kingdom of nations

Chapter 318 Victory! (Part 1)
Logically, after the decree of the Great Suppression was issued, Cesar should have left Bethlehem alone, empty-handed, without any Christians to talk to or contact with, nor should he have been able to contact or talk to any Christians.

But by then his teacher, Patriarch Heraclius, had regained consciousness. Although he was still recovering from his illness, feeling weak and lacking energy—the anemia caused by malaria was something the priests could not treat, and he needed a long period of rest and recuperation—he was already able to control the local priests in Bethlehem and Arazars.

And then there's Baldwin, the King of Arathi Basin. Even when the Roman envoys repeatedly clamored, made a ruckus, and accused him, they dared not storm into the king's bedroom—the king's servants were truly capable of killing him.

Cesar remained in Baldwin's room as they examined the conspiracy and discussed their next steps. It was not impossible for Heraclius and Baldwin to insist on keeping Cesar in Holy Cross Castle, but that would require far too many deals and schemes.

César also disapproved of this approach. Even if he stayed, Alexander III would not rescind the death sentence, and the court officials could justifiably refuse his participation in any political or military activities—so what was the price to pay now?
When news of Nicosia's siege arrived, it became even more impossible for him to continue hiding under the protection of his teacher and Baldwin.

“Your stubbornness is really annoying!” Baldwin muttered.

He rushed from Alaska Road to Bethlehem overnight without rest or food. He became increasingly agitated and unable to sleep. All these factors combined led to a rapid and severe deterioration of his condition.

"Is this what you've been preparing all this time?" Baldwin watched Cesar inject himself without blinking.

“Are you afraid?” Cesar asked.

This is human nature—and it's strange, though. Some strong men are fearless even when facing swords, but they will still be afraid of a tiny needle, trembling all over, as if they have seen a ferocious monster. This is an instinct that has gradually taken root in human genes during the process of natural evolution, reminding them to be wary of anything sharp.

“I want to see…” Baldwin whispered, “this is the sacrifice you made for me.”

Cesar smiled, pulled out the needle, and pressed an alcohol-soaked cotton ball against Baldwin's wound. "Press it for a while," he told Baldwin, then threw the needle and syringe into a boiling silver pot to boil. After this step, they would be soaked in alcohol for thorough disinfection—and then done again before being used again.

Haredi made him thirteen needles and three syringes, but one syringe and five needles had been damaged during previous use.

Gold may sound expensive, but its properties are nowhere near comparable to the special steel used in needles in his world.

Heraclius had been watching the entire process closely. After Cesar left, he was the only one left who could treat Baldwin—Cesar had given Heraclius the blueprints for the syringe and the method for purifying the medicine. After reading the requirements and procedures, Heraclius suggested that he might have a monk who could do a better job.

Contrary to popular belief, Baldwin did not use ordinary herbs. In another world, herbs were merely an aid to alleviate the suffering of patients, while Cesar was trying to extract antibiotics from the herbs—to kill those germs.

But the herbs were not completely abandoned, although Baldwin felt like he was being tortured every time he drank them.

Heraclius gave Baldwin some medicine, and after he drifted off to sleep again, he said, "Why don't you use the documents left to you by Earl Étienne to change your name and take a different approach?"

Let alone an ordinary knight or a lord, even a king would have no problem choosing this path—abandoning everything in the Holy Land and starting anew in Frankish territory might be a huge blow to others, but for Cesar, who is not yet twenty, it is not a difficult task.

It could even be said that if he waited a few years until the new pope ascended the throne, Chirac would naturally have a way to make him overturn the previous pope's decree of excommunication.

“Teacher,” Cesar replied gently, “not to mention whether the later pope would have been willing to give up Cyprus, Bethlehem, Damascus, or even Arrassa.”

The problem is, even if I returned to Frankish territory and served Count Étienne, I would only be an ordinary knight.

“How can you say that? My child, God’s and the world’s favor has not left you. Although they say it’s the devil’s trick, I know very well that you are still being watched over and protected by them.”

