kingdom of nations

Chapter 308 The Great Punishment (Part 1)
The monk calmly entered the room. The people in the room were also very tired. When they saw him, they merely nodded in acknowledgment. He, like all his colleagues, put his hand to his chest and bowed to them. In addition, he helped a priest who was staggering along the way.

No one showed any doubt, and the cultivator was even more pleased with himself.

Assassins never shied away from disguising themselves as various characters during missions; they might be knights, farmers, or pilgrims. One of them even went so far as to follow a hermit.

He deceived the ascetics by saying that although he was a Saracen, he had deeply repented and no longer believed in Allah, but wanted to convert to Christ.

The ascetic was overjoyed and accepted the Assassin assassin, treating him like his own child.

He followed this priest and, although he went through a rather difficult period, he learned from him how to pray, practice asceticism, perform sacraments, and recite scriptures.

When he felt he was ready to walk among people as a Christian monk, he killed the ascetic without hesitation. He did so without a moment's hesitation, and was even quite proud.

The monk walked toward the bed, which was covered by a curtain, and bent down.

He carried no spear, no sword, not even a small dagger, but on his finger was a ring of iron thorns. He could kill the old man by piercing his skin with the ring and letting his blood flow onto the old man's chest.

Before taking action, he cautiously glanced at the other's face, not only to confirm that he had the right target, but also to enjoy the prey's struggle and pain as it lay dying.

The moment their eyes met, he discovered that the other man's eyes were bright and alert, not at all like those of a dying patient. The assassin immediately jumped up, trying to escape, but his hand had already reached the other man's chest, and the other man's arm, like a heavy animal trap, snapped shut with a bang, trapping him tightly!

He had already turned the ring, plunging the blood-stained iron spikes into the other man's skin—his blood was more toxic than that of snakes and scorpions, and even if it only slightly paralyzed the hunter, he would be able to find a chance to escape.

But the assassin could sense that the iron ring did not feel like human flesh and blood, nor did it feel like a hard shield. He looked up and saw that the knight was covered by a layer of dazzling white light.

"Cesar!"

He cried out that as a Christian knight, Cesare's reputation among the Saracens was polarized. Some, like Saladin, praised him highly, while others regarded him as an enemy of God, a wicked devil. Neither side was entirely wrong, but the Assassins were the most vehement of the latter, not only because Cesare was a Christian—there were quite a few Christian lords who cooperated with them, and they had even reached an agreement with King Amalric I of Jerusalem—but because they feared Cesare's character and actions.

The Assassins have stood the test of time not because of stability, but because of chaos.

If all lords were as benevolent and peaceful as Cesar, they would have no purpose, and it goes without saying what would happen to a useless tool.

This male Assassin assassin was the very person who hated Cesar the most, and he gladly accepted the mission to destroy a Christian "elder," who was even their great leader.

But he knew it was impossible now. The most important thing to do now was to escape. He wasn't the kind of young Assassin assassin who really thought that death would send him to heaven and allow him to enjoy the service of seventy-two virgins.

He enjoyed privileges he could not have in the courts of the Caliphs and Sultans—wealth and women—but in an instant, the room was filled with enemies—all of them monks, but armed monks like the Knights Templar, who drew their weapons from their waists with a flick of their robes and pressed towards the Assassins.

They were all covered by that hateful white light.

"Cesar, come out! I know you're here! You coward who only dares to call on others to fight!"

The assassin roared, "Indeed, Cesar is here. Ever since he realized the malice he was facing, he could not let the Patriarch leave his sphere of influence. His movements have been restricted to the vicinity of the Church of the Nativity, whether it be the birthplace of the Son of God, the church, the monks' quarters, or the Manger Square in front of the church."

No one listened to the assassin's ramblings.

If they were on the battlefield facing a fully armed Saracen warrior, they might still show him some respect, but assassins are the most despised everywhere, and even if they were originally nobles and knights, they no longer enjoy the corresponding treatment.

When a short sword pierced the Assassin's waist, he knew he had no hope of survival. Instead, he revealed a ferocious smile—he raised his hands to his throat, pulling at the vulnerable spot connecting to his chest, and deeply piercing his sharp nails, pulling them outwards.

Caught completely off guard, his body burst open like a mature cyst, splattering blood all over everyone and staining the entire room with a sticky layer of blood.

As he fell, he retained some consciousness, yearning to see his enemies and hoping they would die with him. But reality disappointed him. The cultivators silently gathered around, blood slowly pooling on their faces, clothes, and hands before flowing down. Their skin remained clean, showing no signs of being corroded by the venom, and no one fell to the ground groaning, convulsing, or struggling.

“Really…” one of the monks swallowed the word.

Normally he would be generous with praise, but now almost everyone here knows what kind of slander and judgment Cesar will face after this plague ends.

