kingdom of nations

Chapter 269 Spreading Wings (5)

After bidding farewell to Count Bélion and receiving promises of even greater rewards, everyone was greatly encouraged.

If César hadn't forbade it, the craftsmen might have lit torches and worked through the night. But building a bridge is not like working on solid ground. In a place where there is no lighting other than fire, lamps, and moonlight, even César could not guarantee that he could save someone who fell into the water.

The craftsmen could only regretfully give up, watching as the crimson afterglow ignited the river, the campfire was lit, and the aroma of food filled the iron pot, bringing a sense of comfort and relaxation to everyone.

After completing the most difficult tasks, the knights' duties became hunting, training, and patrolling. As Gian and Cesar discussed the shift order for the night, they saw a small black dot in the distance rapidly growing larger—someone was rushing towards them.

The knights immediately went on alert and stood up.

But then they could see that the newcomer was wearing a white cloak with a yellow Arrassa cross. "A knight, Count Berian's squire!" someone exclaimed in surprise. "Has he forgotten something?"

Indeed, he had forgotten something—the knight stopped his horse a few dozen paces away from them, then dismounted and hurried toward Cesar: “My lord, I have a letter here that a lady asked me to pass on to you,” he said with a smile, “she eagerly awaits your reply.”

Upon hearing this, several knights smiled knowingly, but those knights who knew Cesar felt somewhat puzzled.

So after Damara broke her oath with Cesar, many noble ladies did indeed extend olive branches to Cesar, including even the maids of Princess Hibil.

But César never really cared about winning the favor of noble ladies. He was willing to protect women and children because they were the weak, and protecting the weak was always the duty of the strong.

But this does not mean that he is willing to maintain a precarious relationship with a noblewoman, like walking a tightrope. This is not only a matter of morality and ethics, but also because he is unwilling to duel with anyone to argue that a certain noblewoman is more respectable—not out of cowardice, but because his precious life should not be wasted on this in the first place.

He did have someone he needed to demonstrate loyalty to, but unfortunately that person was Baldwin, who was unmarried, and their friendship did not need to be reinforced by such a "swearing-in".

But this trend intensified after Cesar also got married. However, Cesar had been in Cyprus all along, and even after returning to Holyrood Castle, he was still busy with the work assigned to him by the king and some political affairs that he needed to handle himself—bethlehem and Cyprus.

He rarely attended banquets, nor did he accompany noble ladies on outings or hunting trips. Even at martial arts tournaments, when he presented garlands, he would methodically choose the woman of the highest status in the arena and give it to her. This made many beautiful and intelligent noble ladies grit their teeth, thinking him an incurable and cold-hearted man. However, at the same time, this only fueled their competitive spirit.

But those familiar with César know that, indeed, he has not accepted any invitations from noble ladies to date.

Who could this lady be?

By this time, the knight had walked to within an arm's length of Cesar. He reached into his blouse as if to take something out, but what he pulled out was not a parchment letter with beautiful writing, but a bundle of silk.

A dagger was wrapped in silk.

People instinctively flinch when they see the flash of a weapon—but this assassin was so cunning that he used silk as the scabbard for his dagger. When the silk fluttered high, even Gian, who was standing next to Cesar, did not realize that this would be an extremely fatal blow—he was still smiling until he was pushed away by a tremendous force.

In his haste, Cesar only had time to raise his hand and grab the assassin's dagger tightly. But the assassin who was capable of killing Cesar was certainly no ordinary person. He missed his first strike, but instead of retreating, he continued to grip the dagger tightly and pushed it toward Cesar's chest.

Cesar had now received the saint's favor, and visible blessings covered him like dragon scales—every inch, even his fingertips—he was being watched by the prophet. The assassin had this thought, but he did not lose heart. Instead, he continued to apply power to his weapon. He too had been enlightened by the prophet, and the blessing the prophet had given him was a strong body and unparalleled strength.

During his training at Alamut Castle, he was able to smash through a stone brick about a foot thick by himself without being injured. He also once strangled a wild boar to death by squeezing it.

The knights reacted quickly, rushing forward and striking the assassin with their swords.

But apart from destroying his cloak and leather armor, it did not cause him any damage.

Carpenter Thomas rushed over, wielding his most prized short axe, and smashed it down on the assassin's helmet. The helmet dented noticeably, but the person inside seemed completely unaffected.

He continued to roar wildly until he pushed César toward a steep, towering slope, where César's back slammed against it—a pressure he had only experienced a handful of times since receiving God's blessing.

