sacred duel is a right bestowed upon nobles by the Heavenly Father. Everyone must abide by this law. But Balian, on that day, you did not pick up the gauntlet thrown to you by Guy de Lusignan. Therefore, you have the right to refuse the duel and have your squire or subordinate fulfill the obligation in your stead," William, Archbishop of Tyre, who also served as the Kingdom's Prime Minister, announced in resonant, modulated tones, one hand resting on his sword.
Balian shook his head. "Your Grace the Archbishop, I am willing to fulfill the agreement of the duel. I cannot give up my pursuit of Lady Sibylla, regardless of whether she holds a noble title or not."
"The same goes for me, Your Grace the Archbishop." Guy of Lusignan's expression was playful.
He looked up at Princess Sibylla, who was veiled, making it impossible to tell at whom of the two she was looking, and shouted, "Let the Heavenly Father decide which of us truly possesses such an honor!"