kingdom of nations

Chapter 272 Spreading Wings (8)

The rowers behind David responded in unison, but they had already given it their all.

At times like these, even a moment can feel as long as a hundred years. David felt as if he had died. Hell, only hell could present such a sight. Before them were demons as numerous as collapsing mountains and crumbling seas, and a torrential rain of sulfur and burning coals was falling from the sky.

When they fell into the water, it caused the water to boil, and all they could smell were gunpowder, metal, sulfur, and the burning smell of flesh, and all they could hear were the cries and roars of humans.

David was beginning to understand his father. Raymond must have participated in such battles before, which was why he was so insistent on David not taking such a risk. But David couldn't care less at that moment. He wanted nothing more than to jump into the water and use his own strength to pull the ship forward.

What was even more worrying was that, in addition to the shouts of humans, he could also hear the neighing of horses. He couldn't help but worry that the warhorses behind the ship might lose their courage to charge due to injury or panic. Just as he was about to turn around to look at his warhorse, he heard a thunderous explosion, followed by a strange clattering sound. He lost control of his body and crashed straight into the shield.

They finally reached the shallows, where the enemy was rushing towards them.

“Lord, bless me! Saint Philip, grant me the same power as you!” David cried out the name of the saint he longed for, then turned the hilt of his sword around and used it to pry open the wooden pegs securing the shield to the ship’s planks, pulling the shield out.

He fearlessly charged forward with his shield raised, facing the hideous demons. With a single swing of his shield, he smashed a Saracen's face, causing him to stagger backward and fall backward.

In the chaos of battle, no one noticed him. Then countless feet trampled on his body. He might have been alive before, but now he was certainly dead. David barely paused. He used his shield to block a hammer coming from the left, and with a backhand slash, he disemboweled a Turk. Then he rammed his shoulder into a Saracen nobleman whose view was blocked by the Turk. If it were an ordinary person, the person would have broken bones instantly.

But this nobleman had also been inspired by the prophet. After such a heavy blow, he did not collapse weakly, but instead his ferocity was aroused.

He drew his scimitar and leaped into the air. David gained boundless strength, like a mountain, while this Saracen nobleman gained agility like a bird or a monkey. His movements were so fast that they could almost leave afterimages in the human eye. If a knight had moved slightly slower or reacted more slowly, he might have already severed his arm or neck.

David's squire had caught up; he had good eyesight and immediately raised his crossbow and shot an arrow at the demon that was harassing his master.

The arrow grazed the Saracen nobleman's thigh, disrupting his fluid movements like a broken melody. David didn't even look at him, but instead swung his broadsword across his face and struck him across the cheek. Along with the enemy's speed, half of his skull also vanished.

At this moment, a small patch of white ground appeared beside David, and the knight spat a mouthful of bloody saliva onto the ground.

"These cowards!" Although heretics also have the right to cower, a hero will always be admired and a clown will always be ridiculed.

David stood still and roared, a roar that was like a violent explosion in people's ears, making everyone dizzy—it was not a sound that a human could make—and it drew all the attention on the battlefield to him.

Then he raised his shield, the red and gold cross (the symbol of Tripoli) gleaming in the sunlight, and proclaimed, "I am David of Mersin, son of the Count of Tripoli! Come to me! Come to me!"

His shield was like a banner suddenly raised in enemy territory, and every knight instinctively moved toward him. At the same time, their spirits were lifted, their initial fear and hesitation gone, and they desperately moved closer to David, eventually joining him to form a force that could not be underestimated.

David glanced at the wall and immediately spotted the Saracens' weakness. It was on the wooden wall, which had been built after two rounds of slave exchanges, still stained with the blood of the slain slave. He led his knights toward it, and surprisingly, he managed to tear a small gap in the seemingly impenetrable defense.

The Emir or Fatah stationed there was clearly unwilling to lose his army for the sake of some so-called great cause. He began to ask his comrades for help, but after receiving few responses, he chose to retreat without hesitation.

He knew his colleagues would brush him off by saying there was no Sultan's decree, but the Sultan had already relinquished power, and they had agreed to each fulfill their own obligations, though now it seemed those were just unreliable promises.

His actions naturally provoked a barrage of insults, and those generals who had originally intended to stand by had no choice but to send their troops. David was under immense pressure. Fortunately, he had already paved a nearly blank path for those who followed, and before the enemy could even begin to remedy the situation, the knights had already charged in front of them.

When David finally cut down the last Saracen who charged at him, he looked around and was surprised to find that his strength was not yet exhausted, or rather, he was like a pot of cold water placed on a campfire, which had only now truly boiled.

"Can we still charge?"

