kingdom of nations

Chapter 319 Victory! (Part 2)
Like flowing mercury, pure holy light instantly enveloped every knight who followed Cesar, centered on him.

There was a slight commotion in the opposing army. Finally, a man rode out slowly from the crowd. As the shadow that had been cast over him was gradually replaced by the bright daylight, Cesar realized that the bearded middle-aged man was a Cypriot nobleman he recognized.

This nobleman was not a docile lamb; quite the opposite, he was as cunning as a fox and as fierce as a jackal.

He had fought with César—during the seven days of mourning, his relatives and allies were not only aware of the situation but also involved. He had sent messengers to plead with César, saying that whatever César wanted—gold, silk, or slaves, or even another princess as a wife—he could have intervened, but César refused.

Left with no other choice, he had to confront Cesar in battle. On the battlefield, he saw the same holy light as today, and in the first round, he was knocked off his horse and became Cesar's prisoner.

However, he never had any involvement in the conspiracy. Perhaps because they knew his temperament well, his relatives and allies not only did not try to pull him into the conspiracy, but also deliberately avoided him.

After it was determined that he was not involved in the matter, the nobleman paid a ransom, swore an oath of loyalty on his knees, and was released.

Like most nobles in Cyprus, he was filled with curiosity about the new lord. They found it hard to understand his actions, but also admired that he did exactly what he asked others to do.

It's important to understand that they had previously had many governors, and even the eldest prince Alexius. It's fair to say that when they arrived here, believing they could possess it, they were inevitably blinded by Cyprus's prosperity—this is human nature, and they often comforted themselves with this thought.

But that was not the case. César showed them through his actions that even if he treated the people kindly—without raising taxes, but instead exempting them; without extorting local nobles; and without wantonly exploiting merchants and pilgrims—he could still build churches and city walls, repair fortifications and fortresses, form an army, comfort soldiers, and allow the people to live a stable and peaceful life.

They had heard the people of Arazarus call their new lord a lesser saint—at the time they didn't think much of it—but now, perhaps God could no longer tolerate the filth and turbidity of this world and was finally willing to send someone to save them.

He rode straight to Cesare, dismounted when he was about seven or eight steps away, walked quickly to Cesare's horse, knelt down and said, "Welcome back, my dear monarch."

Well, this title of "monarch" is quite meaningful. After all, according to Cesare's original status, he should have been addressed as "Count." But now Cesare is no longer a figure among Christians, and his sister Natia and wife Portia have "represented" him in converting to the orthodox church. His status in Cyprus has become legitimate, and the Byzantine nobles can naturally serve him as a monarch.

“Get up,” said Cesar. He saw the nobleman try to take Castor’s reins, but Castor dodged him unhappily, baring his teeth at him as if to bite off his fingers. He chuckled and reached out to soothe Castor, then calmly asked, “How many others are like you?”

The nobleman smiled slightly upon hearing this, "Many, Your Highness, many. There may be bystanders, but as soon as they see you, they will surely follow you."

Cesar nodded simply. "Mount up and follow me."

They landed at the port of Tricomo, rested briefly at the nobleman's palace, and then proceeded at a leisurely pace toward Nicosia. In each place they passed, Cypriot nobles would come out to pay homage to their master and follow him. When he arrived in Cyprus, he was accompanied by only a few dozen knights, but before he even reached Nicosia, when he stopped at a small town called Asa, a formidable army had already gathered around him.

More than three hundred knights, twice that number of guards, even more armed squires, and thousands of laborers—these laborers weren't even recruited by him, but rather armed themselves simply and rushed to his side after hearing that their new lord had returned.

Even the Cypriot nobles were astonished by this sight. In the past, when they conscripted laborers, they were met with either indifference or resentment; not a single person was willing. Not to mention, these people even brought their own food and weapons.

Although their food might only last for a few days, and their weapons were just a wooden stick with iron plates attached, or even just a wooden stick, they were like Goru and the farmer whose eldest son was about to get married—like a wild beast that had tasted blood for the first time, their desires had been unleashed, and they would never again go back to eating grass for a living.