“I’m not talking about a blessing, but about my greatest flaw. Teacher, in the Holy Land, as the chief steward of the king’s court, the governor of Damascus, and the lord of Bethlehem and Cyprus, I have the power to select the people around me.”

But what choices do I have on Count Étienne's lands? As far as I know, the Frankish knights and lords are no better than those sinners we despise.

Do you think I should turn a blind eye when I see any injustice, or should I resolutely step in to intervene? What is unacceptable to the nobles here will also be unacceptable to the nobles of Frankish lands. They will condemn me, mock me, banish me, hang me on the city walls, and leave me as a skeleton in a narrow cage—there will be no patriarch or king there to protect me.

“Cesar…”

“Teacher, the reason you were willing to take me as your student before the selection ceremony was because you found something in me that others did not have, and believed that I could do things that you could not do.”
You are a good person, and even after becoming the Patriarch of Arrassa, your aspirations and desires remained unchanged.

They hate you, and because of that, they hate me; that's something that can't be changed.

"So, child, where are you going?"

"I already have some ideas, and it is because of you and Baldwin that I have some hope for this world. This vicious conspiracy is a net cast against me, a spear that is about to pierce my chest, but for me, it may also be a turning point, a chance to break the deadlock in this stagnant world."

I'm not sure if my idea will come true. But let's see. All I can tell you is that even if I have to walk this path alone from here on out, I won't have any regrets.

He looked at Baldwin for a long time, then said, "It's up to you to take care of him now."

He pushed the box containing the syringe needles and purified medicine toward Heraclius, and only felt slightly relieved when he saw Heraclius silently pick it up and hide it in the reliquary he carried with him.

"I have already hired a group of Turks and Armenians for you..."

“No need,” Cesar said. “Although I don’t know what their motives are, those people are clearly doing this with the intention of destroying me at all costs.” Cesar had abandoned those naive ideas—his previous oversight was simply because he mistakenly attributed those people’s hostility towards him to infighting within the Holy Land’s court, or even thought it was just some ideological conflict that wouldn’t escalate to assassination or war—but after being bitten on the ankle by a venomous snake, he was wary of even ropes—at this point, mercenaries were the least trustworthy.

“I’m not without a place to go. I’ll stay at the St. Sabas Monastery for a while and look for a way to get to Cyprus.”

It's truly laughable. After he became the lord of Bethlehem, more than one person openly or secretly tried to persuade, coerce, and implore him to dismantle the heretical monastery.

But if he had actually done that, he would now have nowhere to live.

The Pope's excommunication did not affect the orthodox clergy, and they understood Cesare's actions at the time. This is evident from the fact that not long afterward, they returned to the monastery to care for the sick. They even came to Cesare without him asking and sincerely invited him to live in the monastery.

Even if this might endanger the monastery, they didn't care at all. If they were truly vain and stingy with their lives, they wouldn't have survived in Bethlehem to this day.

------

Cesar did not say goodbye to Baldwin, but they would surely meet again someday.

He walked through the corridors, halls, and squares, his demeanor completely calm, his appearance still upright and dignified, showing no sign of being burdened by guilt.

Wherever he went, some people looked at him with pity, some gloated, and there were people like Abigail who wished they could kick him while he was down. Abigail, in particular, even dragged his crippled body from Damascus to Bethlehem.

He had become thinner, and appeared even more vicious and despicable. He was surrounded by a group of sycophantic sycophants who would deliberately do nasty things whenever they saw Cesar—such as quickly turning their heads away as if they had seen something filthy—and some of them would speak loudly and rush toward Cesar, only to jump far away as if electrocuted before Cesar could even touch them, followed by loud, cacophony of laughter.

They wanted to use this method to force Cesar to show a pained expression.

However, they seriously underestimated César's dependence on faith. From the beginning, César had his own values ​​and ideals. For him, praying, kneeling, or listening to sermons were merely polite gestures to conform to local customs.