He asked, "Yes!" the knights shouted in unison, but a few remained. The white light surrounding them had dimmed considerably, indicating that they had not received much favor. David did not show any disdain, but nodded to them and turned to leave.

He learned a lot from César, one of which was not to judge others by his own standards.

He was undoubtedly a hero in the eyes of these knights, but what was he compared to Cesar? While Cesar was fighting alongside Baldwin on the battlefield, he was still a good boy in Holy Cross Castle and his father's castle.

But whether at banquets, tournaments, or on the battlefield, Cesar never looked down on him for it. He even once advised Baldwin not to be so stubborn, saying that he and Baldwin were special after all.

It is only natural to fear illness and death, especially since they were just a group of children at that time.

"Have I grown up a bit?" David asked himself. Then he looked up and saw his squire leading his warhorse. He was covered in blood, but his eyes seemed to shine with starlight.

For knights, the most proficient way of fighting was, of course, to ride on horseback, pierce with their lances, or knock enemies away. And what's best is that this shallow area is neither covered with moss and silt nor piled with hard, smooth pebbles, making it the perfect sandy ground for horses to run on.

David leaped onto his horse, took the spear handed to him by his squire, and estimated the distance between himself and the Saracens' second line of defense—about three hundred feet, enough. The Saracens watched the Christian knights gallop towards them, their sharp spear tips lowered, the ends gleaming with a chilling light, yet they showed little fear.

They lay prone behind the barricades, their eyes fixed on the rising and falling hooves of the horses. The ground trembled constantly, making their chests ache, but they wore eerie smiles on their faces, as if they were waiting for something.

Three hundred feet is but a moment for a warhorse; it's as if the horse has already arrived before them in the blink of an eye.

But to the Saracens' surprise, David lowered his spear instead of holding it horizontally. Instead of letting his horse leap over the barricades, he suddenly lifted the stake in front of him with such force that his horse's hooves sank deep into the sand.

The wooden stake flew and struck the Saracens behind him, causing a cacophony of screams and howls. Before he made these moves, the Saracens who had been lying in ambush behind the chevaux-de-frise had already jumped up and retreated as planned.

Beneath them was not solid ground, but a trench filled with thorns. These trenches were neither deep nor wide, but if the knights rode over the barricades and landed here, their hooves would not trample on the flesh and blood of others, but on these thorns that would collapse under any pressure.

Their warhorses would wail, break their legs, and fall into the trenches, whereupon their enemies would swarm and kill the knights who were temporarily unable to rise from their horses.

Like Baldwin and Cesar, David was accompanied by his most trusted knights, who followed him without hesitation when they saw him do this. Only two or three knights, unable to react in time, either crashed into the chevaux-de-frise or leaped into the Saracen trap.

However, most knights did not push their horses to maximum speed—when charging side by side, knights would inevitably maintain a consistent speed, so after knocking away the barricades, they could still pull on the reins and make their horses leap. The horses not only crossed the trenches but also trampled heavily on the Saracens who had not had time to run away. They were either killed instantly or seriously injured. The result of a thousand-plus pounds of weight, combined with the added speed, impacting the fragile human body was predictable.

The general defending this line felt a pang of disappointment, but he did not back down. Perhaps it was because he was an emir, not a Fatah, and his soldiers came from his authority, not his tribe. He loudly urged his soldiers to go into battle while he himself faced David.

“They only have these people,” he shouted. “They’re tired, exhausted, and utterly vulnerable. Don’t be fooled!”

He himself did indeed take the lead, riding forward to fight David, but David beheaded him after the third round.

As Emil's head fell to the ground, the knights around David cheered. But only David knew that he was truly at his limit. An ordinary knight could only maintain full speed or fighting for about fifteen minutes, while a blessed knight could fight for several hours.

David received no small amount of favor, but the problem was that he faced countless enemies, an endless tide of troubles.

By this time, the pontoon bridge spanning the Jordan River had been completed, and the Crusaders began to cross the river.

But even earlier, when the positions were already set and neither the Crusaders nor the Saracens could change them, another army set off in the first light of dawn.

When the generals heard that Count César of Edessa had built a bridge upstream in accordance with the king's orders, they even thought the king had gone mad. But then Count Berion stepped forward and swore to God that he had indeed seen such a bridge, which was wider and stronger than the pontoon bridge that was now built on the Jordan River. It was a wooden bridge that could accommodate twelve knights walking side by side.

When the sun was high in the sky, they finally saw the bridge gleaming white in the sunlight. This was certainly not the radiance bestowed by angels or God, but simply the white heartwood of a tree, stripped of its bark, reflecting the sunlight.