Their numbers grew so large that the small town could no longer accommodate them, and they had to camp out in the open. Some nobles suggested to César that these laborers should be driven away.

Indeed, they were untrained and not all of them had combat experience. If they were to face fierce soldiers, they might be routed in one blow, affecting their own morale, or even worse, potentially causing an attack on their own army.

After a brief moment of thought, César dispatched some of his men, but these men were neither priests nor officials; they appeared to be ordinary pilgrims, no different from the farmers.

But as soon as they arrived among the chaotic crowd, they immediately found their leader. Despite the language and religious barriers, César's "messengers" easily gained the trust of these people.

Then, seemingly overnight, thousands of complex groups of people were clearly distinguished.

Some people stayed where they were, while others, led by someone, moved in another direction, and what they raised was not a flag, but a tattered piece of clothing that made people laugh.

A Cypriot nobleman stared at it for a long time before realizing that the clothes must belong to the leader of these peasants. They might not be able to recognize the knights' banners, but they would definitely recognize the clothes on the leader. But did they really need to use them?

They believed that although the attacking side had 5,000 men, they also had an army of more than 2,000 men, and their new lord was still blessed by God and favored by saints. They believed that they could win, or at least force the emperor's army to negotiate with them.

Since Césardon and the support of its people, taking Nicosia has become an unlikely task.

“They’re just some farmers. If he insists, we don’t need to object,” one of the nobles said. After all, they had already placed their bets on Cesar, and there was no need to go back on their word now.

"Our little master always gives us some unexpected surprises."

A Cypriot nobleman said with a smile, though it was unclear whether it was a compliment or sarcasm. His companion glared at him—it was best not to say such things now; not all of them were truly subservient, and many of Cesar's actions had touched upon their interests.

But what left them with no choice was that the Byzantine commanders and Crusader knights—they were referring to the Knights Templar and the Order of Good Samaritans… and some uncouth barbarians—had, in just one month, already pushed the Cypriot nobles to their breaking point with their behavior.

Everything they had feared had come true, but not from their new lord, but from these very people who claimed to be their saviors—treachery, hypocrisy, and insatiable greed… Good heavens! They had truly experienced it all during this time, and they could easily imagine what awaited them after Cesar was expelled from Cyprus.
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The news that the ships anchored in the port had been burned, sunk, and taken away was not to be leaked by the Byzantine commanders, and those in the know remained tight-lipped—they feared that the soldiers would riot and become disorganized because of the news, making them uncontrollable.

Furthermore, they believed that as long as they could conquer Nicosia, the wealth within the city would be enough for them to buy another fleet, making it easy to transport these soldiers and the looted wealth back to Constantinople.

But when they heard that Cesar had already raised an army with the support of the Cypriot nobles to fight against them, they became worried—would the enemy intentionally spread the news? But Cesar did not.

"He's a truly upright man," the young commander said to his men, though his tone was more contemptuous, believing the other man to be too pedantic to give up such a rare opportunity.

Upon hearing this news, the commander knew that he would soon be facing a dangerous reinforcement—he had heard of Cesar's previous achievements, and the emperor had given him a stern warning before his departure—the best outcome, as their allies had said, was that Cesar would be held captive in Bethlehem, and he might be banished to the Syrian desert, alone, weary, and without anyone to follow or support him.

But if he returns to Cyprus, and some hopeful people are willing to follow him, even without the saint's favor, he is still a battle-hardened knight and a formidable enemy.

"Do not let your guard down," said Manuel I.

The commander-in-chief did indeed obey every order of the emperor. However, like any attacking force that had to face reinforcements from outside the city, he had to divide his army into two parts—excluding the reserves. One part had to face the defenders who might rush out of Nicosia at any time, while the other part had to face the imposing and powerful reinforcements.

However, he was still 50% certain that the enemy's numbers were still less than half of theirs.

Moreover, those nobles might not be unpersuasive or swayed.

------

"You mean they're having supply problems?"

"It started a long time ago. The Templars refused to provide them with wheat and livestock, as well as some essential supplies. They also disguised themselves as bandits to plunder the surrounding towns and villages, but after we discovered this, as you said, we relocated all the inhabitants from their settlements."

