kingdom of nations

Chapter 280 Goodbye Damascus (Part 2)

But no matter how tall and majestic it was, it was a siege tower, not a demon summoned by the heretics. Yet, a strange sense of urgency, like a venomous snake, tightly coiled around the elder's heart; he sensed danger. Even though he didn't know where this danger came from.

Without hesitation, he took one last look at his students, then leaped up and landed on a crossbow cart fixed to the city wall. He intently observed the enormous machine that was slowly making its way forward.

At this point, the distance between the siege tower and the city wall was sufficient for the archers of both sides to fire at each other—the height of the siege tower was enough for the archers on top to have a commanding view of the Saracen archers—the elder could see the thick iron hooks used to hang the planks and the heavy cowhide covering them, and a thought suddenly occurred to him.

He spread his arms like a falcon with broad wings and leaped straight down from the city wall.

The elder’s black robe billowed in the wind, and the Crusader archers immediately shot at him, but it did not hinder his movements in the slightest. He did not land directly on the top floor of the siege tower, but rather on the third floor. If he was like a falcon before, he was now like a nimble ape. He quickly climbed upwards, nimbly dodging the spears that pierced through the gaps.

As the Saracens in black climbed to the top of the tower, the archers didn't even have time to react. The elder then grabbed a man and threw him down. He then drew his scimitar—he found that the Christians facing him showed little fear, even though they were just ordinary soldiers, not the blessed knights.

He looked closely and saw that they were all covered with a layer of silvery light that was not so conspicuous in the morning light—"The Shield of the Holy City is here..." He took two steps back and said in the Christian language. Then he saw the soldiers look surprised, as if a wild beast had spoken, but the question he wanted to confirm had been answered.

There are quite a few knights with the power of protection, but there is only one person who is willing and able to extend these ordinary soldiers into the prophet's revelation—at least as far as he knows, there is only one person—the young knight who was once forgiven by Saladin.

A smile appeared on the elder's solemn face; some soldiers had already realized their mistake. He roared and lunged forward, but it was too late. The elder swung his scimitar, not at them, but at the wooden planks beneath his feet. With a crash, he fell from the top of the tower to the fifth floor.

His guess was correct.

Inside the tower, gleaming with gold, was a cross-shaped reliquary containing fragments of the True Cross, which almost served as the pillar of this level—and beneath the True Cross, surrounding King Arrassal, were almost entirely young elites from the Crusades.

But the most eye-catching figure was not the king in his gilded armor, but the young knight who seemed to be bathed in holy light.

In the final battle, the Shield of the Holy City could not possibly stay by King Arazarus's side to support other generals—especially since the king had decided to lead the campaign in person.

The elder lunged at Baldwin, but Cesar was like an insurmountable mountain, a vast and boundless sea, or perhaps some kind of destiny ordained by God. As long as he stood before Baldwin, no one could cross him and harm him.

“Cesar…” the elder murmured, his wrist flicking—he no longer made futile attempts on Baldwin, but turned to others. The revelation he received was so powerful that with a single stroke, a knight’s chainmail shattered, the wound deep enough to expose bone—but without Cesar’s protection, he should have been cut in half at the waist.

David shouted and charged forward, his strength like that of a Leviathan or Behemoth in the human world. Taking advantage of this opportunity, the other knights pulled the poor victim back to the True Cross, and the priests hurriedly treated him.

Without the slightest hesitation, since he could not break through the barrier erected by the knights for the time being, he swung his sword back and slashed at the siege tower!
When building the siege towers, the craftsmen spared no expense in their skills and materials. In addition to wood, they also used a large amount of iron, but unless it was made of stone, don't expect it to withstand such destructive forces.

The elder's attack had given the scholars enough of a hint, and some of them, confident in their abilities, even began to imitate the elder, leaping from the city wall onto this magnificent man-made structure.