Although they were cultivators, they were also mortals, and not everyone had the courage and determination to face such malice.

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Cesar sat by the Patriarch's bedside, holding his hand. Now that he knew about the enemy's plot, he certainly wouldn't continue to naively believe that the conflict between him and them could be resolved through negotiation and bargaining.

Although he wasn't quite sure why he had attracted such deep hatred—after all, the Great Punishment was a weapon that not just anyone could use at will.

Alexander III did this because he was dying, and before his death, he had tried to use marriage to establish his family in Cyprus, but Cesar's refusal thwarted his plan.

Everyone knows that although the Pope's authority is extremely powerful, it is undeniably time-limited.

At most, a dead pope could add a crown to a nobleman's coat of arms, but beyond that, it was impossible to gain any other benefit.

He made arrangements for all his illegitimate children and families before he was anointed with holy oil—not only Cyprus, but also the Franks, Germany, and the Apennines, all of which had traces of his messengers' visits, but it was not enough, far from enough, and would never be enough.

At this point, someone must have made a promise to him, offering a price that would satisfy this holy father. Who was this person? Could it be Manuel I, the Byzantine emperor? It is certainly possible.

If Cesar is ultimately excommunicated, his marriage to Princess Anna will be declared invalid, and Cyprus will remain under Byzantine control.

The emperor would indeed do that; even if it meant sacrificing one or two cities, tens of thousands of gold coins would be worthwhile. But what about the Holy Land? There would inevitably be people here who could help the emperor and the pope.

So what benefits does he still possess that are worth seeking?
Yes, Bethlehem and Damascus, but it now appears that Damascus has been incorporated into the ambitions of the Count of Tripoli, who would rather have his son David rule the city than Mersin.

Could it be him? And what price would he have to pay to satisfy Alexander III?
Gold, territory, or privilege—especially in Arrasa Road.

Cesar had a feeling that such a conspiracy was not something Raymond could have come up with, and even if Raymond was ambitious, he was somewhat dissatisfied with him.

Could it be Grand Duke Bohemond of Antioch? But what would Bohemond's motives be?

His son Abigail's engagement to Princess Hibil was hanging by a thread—Abigail might recover in the future, but people certainly couldn't wait indefinitely like this. Although Princess Hibil was young, a woman's fertility period was only a few years, and Baldwin's illness didn't allow them to delay any longer. They also hoped that their future heir would grow up under Baldwin's tutelage.

Was it to secure his position in the court of Arazarus?

But if Princess Hibil were to marry the son of another lord—David, Guy, or William—Cesar might just turn from the Grand Duke's enemy into a friend.
In politics, there are countless instances of people who are first enemies, then friends, and then enemies again. The ultimate punishment, however, is a trump card that is almost impossible to use.

This is even worse than stabbing someone in the back and sending them to hell. It means that all social relationships centered around the victim will be completely severed, his wife, children and relatives and friends will be affected, his territory will be seized and divided, his surname will become a disgrace, and he will not even be able to enter the churchyard.

This hatred can never be diminished.

Look, after Henry IV was excommunicated, didn't he stand in the winter snow for three days and three nights, dressed in sackcloth and barefoot, with his wife and children, to beg for the Pope's forgiveness?

In the end, the Pope also received his just deserts. What's even more terrifying is that the Papacy and the Frankish dynasty continued their struggle for over a hundred years afterward, with neither side gaining much.

It's like a wild beast baring its fangs at you—at that moment, it's quite ridiculous to consider whether it's attacking you to protect its cubs or to fill its stomach. All you can do is fight back with all your might.

But to be honest, César didn't feel much fear. He even had a vague hope that in this age where faith was revered, he could finally know whether people were looking at him as a real person or as a little saint in their imagination.

He knew he was just an ordinary person, and that the education he received in another world would inevitably make him out of place in this world—a fact noticed by the former King Amalric I, their teacher Heraclius, Baldwin, and even a few people who were close to him.

His goodness came from his own heart, not from God's guidance—but perhaps it was precisely because of this purity that they loved him even more.

Will this respect and love disappear with the church's excommunication?

He was uncertain, but he knew he couldn't go on like this forever. He was like a tree that shouldn't have grown here. When he was young, his unusual behavior could be ignored, but as he grew bigger and bigger, his influence on the surrounding area became more and more widespread, and his thoughts and actions would be laid bare before everyone.

By then, neither Baldwin nor his teacher could provide him with complete protection; who can shelter a towering tree? He himself could not.

"My lord, we have captured the Assassin assassin." A guard rushed into the room. He bowed at the door and only stepped forward slowly after receiving permission from Bishop Andrei. He was not wearing a helmet and his appearance was somewhat familiar. His mannerisms were no different from the guard waiting by the door. However, when he was still a few steps away from the bed, a light like that of Cesar suddenly emanated from his body.