Although their houses were burned down and their land was trampled, at least their lives were saved.

“They did receive some supplies,” another nobleman added, “but then all the palaces and castles shut their doors to them, and they stood up with spears and bows.” He was a little guilty as he said this, after all, if the Byzantine commander hadn’t shown such indifference and cruelty towards the Cypriots, they probably wouldn’t have defected so quickly. “Some people had no choice…” He glanced at Cesare’s expression and continued, “they negotiated with their envoys, but apart from the bribes, they didn’t provide much.”

I've heard that famine has broken out in their camps, but since most of the inhabitants are mercenaries and auxiliary troops, things seem relatively stable.

If the Byzantine emperor's commanders had been astute enough, they might have turned their attention to other cities instead of Nicosia. If Cesar had not yet returned to Cyprus, there would likely have been quite a few people willing to submit to the Byzantine army, since not every city is Nicosia.

This is something that cannot be forced.

"that's enough."

Cesar nodded and said that he certainly understood all the little thoughts of these Cypriot nobles. "You can't expect someone who is always docile in front of you to be incredibly loyal in front of an enemy, unless he realizes that the enemy not only lacks your tolerance and kindness, but also has the intention to exploit him to the bone."

Even the most docile goat will lower its body and raise its horns when facing a wild beast.

------

The Byzantine commander was on high alert, but at dawn the next day, he caught a whiff of an aroma that would make even a sleeping person's mouth water.

When he murmured as he woke up, he thought he was still in the palace in Constantinople, with the cook preparing one of his favorite dishes, stewed mutton or beef, sprinkled with expensive spices and plenty of salt and sugar. But when he opened his eyes, he still saw that dull brown bed curtains—he hadn't been able to bring his bed to Cyprus.

He called out to his servants, who entered with obvious panic and distress on their faces.

"What's wrong?" he asked, annoyed. "What happened? What's that smell? Did someone start cooking early?"

Within this large army, various forces were mixed and unclear, which was very discouraging. Although the emperors of Komnen had long been working to rebuild their own central guard, the central army had been severely weakened by several major defeats, especially the Varangian Guard, which had been sent and then recalled.

During the Battle of Milaeusephalon, the emperor abandoned his army and fled. Many Varangian guards, upon seeing the emperor sink into the swamp, jumped in without hesitation and never resurfaced.

This may be one of the reasons why the emperor suddenly changed his mind.

The other heavily armored cavalry, composed of Greeks or Armenians, the heavy infantry known as "Scutatus" in Justinian's time, and the javelin throwers in cloaks and boots... were not so obedient to their commander, after all, he had never commanded any battles before, nor had he achieved any victories, and his personal martial prowess was no match for that Crusader knight.

Needless to say, the soldiers and generals from other military regions were unruly and arrogant. They only came all the way here to serve the emperor because he promised to give them the whole of Nicosia.

The city's prolonged siege had become extremely frustrating for them.

As for the leaders of those auxiliary armies and mercenaries, even a born fool would know it's best not to count on them—they can become uncontrollable in good times, let alone in bad times.

"Didn't he send a messenger? He should have arranged the location and time of the battle with me."

The commander, outwardly fierce but inwardly weak, shouted, hurriedly putting on his armor and helmet with the help of his servants. He felt extremely hungry and tired, so he grabbed a handful of rock sugar, stuffed it in his mouth, and then drank several mouthfuls of cold wine.

He mounted his horse and led his guards through the camp, which was still shrouded in fog. Only then did he feel a little calmer, since no one would launch an attack when the fog was so thick.

However, the increasingly strong fragrance could still ignore the fog and penetrate into everyone's nose.

Only a knight could afford to eat meat and wine during battle; ordinary soldiers usually had to eat beans and wheat to fill their stomachs. A kind general might give some cheese and dried meat before the battle, but these were not for one person; they had to be mixed together in a pot and distributed to everyone. Moreover, their supplies were gradually decreasing, and the commanders became stingy when distributing supplies in order to cover up this—either deliberately delaying or shortchanging them.