He never placed his faith in the cross and the crucifix. Let alone the Great Excommunication, even if he were to die now, he wouldn't care whether he was painted with oil and buried in the churchyard—don't be ridiculous, did he expect to be resurrected at the end of the world?

His reaction was disappointing, and as Abigail angrily shouted for him to get out of Bethlehem, Hibil emerged from another shadow in the square with a group of maids—it is unknown how long she had been watching.

Abigail immediately fell silent, while Hibil seemed to remain exactly as they had first met, except that time had made her beauty even more refined, so refined that it was almost sharp.

The princess gazed silently at Cesar without uttering a word. Abigail immediately tensed up, his throat bobbing—he wanted to say something, but dared not. Cesar, of course, knew what he feared and what the princess was expecting. If he were to kneel at the princess's feet now and beg for her protection, it would undoubtedly satisfy Hibil.

Although it's uncertain whether she will show mercy and side with Cesar, this can be considered as fulfilling one of her wishes.

She may not have loved César at all, but she certainly had the desire to possess him.

Even when Cesar was still by Baldwin's side, Sibil had considered taking him away, but out of the arrogance of a superior, she also disliked Cesar's overly rigid spine—she had tried to cripple him so that this near-perfect child would become a puppet to be manipulated by her.

The same was true now. An indescribable desire and heat rose in the princess's heart and body. She had to bite her tongue tightly to prevent herself from trembling.

But Cesar walked past her without looking back or saying a word.

------

The streets were now filled with priests and monks dressed in black, who watched Cesar warily as if he were a source of corruption, a living devil. Whenever they saw someone about to come out of their houses, they would sternly order them to go back immediately and not to be tainted by the most defiled sinner.

But one, two, three... more and more doors and windows were opened, and the more timid people huddled inside, only showing their faces and upper bodies, gripping the window frames tightly and peering out onto the street until they caught sight of César.

The bolder ones stood silently and stubbornly on both sides of the street behind the priests' angry, waving arms. When the priests came to shove them, they even showed anger and raised the crosses in their hands.

More and more people were doing this. The priests, who had initially been arrogant, had to back down—although they kept muttering curses, such as...you sympathize with a sinner, you'll go to hell in the future...but not one of them stepped back.

These people may not know that the plague was actually caused by evil men sent by the Roman Catholic Church, but they know perfectly well who saved them. The priests did not allow them to touch sinners, speak to sinners, or give sinners anything—but at least for this moment, they could stand here and pray and bless him with their eyes.

Some of the wealthier people would throw bread, water, cloaks, and even small bags of money out of their windows and doors, the heavy sound of which immediately drew the attention of the priests.

Cesar didn't pick them up; instead, he carefully avoided them.

He knew that once the priests saw him touch these things, they would rush over immediately, snatch them away, throw them away, damage them, or take them for themselves.

He hadn't gone far when he saw the monks of the Saint Sabas Monastery who had come to greet him, carrying icons and crosses. Since contact with him would likely give these priests and monks an excuse to obstruct him, they simply formed a thin but solid self-supporting wall around him.

Cesar thought to himself how wonderful it would be if Baldwin could see this; he would surely burst into laughter, and a slight smile would appear on his face—until he was about to leave the city.

Bethlehem is a small city. It has no moat, only a deep ditch with a drawbridge across it, and the other side is crowded with people.

The first thing Cesare saw was the dark-skinned, thin Longinus, and the knights he had brought from Cyprus—they had been forcibly driven out of the city by the priests—there were originally fifty of them, seven of whom had perished on the battlefield, leaving forty-three, none missing. But there were others—residents of Bethlehem and pilgrims, men and women, young and old, all sharing the same affliction of malaria; without Cesare, they would have died long ago.

Upon seeing Cesar, they jumped up from the ground, shouting excitedly, "Little saint! The little saint has arrived!"

