kingdom of nations

Chapter 306 Qualifications (Part 1)

The number of people suffering from malaria has finally risen to 5,672, a terrible number indeed, with a quarter of the city’s population suffering from it.

The luckiest thing is that, because of César, even those who were seriously ill were able to survive by chance—while the other half, whether children or the elderly, men or women, had to leave their loved ones with regret and go to a distant place.

Those who administer the last sacraments to them are not necessarily priests or monks; they pray continuously, bestowing grace upon the sick. Some are no longer able to respond, while others have fallen into a deep sleep due to exhaustion, and people have no heart to wake them.

The task was undertaken by knights and other ordinary people. They held the holy oil tightly, looked at each person one by one, listened to their confessions, and then clumsily carried out the ceremony.

At first there was noise, arguments, and panic, but when the end of the world really came, everyone became calm. The seriously ill suppressed their cries and groans, those with milder symptoms did their best to take care of those around them, and those who were healthy and able to move around worked day and night.

They kept taking out the gold coins that Cesar had given them to look at. "These are the little saint's gold coins!" they said happily, touching them repeatedly, and then, according to their different aspirations, they talked about what they should do after the plague was gone.
Some say they want to find a wife or husband and use the gold coin to learn a trade; others say they would rather go out into the wilderness to buy a flock of sheep to graze; still others say they prefer to farm, grow wheat, fruit trees, or roses.

Some people even hoped to use the gold coin as capital to become traveling merchants.

Hearing him say that, everyone burst into laughter. "Aren't you afraid of encountering another plague?"

“I’m not afraid,” the man said earnestly. “The little saint will protect me.”

The newly arrived patient turned his head and looked at them, his mind filled with complex emotions.

He was the little thief who had sneaked into Haredi's workshop but found nothing. He had mocked their lord for being too lenient with the Isaacs, and now he was sick, unsure if this was punishment for his disrespect towards the little saint.

He can still think now because his condition has not yet reached its worst point, but he has seen people in great pain, and he trembles with fear, even more so at the worst possible outcome—that he will perish in this plague.

His resentment grew stronger. If they sacrificed those Isaacs to the devil, would he be able to escape the plague?

"Probably not." A voice answered him. Only then did the thief realize that he had unconsciously spoken his thoughts. He looked to his side in surprise and saw someone sitting there. When she turned her face under the hood toward him, the thief almost screamed in fright. It was a white-haired woman whose eyes were bloodshot.

He thought he was seeing things. Perhaps it was the moonlight shining on her hair, or perhaps she was also sick. He had seen some patients with red eyes, but he soon realized that it wasn't her. Her hair was indeed white, like silver threads, and her eyes were as bright and clear as rubies.

She looked at him as if she could see right through his eyes into his heart, as if his soul had been pierced through, and another kind of fear had locked him in.

He glanced at the others in alarm, only to find that they seemed not to have seen the woman at all. "I didn't mean that," the thief pleaded in a low voice. He knew that Cesar also had some fanatical followers who would never allow anyone to desecrate their little saint.

"Do you still think your lord should severely punish the Isaacs and burn them all?"

The thief didn't speak, but his eyes said it all; he truly believed it.

"Then you are like the Isaacs, at least in the eyes of your lord."

"How could they be the same?" the thief couldn't help but retort.

"You are also despised. Although many people may think that a thief is more noble than an Isaac, that does not stop them from hanging you and an Isaac on the same wooden frame. The only preferential treatment you may receive is that you will not have several dogs hanging beside you, but you will still be despised and hated by them. You are a sinner and will surely fall into hell."

"But that's what they all say..."

“If your lord weren’t Cesar, you would be hanging in the street or placed alongside the dead—if you weren’t killed on the spot when you uttered those insolent words.” Leila lowered her head. “You are so rude to him simply because you know he is a good man, but instead of being grateful or respectful, you are aggressive and demanding. You are exploiting his kindness, testing his limits, and enjoying it immensely.”

Sometimes I don't understand why you do that. Do you want to see another side of him? Maybe if he becomes the person you're familiar with, you'll say, "Oh, I knew it, there are no good people in the world."

The thief opened his mouth, feeling a dryness in his mouth, whether from the fever or something else, but he still insisted on saying, "Then who are you? The torturer of conscience?"

"No, just someone who feels it's unfair."

Lyra stood up, even covering the thief with a sheet, and vanished in an instant, as if she had never been there.

She made her way through the darkness and soon arrived at the Christmas Church.

Leila assumed Cesar was in his room, but he wasn't. Using her assassin skills, she searched around and discovered he was in the church, praying in the manger where the Son of God was born.

She listened for a while, then came out and revealed herself. Cesar saw her, but he was not alarmed.

If it were any other Assassin assassin, he would assume they were there to kill him. But with Lyra, he wasn't sure.

“I think I should thank you,” Leila said. “In Damascus, you didn’t leave me there like that fool suggested.”