He charged toward the patriarch's position, but Bishop Andrei roared and tried to block his way. As a result, he crashed straight into another wall, the bricks shook, and mortar fell down in a flurry, raising a cloud of dust.

But instead of attacking the patriarch directly, he slammed his fist hard onto the floor.

The monks' quarters were not a single-story building; it was a three-story building with an attic. The patriarch's room was on the top floor, which was the original residence of the abbot, while the monks' rooms were below.

His punch was so powerful that it shattered the stone slab and sent wood chips flying.

The Assassins initially thought that, caught off guard, the person in the room would inevitably fall into the pre-prepared maw, and that the Patriarch lying on the bed would be powerless to resist. However, they underestimated Cesar's reaction speed. Cesar easily pulled his teacher onto his shoulder, then jumped onto a lamp stand in the corner, looking down at him from above.

This scene was really strange. Putting aside Cesar, the Patriarch, although a thin man, was no less tall than any knight. Yet, when two such tall men were using a small black iron lamp stand for shelter, they did not feel embarrassed at all, but were even quite at ease.

The Assassin assassin had been forced into the room below. He looked up and stared at Cesar with malice. The revelation he had received was similar to Cesar's, enabling him to provide protection for others and himself. His fighting style relied heavily on his indestructible body to crush enemies with immense strength. He could even collide head-on with a fully armed warhorse and emerge victorious.

Before the dust had even settled, the Assassin assassin sensed something was wrong.

In this room, they had also planted several Assassins. Whoever fell, whether it was Patriarch Heraclius or Cesar, would be met by three spears.

The tips of these spears, like the daggers used by the "giants," were incorporated into sacred artifacts, capable of harming those protected by the saints.

But after he landed, no one in the room moved, and he realized something was wrong. Then, with a soft thud, a spear pierced through his back and through his chest. He gripped the blood-soaked spear tip tightly and tried to turn around.

The person behind him seemed to have sensed his intention, let out a soft laugh, and slowly walked over to him.

Upon seeing this person, the Assassin's eyes widened in fury.

"It's you! It's you! You devil!"

“You’ve called me a devil so many times,” Lyra whispered, close to his face, “of course I’m going to do devilish things!”

The Assassin assassin crashed to the ground, his eyes wide open.

Lyra stood in the room, which was now filled with corpses, and looked up.

Sinan kept the secret of her prophetic revelation a secret, which made it difficult for the Assassins to be on guard even when they saw her.

They thought she was merely a "beautiful woman" who could only complete her missions through her body, and had no right to be called an Assassin. She was the kind of woman most despised in the Saracen world. They called her a devil more because of her filth than because of her horror, and by the time they realized this, it was too late.

Leila watched for a while, still unable to confirm whether the man being embraced by Cesar was Patriarch Heraclius, but she was glad to see that her future master had finally become vigilant enough.

"Goodbye," she said silently, then bowed again and leaped out of the window like a whirlwind.

"Who is that person?" Bishop Andrei asked in confusion. Judging from her attire, she seemed to be a member of the Assassins, but she actually helped them kill the other Assassins.

"It's a bit complicated to explain."

In this era, it's hard to imagine that there could be a woman like Lyra, with her independent thinking and willful nature, but in Cesar's world, such women are quite common.

Therefore, although he had only met Leila a few times, he knew that she was definitely not a hunting dog or falcon that was willing to be kept in captivity. Even if she were, she would bite her master's throat or peck out his eyes at any time according to her own will.

Before leaving, Leila made a point of visiting Damara, the lucky girl who seemed somewhat lost and bewildered. Her fiancé and father had brought her a thick cloak, but neither mink nor velvet, black or red or white could conceal the radiance emanating from her.

She revealed the real reason for Damara's fever to Cesar, precisely because she wanted to see how Cesar would treat a "devil." Although Cesar did not show disgust afterward, it may have been a pretense—in order to win her over, just like Sinan had been before.

When Cesar picked Damara up in his arms, she knew she had lost, but she lost happily.

He wouldn't have done this personally if he didn't genuinely like the child and, as he claimed, had no reservations about the chosen woman.

Sinan had been trying his best to avoid touching Leila—Leila had initially thought it was out of respect, but later realized it was just a kind of instinctive aversion suppressed by reason.

Sigrún has taught at the Iceland University of the Arts as a part-time lecturer since and was Dean of the Department of Fine Art from -. In – she held a research position at Reykjavík Art Museum focusing on the role of women in Icelandic art. She studied fine art at the Icelandic College of Arts and Crafts and at Pratt Institute, New York, and holds BA and MA degrees in art history and philosophy from the University of Iceland. Sigrún lives and works in Iceland.

The thief walked down the street, unsure of where to go.

Then he saw the Christmas church gleaming in the sunlight, and after hesitating for a moment, he went over to it.

(End of this chapter)