Besides these people, some scholars used ballistae on the city walls to shoot huge burning arrows at the siege towers. The Saracens had also been studying Greek fire and, like Cesar, created a flame that, while perhaps not as powerful as Greek fire, could also stick to various materials and burn. Thick smoke billowed from the siege towers, and the flames inside could be extinguished, but the flames outside were not so easy to deal with.

The knights coughed incessantly. "David! Go and push the siege tower!" Baldwin shouted, turning to the elder.

David stretched out his arm and waved, and immediately several knights as strong as him followed him, quickly descending the rope to the bottom of the siege tower. Although the siege tower was pulled by strong bulls using pulley systems, there were still soldiers and craftsmen at the bottom—they needed to protect and maintain the wheels.

As soon as David landed, he pushed them aside without hesitation and firmly gripped the thick wooden beam that lay between the wheels. He was followed almost entirely by knights known for their strength, whose power was in no way inferior to that of a bull.

With their combined effort, the siege tower began to shake, and then its shaking accelerated noticeably. The elder's expression changed. Flames, crossbow bolts, and the Saracen scholars could not shake this incredibly dangerous siege weapon.

But before he made up his mind, Cesar and Baldwin had already tacitly adjusted their posture—they had also used the same posture to confront an enraged mother bear when welcoming the Byzantine princess Maria into the city—unfortunately, the elder did not witness it firsthand.

He was among Christians, and the warning signs of danger never disappeared, causing him to lose his vigilance. A dazzling white light appeared in his vision and quickly covered everything he could see. He called out the name of the prophet, but it was too late. The spear of St. George struck him, piercing through his chest and back.

A bolt of lightning pierced through him and the wall behind him, and the elder in black fell through the huge gap. The scholars, their students, and the soldiers on the city walls and siege towers cried out in shock, grief, astonishment, and anger instantly engulfing everyone.

"Kill those Christians!" they shouted. Even the unrevelation-wielding soldiers looked for an opportunity to climb the siege tower, but it was pointless. The siege tower suddenly loomed large before their eyes and crashed straight into the city wall.

Because of its enormous size and unstoppable speed, the entire tower was leaning towards the city wall. Fortunately, the craftsmen had considered this possibility when they built it. Although it swayed violently for a while, it did not collapse or fall. But even if it had collapsed, it wouldn't matter; its mission was over. The plank was lowered, and scholars immediately rushed up, trying to destroy it or tear it off—but what the elder could do, Baldwin and Cesar could do as well. Baldwin leaped out, and while still in the air, St. George's Spear had already swept across the scholars' bodies, instantly piercing and tearing them apart. Blood rained down, and they didn't even have time to let out a cry of pain.

What could be more dangerous than the spear of St. George was Cesare's shield and armor, which were made of shimmering stars or scales and had no fixed shape. Those under his protection seemed to be covered with a magnificent jeweled coat.

But whether they were soldiers or scholars, they all felt as if they were facing a shield wall composed of a hundred people. Everyone who encountered it either fell, broke their bones, or fell to the ground. No one could stand against it.

In a fit of rage, a scholar cursed, “This power should not belong to a Christian!” He gripped his scimitar tightly, even though the blade was already twisted.

Meanwhile, the soldiers around the ramp had been cleared. David, carrying the True Cross (along with the enormous reliquary) on his shoulder, rushed out. The gilded reliquary gleamed in the sunlight, as if it were some kind of signal. Scholars, warriors, and soldiers alike, all who had received the prophet's revelation, flocked to this place. From the air, you could even see that the white city wall turned black in the blink of an eye. Baldwin and the knights behind him were like tiny drops of mercury dipped into ink, but just as mercury is not stained by ink, this bright light was not swallowed up by the surging black tide.

On the contrary, it continued to expand forward, converging with other "drops of mercury"—with them in front, Crusader knights were pouring out of the siege towers and onto the city walls in an endless stream, and similar scenes were also taking place at three other gates of Damascus.