“I also want to thank you. Whatever your reason, whether the person you rescued was a Saracen or a Christian, you prevented an innocent person from being harmed.”

"But you've gotten yourself into a lot of trouble because of this. Haven't you? At least that despicable guy and his father must hate you to death."

“I’ve gotten used to it.” The two great princes around Amalric I, Count Raymond of Tripoli and Grand Duke Bohemond of Antioch, disliked him from the beginning. Baldwin said that Raymond might have been disgusted by his origins—initially, they did not know that he was the son of Count Josephine III of Edessa.

Raymond has always been extremely strict about identity and bloodline.

As for Grand Duke Bohemond of Antioch, although his ancestor was a mercenary, that did not prevent him from looking down on everyone—yes, Amalric I said so, but Cesar always felt that his hostility towards him was particularly strong, perhaps due to the influence of Abigail.

This time, Bohemond's hostility was even more blatant and undisguised. Perhaps he felt it was time to end things, whether for Abigail's sake or for his own.

"how about you?"

"I?"

"You failed to assassinate Abigail, and you did something quite unnecessary for an assassin. Is no one going to hold you accountable?"

Leila smiled, and walked up to Cesar, her hand on the dagger at her waist. "Of course, I am a student of the Old Man of the Mountain, Sinan, or you could say his adopted daughter. But that doesn't mean I'm exempt from punishment for my mistakes. In fact, I will be punished more severely than others, not less severely, because I am a devil."

"You are different from others."

"Yes, do you know why he chose me? Every city has beauties, and there are quite a few of them, not to mention the courtesans and dancers kept in the homes of Saracen nobles. There are too many children like me."

"You have been chosen."

Leila tilted her head back and let out a silent laugh: "It seems you noticed it when I was fighting you."

“An ordinary woman, no matter how rigorous her training, could not possibly fight me, especially now that I have received the grace of a saint.”

"Is this why your parents abandoned you?"

“How could that be? Sir, look at me. I was abandoned when I was still an infant. They regarded me as a devil because of my white hair and red eyes.”

"It is a medical condition."

"Illness, what a novel term."

Even my teacher, the wise Sinan, believed this was a sign that the devil had possessed my body. He even thought that my selection might be for this reason, and that perhaps what I heard wasn't all prophetic revelation. "I remember that the Saracens also went to the temple to pray during their selection ceremony."

“Like you, only men are allowed, except the age limit can be extended to twenty.” Lyra sat down in front of him. It was a rare experience. In a place that was considered holy by Christians and even Saracens, there was a woman regarded as the devil and a knight hailed as a minor saint sitting face to face and talking. Their identities were that one was an Assassin assassin who kept countless rulers up at night, and the other was a Crusader lord.

“I heard your prayer. You are praying for the noblewoman you were once loyal to, pleading with the prophet to have mercy on her and heal her. But have you not considered that her condition might subtly overlap with another scenario?”

Cesar's eyes widened instantly, and his somewhat childlike expression made Leila smile.

“I also had several nights of high fever. I was conscious and could hear. If it weren’t for my rare value,” she pointed to her white hair and red eyes, “I probably would have been abandoned by the slave trader long ago. But he couldn’t bear to part with me and even hired scholars to treat me. I could clearly hear his curses and the scholars’ insults—when they discovered that I wasn’t sick but had received a prophetic revelation, they concluded that I was a devil.”

The businessman regretted the effort, time, and money he had wasted on me. The scholar, on the other hand, felt disgusted by my presence.

There was the example of Witte, who did not attend the church ceremony and was over the age limit, yet he still received the saint's protection when facing a life-or-death crisis. This was a heavy, unsolved mystery weighing on César's mind. He could not understand why, if, as the priests said, God only bestows grace upon the most devout, courageous, and pure people, Witte probably possessed none of these qualities.

How could he possibly be chosen? Even with such meager power, he was already beyond the reach of mortals. Had he not offended Baldwin, the king and their teacher Heraclius would have already decided his fate, and perhaps with this small favor, he could have lived a comfortable life.

So, are there people who can receive blessings without being chosen? Yes, there are, but they are very few, and they often go to two extremes: either they are very powerful, or they are so weak that they are almost non-existent.

Witt was undoubtedly the latter.

Several people have appeared in the past hundred years, but only one was accepted into the church because of his special abilities. The others all became possessed by the devil. Their fate is self-evident. If they did not resist, they would be purified by fire or water. They could be forgiven and buried like a Christian, but they still died.

If they dared to rebel, then needless to say, they would face a double attack from both the church and the secular world. Clearly, the lords did not want such an uncontrollable force on their lands. This was not their sons, nephews, or people of their own class, but rather those whom they had once considered furniture and cattle. Who knew if they might take the risk and use the power borrowed from the devil to attack a lord? Especially those lords who were cruel and greedy by nature, they were constantly filled with fear and unease.