These people no longer had time to kneel down and pray for thanks. The army now on the shallows was like bait thrown to a pack of vicious dogs, letting the despicable infidels surround and tear them apart, leaving them no time to pay attention to the movements behind them. They needed to get to the high ground where the Saracens were stationed as soon as possible and then defeat them from behind.

Indeed, David felt short of breath and his limbs ached. He kept murmuring prayers, and St. Philip was indeed watching him. But while the saint's grace was boundless, the human body was fragile—he had already handed over command to another knight… He only managed to stay upright by sheer willpower.

More than a thousand men rushed onto the shallows to fight alongside him, but people continued to fall beside him—armed squires, attendants, and knights. They had been fighting for hours and might fight for several more. At this point, they could do nothing but struggle on or scream frantically; they couldn't even think.

Their courage wanes with every thought, and even a moment's carelessness under the enemy's relentless pressure can lead to the worst consequences, just like the enemy in front of David, who has already revealed a sinister smile—David can see that this troublesome enemy is powerless to resist.

But for some reason, he suddenly looked back in alarm, and in that instant, David cut off half of his shoulder. He fell off his horse, cried out a few times, and then fell silent.

What was he looking at? David looked in that direction and saw a red flag among the dense Saracens. The cross of Arazarus on the flag was so conspicuous, and the person was wearing a white shirt, like a snowflake among the ashes.

“Cesar!” David cried out, or rather, he thought so, but in fact he only hummed it softly.

"Too early!" Gian said urgently, "My lord!"

They should wait until the main force arrives before joining the battle.

But Cesar simply shook his head slightly: "It's too late." If they insisted on waiting for the main army to arrive before fighting together, then David and the thousand-odd men on the shallows would surely be devoured by the Saracens.

Even if it weren't for David, but for the Crusaders, he couldn't possibly stand by and wait for the so-called best opportunity.

What is the best thing in this world? For him, the best thing would be to become a monk under Dean John—the safest and most comfortable path. But he didn't, and he won't now.

Cesare's squire had already raised his banner, gazing at his master with admiring eyes as he bowed his head in prayer. When he raised his head, the knights around him were also covered in a layer of scales that shone like moonlight, and the brilliance of the scales did not dim or lose its luster even under the blazing sun.
They were like a sword honed to an unparalleled sharpness, charging straight towards the Saracen camp.

At first, some people even thought it was another dispute between an emirate and Fatah, and some even gloated and relaxed as they came out to watch the show. They were completely unprepared and could not imagine that anyone could have managed to get behind them.

This is not an endless wilderness; the Saracens face the Jordan River, with the Fatahs of the Emirate of Damascus behind them.

After breaching a camp, Cesar glanced around and noticed that the Sultan's main tent was missing. The Sultan's main tent was the largest, most luxurious, and most conspicuous—just like Nur ad-Din's had been.

There was also no eagle flag representing Saladin. And during these days, he maintained contact with Baldwin.

In this era and in this place, carrier pigeons were not an option, nor could they send a knight on horseback to travel back and forth, since both sides were constantly moving—so they used hunting dogs. The knight who could communicate with animals could never have imagined that his ability could be used in such a way.

Hounds have the most sensitive sense of smell, so it's not difficult for them to find people several miles away. They can quickly transmit messages between people by attaching a brass tube to their collar and putting a letter in the tube.

After all, dogs don't need flat roads or a rider to run. They can cross rivers and climb mountains. And after being disguised with collars, even if there are Saracen soldiers on patrol, they will just think they are wild dogs that are already in the wilderness and will not pay much attention to them.

The latest news from Baldwin was that Saladin had been assassinated. Cesar instinctively felt this might be a conspiracy, but at this point, Saladin still hadn't set up his tent or raised his flag. To consider it part of a conspiracy would be to disregard the teachings and laws of the Saracens.

The layout of these tents revealed that there was no true leader among them. At this moment, Cesar and Baldwin shared the same thought: had these Saracens suddenly become fools and idiots? How could they still be fighting and scheming against each other at a time like this?

But he had no time to think further. He was not in a hurry to break through the Saracen camp to rescue David. Doing so would have exposed him and his knights to the Saracens, which would not only be of no benefit to David, but might also bring him more enemies.

They did not actually fight the Saracens, but rather roamed their camp, constantly disturbing, tormenting, and enraging them with the speed of their warhorses and the blessings bestowed by the saints.

The knights slaughtered indiscriminately, setting fires everywhere, especially to the baggage train, which was also guarded by an emir and his soldiers. Of course, the Saracens knew how important baggage trains and supplies were to an army of tens of thousands.