Generals from other military regions even had to argue with the officers in charge of distribution before they could get the supplies they needed. The food they had looted was almost gone. Some experienced veterans had already started packing their bags, whether to retreat with the main force or to sneak away. They knew all too well how terrible a military camp suffering from famine could be.

But today, the aroma spurred both veterans and new recruits to action. They crawled out of their tents or awoke from their open bedding, ignoring the officers' shouts and whippings, and rushed towards the edge of the camp to find the source of the scent. Even though some were killed in the process, they continued in droves, one after another. The officers had little intention of genuinely stopping them; they were hungry too.

This torment continued until the mist dissipated and the fragrance was no longer so strong, but the scene before their eyes was even more unbearable for them.

Right where they could see, the enemy's reinforcements were cooking cattle and sheep. One large pot after another was filled with steam that was even thicker than the previous fog. The knights with excellent eyesight could even see the milky white broth bubbling inside and the chunks of meat being scooped up. They couldn't help but swallow and spit out their saliva. It had been a while since they had eaten and drunk to their heart's content.

Seeing their soldiers starving, they might have felt a little smug, comforting themselves that once Nicosia was conquered, they would have everything they wanted. But right now, all they wanted was a piece of mutton. Besides, these men who had tasted pepper before could clearly distinguish the aroma of that expensive spice in the air.

At this time of year, Cyprus wasn't so cold as to make one shiver, but the sea breeze in the mornings and evenings could still steal away any warmth from one's body. To have a bowl of hot soup at this time… damn it! They even saw ordinary laborers across the river getting a bowl of soup. They tore their dry, hard flatbread into pieces and threw them into the soup, then scooped it up with their hands and ate it in large mouthfuls.

That would be so delicious! It must be delicious.

Meanwhile, the commander was still gathering troops and summoning generals, but he soon discovered that the entire camp was no longer under his control, especially the mercenaries and auxiliary troops, who were originally just trash used to wear down the enemy's strength, and whose supplies were the first to be taken away.

At dawn, people have just woken up, and after a night of exertion, their stomachs are empty.

No one knows who started it, but the already not-so-heavy barricades were pushed aside, and a person nimbly jumped over the low defensive wall, brandishing a long sword, and rushed towards the nearest pot.

No matter how the officer called after him, he didn't turn around. There were still many people following him, ten, a hundred...

Later, even the officers couldn't hold back any longer. They saw that the laborers and soldiers surrounding the pot didn't seem to have expected them to dare to storm their camp. Upon seeing these fierce-looking men, they fled without looking back, abandoning the pot and the broth.

The first person to rush to the pot immediately grabbed the flatbread that had been thrown on the ground, and without hesitation, stuck it into the pot. Before it had fully absorbed the broth, he pulled it out and put it in his mouth to chew. His actions further stimulated the desires of the others.

Then someone arrived and even chopped off his head with a single stroke of the knife. His mouth was still stuffed with food, and his head rolled to his feet, splattering blood into the soup pot and the campfire below.

The second person snatched the remaining flatbread from the tightly gripping hand and continued to wolf it down without a care.

Such scenes unfolded in front of every soup pot, where flatbread and broth were mixed with human flesh and blood. The servants and mercenaries had never shown any camaraderie; they would fight each other without hesitation for a bite to eat, even killing one another in pairs.

At this point, it was no longer just about food; it was also about the death of a companion or past grudges—when supplies were scarce, avoiding conflict was almost impossible.

Just then, from another direction, horns sounded, banners were raised high, their dazzling colors even surpassing the rising sun, and knights in full armor stepped out in neat ranks from the still-lingering mist.

"Enemy!" a Byzantine general cried out sharply, "Enemy! The enemy is coming!"

“Angelos! Darathenos! Sarantapekus!…” the young Byzantine commander cried out urgently and in panic. Few generals were able to reach him at this moment, and he was not sure if they were trustworthy.

Then he remembered someone else, "Where's Ducas? Where are the Ducas family members? Where's Alexei?!"