As for women... Chiraclo hardly ever discussed this matter with Cesar.

He only mentioned that a noblewoman once broke into the church. Although he didn't know what she did, her fate was obvious. She was locked in the smallest room at the top of the castle tower. The stairs leading there had been destroyed. Every day, she would put down her basket to take away her food and have people empty her chamber pot.

And so she was imprisoned for more than twenty years before dying in solitude.

"Aren't you afraid, sir?"

Cesar was slightly startled, only then realizing that Leila had closed in very close to him. Her breath brushed against his skin, causing a slight itch, and the heat emanating from her body burned him like flames.

The tall woman was almost prostrate on Cesar's body. Unlike the women Cesar had ever seen, Leila had received exquisite training. No one knew better than her how to fully display her unique charm in front of a man. Even the usually arrogant Lazis had to be captivated by her.

"Fear?"

“Yes, I’m afraid. Just like all the people I’ve met before.” Whether they were Assassins, her colleagues, or her teacher, Sinan.

Lyra had mistakenly believed that Sinan would be the special one, but she had discovered that Sinan might also be watched by the prophet, but his heart and ideas were nothing special. Unlike people's fear and disgust, his attitude towards Lyra was more like that of looking at a sharp weapon.

He was so arrogant that he thought he could control a devil—he once tried to use kindness and kinship as chains to control Lyra, but he really underestimated this adopted daughter whom he had raised as a boy. Lyra's temperament was very intense, even more so than anyone else, whether Christian or Saracen.

If her initial interest in Cesar stemmed from Sinan, now she was filled with a strange and novel feeling.

"If I were to say... I don't think there's any fundamental difference between women and men. You might be slightly weaker than men in terms of physical strength, but your minds are the same. It's like if someone teaches you, a boy can understand that one plus one equals two, while a girl would never think that one plus one equals three. In this respect, they are completely equal."

If a vile, maggot-like creature like Witt can receive a blessing, why can't Lyra?
Even though Lyra was an Assassin assassin, Cesar had to admit that she was beautiful, strong, and agile, like a leopard running across the moonlit desert, unforgettable at first sight.

Leila practically cupped Cesar's face in her hands, gazing intently into his green eyes, trying to discern any insincerity or ulterior motives, but she found nothing; he truly did think that way.

She suddenly released Cesar and leaped lightly to her feet.

“You are certainly an extraordinary fellow,” she whispered, “but you’re here praying for a lady who has little to do with you, without thinking about yourself?”

Cesar straightened his posture, already guessing what Leila wanted to say, "You mean I'm caught in an impenetrable web?"

"You have many enemies."

"I made the wrong judgment."

The Crusaders were warriors who fought for God. They shared the same faith and law, and most importantly, their only ambition: to drive the pagans out of this holy land so that the light of God could cover the entire Arabian Peninsula.

Although the discipline, ideology, and purity of the Crusaders had faded somewhat after the establishment of kingdoms in Edessa, Tripoli, Antioch, and Arrassa, he never imagined that those people could be so short-sighted.

Leila curled the corners of her mouth. "You know what? The most profound lesson I learned in all those years at the Eagle's Nest is that you can't just stand on your own ground and use your own way of thinking to understand those vicious and despicable people."

They are capable of anything, and if you only have defense, that's far from enough.

You have no interest in power, money, or women; you're more like the kind of paladin you admire—if you die at the right time, you might even become a saint.

But will they believe that? What they've always craved are the things you don't care about. Besides, you're married with children. If you don't think about yourself, how could you not love your offspring?
Of course, they probably didn't expect things to change so quickly. Think about it, this has only happened in a few years. They couldn't wait any longer; they couldn't just stand by and watch a formidable rival grow stronger.

Especially if you want to stand with your friends and brothers, and with King Arazarus, you will inevitably become their enemy; there is no better time.

If I were you, I would flee Bethlehem immediately.

"Escape?"

"Don't worry about the people in this city, the artisans, the merchants, and the pilgrims. They are of no use to you, even if everyone in this city dies out. In time, new immigrants will fill this place again."

Look, they even specifically chose malaria.

If it were the Black Death or smallpox, the city might remain deserted for several more years, but malaria is unlikely to be of much concern. As for those you care about, you may take them with you, along with all the priests and nobles in the city. As long as they are there, no one can condemn you, and you may use your little herbs; they will surely keep quiet.

But things are different now. How many people have you saved?
Your teacher must have warned you countless times that as a knight, a knight who has received grace, it is absolutely impossible for you to do the work of a priest. You have crossed that most dangerous line.

Even though you knew these were the swords they were using to stab you, you still recklessly rushed into them.

But perhaps it's not too late.

Lyra looked out of the temple and said in a seductive tone, "How about a big fire? Flames can purify everything and cover up all traces."

Some people may indeed back down or even give up on themselves after acting impulsively and fearing the possible bad consequences.

César simply smiled.

"You know I won't."

(End of this chapter)