But they foolishly piled some earthenware pots together with the grain, and Cesar, riding by, noticed this fleeting opportunity.

"Crossbow!" he shouted, and Gian immediately spurred his horse to his side, took a sangra crossbow from the saddle, and handed it to Cesar. The sangra crossbow was a heavy crossbow that required the user to fire it with their feet, but for a blessed knight, it could be fired with just his hands.

César first raised his crossbow and shot an arrow through an earthenware pot. The pot immediately shattered into several pieces, and as the fragments flew up, the liquid inside flowed out—oil! Not light wine!

Seeing the same scene, Gian happily and tacitly lit a fire on a nearby burning tent, and after Cesar nocked an arrow, he lit the crossbow bolt. The bolt flew through the air like a meteor—because it was noon, no one even noticed, but with one strike, it not only shattered more earthenware pots, causing them to leak grease, but also immediately started a large fire.

The Saracens, realizing what had happened, rushed over shouting, but it was too late.

"What are they yelling?"

"It's probably something like oats or barley. God help us."

Gian answered enthusiastically. At this moment, even more Saracens were heading their way. Cesar immediately summoned his knights to his side, and they gathered together to fight against the enraged Saracens. Whenever the knights' lines were about to be breached, Cesar would step forward with his shield raised. Although he did not wield swords, the damage he inflicted was no less than that of any sharp blade. No one could withstand a single round against him.

After hundreds of attempts, and seeing that they still hadn't achieved enough results—to knock these despicable knights off their horses, throw them to the ground, cut off their hands that had set them on fire, and then their heads, watching their pitiful cries—one Fatah member couldn't help but roar in anger: "What is this? Is it a tortoise? Is it a tortoise?!"

“I think he’s more like a big hedgehog,” another Fatah sighed. When these Christian knights gathered together, they were like a beast covered in armor. They had hoped that the “Shield of the Holy City” would run out of strength or make a mistake, but unfortunately, he seemed to never feel tired. Wherever he was weak, he would receive a new blessing. His weakness would only flash for a moment and then be repaired without leaving a single gap.

“I just don’t believe this person could really receive so much attention and revelation; he’s a Christian,” another emir said enigmatically.

“If he’s the one Saladin was talking about, then it makes sense,” another Fatah said, his sarcastic tone drawing an angry glare from the Emir. “And you’re still talking about the Shield of the Holy City at a time like this?”

“Isn’t that so?” the Fatah immediately retorted. “Look at your soldiers. They are no longer willing to fight these knights. Who can bear to swing their swords hundreds and thousands of times only to be mocked by the enemy?”

Even if they have the advantage, people get tired, especially in battles like this where there are no immediate results. Most soldiers will look for the next target—even if their supplies are burned by the enemy, so what? They can seize the Christians' wheat and livestock.

“I think you all seem to have overlooked a problem,” another Fatah said, a reminder that had initially gone unnoticed by the others—his army, or rather the warriors of his tribe, had been decimated in the previous battles, leaving him weak and no longer valued by others.

He had to raise his voice, "Sirs! Sirs! Haven't you noticed? Where did this army come from?"

"Yes, where did this army come from?"

The Crusaders, who had just stormed onto the shallows, were now surrounded and about to become their prey. So where did these troops come from? Panicked glances passed from one to the other, until the man at the very back of the army cried out as if waking from a dream, "They...they came from upstream!"

At this moment, everyone inside the tent jumped up. But when they rushed out of the tent and looked at the billowing dust, all they saw were the Crusaders who had silently stood behind their camp.

At that moment, the Crusaders on the shallows and King Baldwin of Arathi Basin, still stationed on the opposite bank of the river, also saw them. Both sides cheered simultaneously, and Baldwin had already mounted his horse: "In the name of God! Follow me into battle!"

"We will fight alongside you!" the knights shouted, raising their spears.

As Baldwin drew his longsword and pointed it forward, they ran across the pontoon bridge made of boats linked together—guided by the gleaming white spear of St. George.

For the Saracens, Baldwin and the invincible spear of St. George beside him were nothing but nightmares. Yes, they would laugh at his sickness, his youth, and his lack of real power.

But in any case, on the battlefield, he was a grim reaper clad in white robes, and no one could break through the shield of the Holy City, nor could anyone withstand the spear of the Holy City.

From the sky, one could clearly see that the fierce battle line on the shallows was pushed back a considerable distance the moment Baldwin stepped onto the pontoon bridge.

David's warhorse had died in battle, and he was fighting the Saracens on foot. But he was already in tears and bleeding, and he didn't care about his wounds. Or rather, the moment he saw Baldwin, all his wounds were healed.