On the battlefield, he was repeatedly rammed by the enemy, often by a cavalryman weighing over 100 or even 200 pounds, along with his warhorse weighing over 1,000 pounds. If an ordinary person were hit, he would likely die before even hitting the ground; his bones would be shattered and his internal organs would rot.

These impacts were nothing to Cesar; aside from a brief moment of tightness in his chest, he could almost immediately jump up and continue fighting.

But this assassin gave him the feeling that a hundred enemies were attacking him simultaneously. What he didn't know was that the Assassin was also surprised.

He had assassinated countless high-ranking officials and nobles before. In Alamut Castle, ordinary assassins could only exchange their lives for each other, and even sacrificing their own lives did not guarantee the success of their targets. But it was entirely different for those who had received prophetic guidance.

They were the sharpest daggers in the old man's hands, while he often called himself a hammer, believing he could crush anyone who dared to stand in his way, whether he was a sultan, a caliph, or a Christian king. He had heard that this knight was known as the Shield of the Holy City, and that knights under his protection on the battlefield were as if wearing a second suit of armor, but so what?
He had killed Fatah members or Emirs who could have acted as shields for him before.

His dagger was also a sacred object. Legend has it that it was originally a nail, from which the prophet died. People retrieved the nail and forged it into the shape of a dagger. Because it had pierced the prophet's sacred body, it could also pierce the bodies of all mortals, and this has indeed been proven true.

But today he was gripped tightly by a pair of flesh and blood hands.

The assassin could feel people rushing towards him. Some were trying to strangle him from behind, or stab his eyes and neck through the gaps in his helmet. He thought he might really be going to meet his end here, but he was not afraid. None of the Assassins were afraid of death. Heaven awaited him, and his comrades.

He suddenly began to pray aloud, a kind of prayer that knights often heard on the battlefield, and their attacks grew even more ferocious. But the assassin was like a block of steel cast into Cesar's body, impossible to move. Gian, in a frenzy, pounded him with his fists, drawing blood from himself.

The assassin felt the dagger sinking deeper, and a surge of ecstasy welled up within him. But then he heard a more steadfast prayer—it was the Christian knight, also praying to their saint. He didn't know who it was, but suddenly a scorching light flashed before his eyes, engulfing him completely in an instant.

The assassin felt as if his soul had detached from his body in that instant, and he was rising upwards.

No! No! He wanted to see if he had completed the task Elder Sinan had given him. Then he saw it—he saw a pair of steadfast green eyes watching him, without the chaos and disorientation that precedes death.

Did he fail?
He could hardly believe it, when he was so close to success.

"'The Giants' have failed."

In a secret Assassin stronghold in the Galilee Mountains, a member overseeing the entire assassination operation respectfully reports back.

“That is, after all, the Shield of the Holy City.” Sinan read this explanation from the other person’s face.

Saint Jerome was not the prophet acknowledged by the Saracens; he may have been a scholar worthy of respect—people said that the knight sensed him, but Sinan did not believe it at all. Not to mention that he could see more than others, but given the power Cesar had shown, Sinan would have believed him even if he said he had received revelation from the first prophet.

Sinan was not surprised by the outcome, though he had still held onto a sliver of hope. If the Christian knight had died, it would have been a major blow to the King of Arazarus. The King of Arazarus was already in poor health, and surrounded by treacherous individuals; if handled properly, he might even become incapacitated and die as a result.

While the kingdom of Arazarus was in chaos, Sinan had the opportunity to negotiate with these Christians and then use their power to confront Saladin, but that now seems impossible.

"So, should the tasks of the others continue?"

“Continue,” Sinan replied coldly.

“Should we… tell…” an Assassin asked in a low voice, meaning should he tell Saladin about this?

“Saladin also refused us,” Sinan said. “And if he were to defeat the Crusaders, it would not benefit us. After he has Damascus, his next move will inevitably be Homs and Apollo. And once he has Syria, Alamut Castle will become a thorn in his side that he must remove.”

Should we then kneel before him and beg him to let us go?

He wouldn't. No monarch could tolerate an organization that could place daggers and letters by his bedside. Even if not for his own sake, he had to consider his descendants.

At this point, a mocking smile appeared on Sinan's face. Saladin's son did not possess the qualities he had hoped for. "What a pity."

It's unclear who he was referring to with that "What a pity." As Sinan turned his gaze to his only female student, Leila, an Assassin member suddenly rushed over. He knelt a few steps away from Sinan, kissed the ground, and then raised his head, his eyes filled with ecstatic joy.

"We have succeeded, Elder!" he cried. "Our assassins have successfully killed Sultan Saladin!"

(End of this chapter)