Although Cesar had some ambitions, he had never imagined such a scene—a quick glance revealed that the crowd that occupied almost half of the flat land outside Bethlehem numbered at least four or five thousand people—and besides the patients, there were also their relatives.

These people, whose numbers could almost be considered a large army, paid no attention to the fact that Cesar was already a person who had been exterminated.

Seeing that César was not moving on the suspension bridge, several people rushed over eagerly. The one in the lead was someone César knew well; he was one of the leaders of the pilgrims—and he had known César for nine years when César was giving alms to the pilgrims of the whole city, and he had served César.

When the plague struck Bethlehem, he and several other leaders among the pilgrims provided him with considerable assistance—they organized a group of people to maintain order, punish sinners, and meticulously and thoroughly carried out his every request, doing even better than the priests and monks.

These men swarmed forward, grabbed Cesar's arms, and lifted him onto a palanquin without a word. The palanquin was clearly new—perhaps meticulously crafted by one of the carpenters among them—as it was covered with fluffy animal hides.

When Cesar emerged from the Church of the Nativity, he carried nothing of value, not even his silk robes. He wore only the black robes of a priest and carried a short sword, but now he was once again dressed like a king.

How much wealth do the people here possess?
They adorned him with their most precious possessions: not a golden crown, but emerald laurel leaves; not a golden cross, but a wooden cross purer than gold, tied to it with a silver necklace that may have just been taken from a young girl. It was a bit short, but Cesar felt it was more beautiful, heavier, and more precious than the golden cross Baldwin had given him.

They draped the finest fabrics over César, covering his shoulders, knees, and even his feet—though the most expensive of these was wool, and the majority was cotton and linen, it was more magnificent than any silk.

They lifted César high and carried him forward. The sunlight shone on César, making his blood boil like strong liquor!
What was it like? Those who haven't experienced it firsthand can never describe it. César did indeed feel dizzy and disoriented. He gripped the handrails of the palanquin tightly with both hands until they took him to the foot of the hill at the San Sabas Monastery and continued to follow him. Only then did he regain consciousness and hurriedly grab one of the people next to him to ask, "Where are you going?"

The man gave him a strange look and said matter-of-factly, "Go where you are!"

“I…I am now a sinner under the Great Punishment. If you come into contact with me or speak to me, you will also be burdened with sin.” Pilgrims travel thousands of miles to come here precisely to cleanse themselves of their sins, don’t they?
He had already seen several familiar faces; after all, almost everyone here was someone he had saved.

He had patrolled countless times at night, carrying a lantern to illuminate their faces, praying that they would not fall into the embrace of death the next day.

His words caused the other party to pause for a moment of thought: "We have thought about it, Saint." Among them were original residents of Bethlehem, pilgrims who had come to pay homage, and even some Saracens, Byzantines, and Armenians. Yes, they could easily be ungrateful, and there were quite a few who did so anyway. At least they did not stand on the side of the church and use the favors given to them by the lord as bargaining chips to exchange for their own wealth and glory.

“But we will follow you,” he said firmly again. “We don’t care what the priests and monks say about heaven and hell. Sure, we don’t want to go to hell, we want to go to heaven, but at that time—while we were praying bitterly, God only sent you and those priests who followed you…and none of these…”

He carefully swallowed a less-than-ideal word, replacing it with a milder one: "These people we've never met," he didn't even bother to address them respectfully as priests, "Alas, as soon as they arrived here, they rebuked us, saying we were sinners, that we had received the devil's favor, that you came from hell to tempt us into depravity. Whether we've fallen or not, we truly don't know, but we can still stand here, still speak, still be branded as sinners, all because of you. Without you, we would have been under six feet long ago."

They didn't come then, and of course they don't need to come now.

As for whether or not we'll go to hell, we've already been to hell once, so going again won't hurt. Besides, I think it's the priests who should go to hell—he muttered to himself. Although they didn't understand power struggles and conflicts of interest, they could sense the malice those people harbored towards Cesar, a malice that had even spread to them.