With a shout, he lifted up a Saracen corpse and used it as a shield as he charged back into the battle.

But one of the Saracens he faced seemed to have finally been provoked. When David's sword pierced his chest, instead of retreating, he cried out and lunged forward, tightly embracing his enemy.

David fell to the ground along with the Saracen, and immediately three or four Saracens rushed out to kill him, but for a moment, whether out of panic or unwillingness to desecrate their companion's body, they could not find an opportunity to strike.

In this critical moment, David was truly exhausted. He bit down on the Saracen chainmail he was wearing, his eyes fixed on the sky, but he could only see distorted faces. But in the next moment, the clouds were dispersed and light shone in!
It's César!

The white light emanating from him intensified, like a burning white flame. To the exhausted Saracens, it was like a thunderbolt, instantly tearing the entire position to shreds, with his knights following closely behind.

If Saladin were here, he would have immediately rallied the other Saracen warriors. In any case, they had a significant numerical advantage, and they might still have a chance if they could defeat any of the enemies attacking from the rear, the Christian knights who were fighting them, or King Arazarus. But here, they were all emirs and fatahs who were concerned only with their own interests. They had already seen the results of fighting to the death, and of course, they would feel a moment of fear.

The time was short, but enough. As Cesar lifted David and placed him on Castor's back, Baldwin had already leaped to his side, and the Spear of St. George immediately swept several enemies in front of him in half.

Pollax and Castor are both at the prime of their lives as warhorses—still in their early stages. Although they still retain some of the playfulness of young foals, they are among the best in the herd in terms of load capacity, speed, and agility.

Castor was as good-natured as Cesar, and sometimes, even when Pollux deliberately provoked him, he would give way. Therefore, Pollux was a true king among the Crusader horses. When he raised his head and neighed, all the Christian knights, and even some of the Saracen warhorses, trembled, bowed their heads, and stamped their feet.

They realized that a powerful kin was appearing there and demanding their submission.

"Can you still fight?"

Baldwin turned to ask David, who was behind Cesar, and David, unsurprisingly, answered loudly, "Of course!"

"Give him weapons and a horse," Baldwin shouted, and immediately a knight offered his horse, while another squire handed over his master's weapons.

Despite saying this, Baldwin still nodded to Cesar. He made David the vanguard not because he wanted his father to lose this son or to make him suffer. Cesar had already healed the wounds David had suffered when he left him. He asked David to do this in order to pave the way for David's future.

Indeed, one Abigail in Holy Cross Castle was enough; he really didn't need a second, a cowardly companion spoiled by his father.

Right, where is Abigail? He specifically asked him to stay by his side. Thinking of this, Baldwin realized that Abigail was missing—could he really have died on the battlefield?

However, Baldwin quickly dismissed the ridiculous idea, for unless God intervened—otherwise, sending Abigail to fight these Saracens would be harder than herding a pig to Mass—he was happy to hide wherever he wanted.

The first thing Cesar did upon seeing Baldwin was to reach out his hand to him. Their hands clasped in the air, and strength flowed from Cesar to Baldwin—even though he was not injured—and then to David, who was right beside Baldwin.

Cesar lifted his helmet and smiled slightly at David. "In this battle, you have rendered the greatest service." David wearily raised his eyes and saw Cesar's outstretched hand. He paused there, lost in thought.

But then, he finally smiled with relief, his two hands, still clad in chainmail, clasped together.

For the first time, he also felt the benefits that Cesar brought to others—the power that his father had cursed and belittled countless times. He felt his body becoming lighter—this was not an illusion. He had had an illusion when he saw Baldwin, but he had been through many battles and knew that it was just a temporary numbness caused by excitement.

But this time it felt completely different. He truly felt himself getting better, as if he were being treated by a most favored priest. His wounds no longer hurt, his legs were no longer stiff, and he could even straighten his back.

Is this why Cesar was able to gain so many knights to follow him?
Even if he wasn't the heir to the Count of Tripoli, he would have been.

As night fell, the fighting gradually subsided. Cesar was able to prepare beef and horse liver powder for his knights and laborers in advance, but such extravagance was not something everyone could afford, not even the Saracens. Unable to distinguish friend from foe, they could only retreat.

But by this time, the scales of victory had undeniably tipped in favor of the Christians, who had encircled the Saracens from both the high ground and the shallows.

Although the Saracens still numbered eight or nine thousand, roughly equivalent to the current Crusaders, they had far too many ears, too many mouths, and too many schemes.

Soon, news spread from the Saracen camp that someone was willing to surrender to the Crusaders, provided he was allowed to take his soldiers with him.

"Should we accept this condition?" Baldwin asked.

(End of this chapter)