King Arrasalus attracted most of the enemies, and the obstacles encountered by Raymond and the Knights Templar were much smaller.

The Saracens here couldn't see what was happening at the other city gates, and they knew that their departure would inevitably lead to chaos and ruin there. But just as Shavar had done before, their attention was entirely focused on the young king—if they could kill him, if they could kill him! If they could kill the Crusader commander and the king of Arathi Basin, the Crusaders might not be able to hold the city without a leader.

In this way, even if they die, other Saracens will come here. The defenders, who already bear a greater psychological burden than the attackers, will eventually be forced to evacuate Damascus due to lack of supplies and constant internal strife. Even if they take all the wealth and people, so what? As long as it is Damascus, the dusty gems will eventually shine again.

With such thoughts in mind, they disregarded their own lives. Anyone else would have been terrified by such a scene, but with Cesar by his side, Baldwin was fearless. "In the name of God!" he cried out, deciding to respect those resolute enemies and wishing them all to ascend to heaven and enjoy eternal life with their God and the Prophet.

At that moment, a sudden and ridiculous thought crossed Baldwin's mind—the priests said that these heretics—even if they were all admirable warriors—would only go to hell and suffer endless torment in the lake of fire, never to be released until the end of time.

But he also knew that, in the eyes of the Saracens, they too were destined for hell, no matter how devout, how brave, or how humble they were.

If this were true, wouldn't they all be in hell, or all ascending to heaven? Thinking of that scene, he didn't feel any sense of holiness; instead, he found it somewhat absurd.

The thought lingered in his mind for only a moment before he, Cesar, and his loyal knights had already pierced the enemy's heart like the tip of a dagger—the surging tide was forced to part.

Baldwin's enemies had shifted from the front to the front and both sides. If they continued forward, they might even be surrounded by Saracens. Cesar called back two knights who were disoriented in the fighting—his protection was ultimately limited in distance.

Needless to say, his attention is now mostly on Baldwin. If he gets caught up in the melee with those Saracens, he might not be able to see if their barriers are broken or their armor is worn out, and of course, he won't be able to protect them again.

Those who could follow Baldwin and him were either important ministers and heirs like David, or the newcomers most favored by him and Baldwin. Even losing one of them would be heartbreaking for him and Baldwin, but losses were inevitable in this chaotic battle, and he could only do his best.

The pressure he faced was the greatest of all, with enemies seemingly coming from all directions.

"Cesar!" Baldwin shouted, suddenly stepping back. Cesar, who was in sync with him and had cooperated with him countless times, immediately understood the meaning of the call—Baldwin thrust forward with the spear of St. George, and a blood-soaked white space appeared around him.

Cesare, who had been beside or behind him, suddenly appeared in front of the enemy. Before the Saracens, who were almost numb from the fighting, a wall of shields gleaming with spikes suddenly rose up and rushed towards them. Some inexperienced scholars and students even instinctively retreated. No wonder, the power that Cesare displayed was just too much like the tip of a spear protruding from the gaps in the shield.

In fact, these materialized shield walls were more terrifying than spears. Anyone who went against them was like hitting a battering ram that was hurtling towards them. They fell backward and crashed into others like stone bullets.

"No!" one of the survivors cried out in panic.

Cesar calmly directed his overflowing power onto the horse trails and steps where Saracens were constantly surging in. In this surging, shoulder-to-shoulder situation, if even one person fell, it would trigger a terrible chain reaction: trampling.

Aside from a few scholars who immediately stabbed their scimitars into the ground or walls to steady themselves, most warriors and soldiers could only helplessly lean backward. Human instinct dictated that they would desperately pull on whatever was around them, and those who could barely maintain their balance were forced to fall over when pulled like this.

At this moment, Cesar had already leaped high into the air, and the power bestowed upon him by God was like a raging torrent, lifting up those in front of him and throwing them down heavily. This was no longer the power of a human being, nor even the power of a demon.

(End of this chapter)