“Some people have indeed backed down; they’re all brainless,” the pilgrim leader, walking beside the palanquin, said with discontent. “Haven’t they seen enough in their own homeland? Those who were accused of conspiring with the devil, weren’t they all burned at the stake after losing everything?” He spoke in that cunning tone typical of peasants. “They are determined to kill you. In that case, they won’t leave any evidence in your favor,” he scoffed. “And what is the greatest evidence of your good deeds? It’s us, sir. As long as we are here, your good name will forever be known throughout the Holy Land, and they will absolutely not tolerate that.”

At this moment, they had arrived at the winding and steep mountain road. To these enthusiastic people, it was as flat as a plain. Cesar did not even feel the slightest bump or tilt.

He tried to jump off the palanquin, but another pilgrim leader grabbed his arm. "I've also heard about Cyprus. Don't worry, we've prepared a boat for you in Gasarafa."

"But weren't all the ship owners already warned? Were they Saracens or Byzantines?"

“You really underestimate us.” The pilgrim leader grinned. Some people had suggested that Cesar be disguised as a monk or a pilgrim and sneak onto the ship with them, but this suggestion was ruthlessly rejected as soon as it was made—this was not the treatment a saint should receive.

He declared firmly, “You should be respected and loved, not returned to your territory like a sinner, ragged and dejected.” His words drew a chorus of agreement.

"We bought that boat for you."

This statement left Cesar speechless.

He bought a boat on the spot.

For an earl, a duke, or a king, it would be such a simple matter. But for the city's inhabitants and pilgrims, it meant giving up their entire fortune.

“Not only Bethlehem, but also Nalazar, Arazarus, and even Jaffa and Acre,” the pilgrim leader laughed. “Do you know how many people have received your charity and help?”
Your kindness was not limited to the day you completed your ascetic practice, but lasted for ten years. You have consistently shown your mercy to us without ever ceasing, whether on the journey or in the holy city. You love us, and of course we love you in return.

It's just a ship.

"If possible, we would rather jump into the sea and build a bridge on our shoulders so you can walk across it," he even showed a hint of regret, "you know what?"
After I bought the ship, the owner left, but none of the sailors left. Hearing they were going to take you to Cyprus, they all offered to do the work for free. However, we still sent them away. Some of our sailors had relatives and family members who could guarantee with their lives that they would never be bribed by your enemies.”

Cesar was determined to return to Cyprus—he had already received a letter from Cyprus, which, despite numerous attempts to intercept it, arrived undamaged. He knew that Portia had given birth to his first child, a healthy girl.
The letter also detailed the actions of Portia and Natia. Cesar, of course, paid no heed to their lies, but was concerned only with their current safety, as well as Nicosia and his people.

"What about you?"

There are four or five thousand people here, and it is absolutely impossible for them to follow Cesar back to Cyprus.

“We are waiting for you here, and we believe you will come back. Whether you become a Christian or a devil in the future, as long as your heart towards us remains unchanged, our loyalty will not waver.”

“I will come back,” César said. “I will also arrange for people to take care of you.”

“I believe you,” the pilgrim leader said cheerfully.

The next day, César, who had slept well for the first time in months, opened his eyes and saw Castor. The horse, upon seeing him, pitifully rammed into his arms—its large head even making César feel a little suffocated.

But he couldn't care less about the minor pain. He happily held Castor's head in his arms, stroking its mane and looking into its dark eyes: "Who brought you here? Oh, it was Baldwin. How is he? Hopefully, he's improved."

Castor, whether he understood or not, let out a long neigh towards the distance, then turned around and rubbed against him forcefully, as if to pour out all the grievances he had been holding back. Even Cesar was knocked off his feet and could only push Castor away before leaning against him, feeling the warhorse's powerful heartbeat against his cheek.

He stayed there for three days, and when he left, the sky was bright, and the thin mist swirling around the valley opened up before him like layers of gauze. To his relief, apart from the people living in the monastery, others had already built simple mud huts and tents in the valley. Their expressions showed no sign of strain, after all, for pilgrims, living outdoors was a fairly common occurrence.

The rooms in the monastery were given to the original inhabitants, who bustled about and made a racket, bringing an unprecedented vitality to the once-desolate monastery. Several insisted on becoming Cesare's servants, even joking with each other that perhaps one day they too could become knights.

As soon as they reached the main road, they encountered a group of unexpected people.

"Ji'an!"

How did you end up here? While other knights might be able to brush it off by saying they were hired by him, Gian, who had the right to inherit territory and was merely a Frankish knight who came to participate in the Holy War, would find it difficult to escape the questioning of the local church.

“I am no longer Gian of Magigga,” he said cheerfully. “I have told my father that I will renounce my inheritance and my surname, and remain in the Holy Land, to stay by your side!”

"But I am a..."

“To hell with those priests. I saw you do it with my own eyes. If these miracles are all bestowed by the devil, then I would say the devil is more useful than the saint.” Upon hearing this, the knights around him revealed strange expressions, some of them unable to help but roll their eyes. Although they were also moved by Gian’s loyalty and persistence, his mouth—to be honest, even if he hadn’t decided to follow Cesar, he would still be a prime suspect in the future.

Gian, however, didn't think he had said anything shocking. But suddenly, he showed a shy expression and said, "There's... there's another reason."

At that moment, a man rode out from the ranks of knights, wearing a large cloak and a hood. As César looked over, he removed the hood and the cloak, revealing the person in his arms, who was smiling at César.

"Damara?"

That was the matriarch of Damara and her father Gerald. "Take Damara with you. Wherever you go from now on, she will go too. I think she should be able to help you."

There is no doubt that Damara can indeed offer some help to Cesar—there are many knights willing to follow Cesar, and perhaps even more in the future.

After all, these guys, when not bound by chivalry, were perfectly capable of robbing monasteries. But priests and monks were far less likely to do so; their roots were in the Church, and without it, they were useless. Besides, they worried that if they were excommunicated, their power would vanish—at least that's what the Church always said.

Even if some people believe that as long as there is power, it doesn't matter if it comes from the devil, it will certainly be much more difficult for them to make a decision than for the knights.

After receiving the saint's blessing, Damara made several attempts under the protection of Gian and his father, and it proved that her power was in no way inferior to that of monks who had practiced asceticism for many years or priests who were deeply favored.

If he were a man, Patriarch Heraclius would have promoted him without hesitation. Even in Rome, he could have earned his place in the red robes through his own abilities, but she was a woman, and all Patriarch Heraclius could do was ignore her—a form of leniency, largely out of consideration for Cesare.

If she were to go to Rome, or any place controlled by the Roman Catholic Church, it would only be a tragedy. The Church would say that all her power came from devouring babies, killing the innocent, or spreading plagues.

Isn't that right? The plague that just broke out in Bethlehem could very well have been transferred to her.

Gerald's patriarch dared not entrust her to anyone except Cesar, who was also slandered as a devil by the church.

He also knew that Cesar was a man who valued emotions and responsibilities, and that he would never easily abandon Damara; his choice was undoubtedly correct.

Cesar remained silent, tacitly agreeing to Damara's decision to follow him. Damara, with tears in her eyes, kissed her father goodbye and joined their ranks.

Although the knights were quite puzzled as to why Gerald's patriarch would send Damara to Cesar's side, they were already facing even more severe challenges and no one paid much attention to a noblewoman.

They boarded the ship, which, as the pilgrim leader had said, already belonged to the pilgrims. They then transferred ownership of the ship to Cesar, though without official documentation until the excommunication was lifted.

When they disembarked at the port of Tricomo (the closest port to Nicosia), it was a time of little moonlight and starlight, with the city's outline faintly visible in the distance.

There was also a well-armored army.

(End of this chapter)