Alexei was able to become Dukas' son-in-law and bear their surname because he was a capable man, his abilities evident both in the court and on the battlefield. For this reason, although the emperor was furious at his remonstrances, he still had to send him out, and warned his illegitimate son that while the Dukas family was annoying, he should listen to their advice even more in military matters.

However, the commander-in-chief was very dissatisfied with the peaceful attitude that Dukas had shown when he was sent to Nicosia. He even publicly mocked Alexei Dukas for losing his former bravery and for being obsequious and subservient to two Christian women.

Even when Alexei Dukas remained hidden in the tent, neither appearing nor speaking, he didn't mind. In fact, he felt that this made him even more alert and happy.

But at this moment, those sycophantic sycophants could not help him fight. He immediately thought of Alexei and the Ducas, but his messenger rushed back, pale-faced, to tell him that Alexei's tent was also empty, the other Ducas were nowhere to be seen, and not only that, their soldiers had vanished without a trace at some point.

"These traitors, these cowards!" the commander cried out in despair, brandishing his sword, but what good did it do? The people he wanted to kill were long gone.

He tried his best to organize a strong counterattack, but the camp had already been torn open by the servants and mercenaries who wanted a bite of meat soup and bread, and the laborers he had forcibly conscripted were already starving and on the verge of death. Even with swords at their necks, they did not have the strength to get up and work.

The soldiers went their own way, each obeying their own master. They ran around shouting and yelling, but didn't know whose orders to take. The wise ones had already fled with their subordinates and servants.

The young commander wanted to do the same. But at that moment, the gates of Nicosia opened, and the stones and wood that had been blocking the gates were removed. A troop of knights, leading their squires and armed attendants, were shouting as they galloped toward the imperial camp.

At the same time, the ballistae and catapults on the city walls began to roar.

When the commander saw a stone ball engulfed in flames bounce and leap into the camp, he belatedly realized that the range of all the defensive weapons on the Nicosia city walls had long exceeded his understanding.

These Nicosians had endured until now, hoping to deliver a fatal blow to him by surprise.

These flames were inextinguishable; they burned even more fiercely when they came into contact with water, and even spread to more places with the flow of water. Many soldiers who were set ablaze ran around the camp like human torches, emitting miserable screams that seemed to come from hell. Bystanders either dodged in time or were powerless to help, and could only watch helplessly as he turned from a person into a torch, then into a pile of charred charcoal, and finally fell to the ground, no longer making a sound.

In fact, the fire was not entirely uncontrollable, but when the first person shouted "Greek fire," chaos in the camp was already inevitable.

Some wanted to resist, some wanted to escape, and some were looking for their commander—not to continue fighting with him, but to capture the emperor's illegitimate son, whether to escort him to Constantinople or take him elsewhere to extort money from the emperor, it would be a good deal.

The young commander probably never imagined that before he even became a prisoner of the enemy, he would become a target of contention among his own people.

He was dragged to the ground, his mouth full of dirt: "I am the emperor's son! I am the emperor's son!" he shouted unwillingly, feeling his mouth and nose filled with blood, and his ears ringing.

A mercenary leader had already knocked down his attendant and then two more men who wanted to take him away. The despicable Turk was now grinning menacingly, reaching out his large hand to grab him. For a moment, the commander was torn between enduring this humiliation and fighting to the death.

At this moment, another nobleman dressed in Hungarian attire rushed over. Before any hope could rise in the commander's heart, it was already overwhelmed by despair. He was not there to save him, but to take him away.

He engaged the Turk in a fierce battle, but his short sword was no match for the Turk's scimitar. The Hungarian was knocked down and let out a painful groan. Seeing that he could no longer take away his greatest prey, he suddenly grinned—the Turk was stunned for a moment—even a commander would not expect this Hungarian nobleman to swing his sword and stab him in the throat. Clearly, he could not take away the emperor's illegitimate son, but he could still make his enemy frustrated.

The young commander screamed hysterically, past scenes flashing through his mind like a revolving lantern. He watched helplessly as the gleaming blade pierced his vitals, and everything around him seemed to stop—no, it truly stopped.

He saw a look of astonishment on the face of the Hungarian nobleman. The Turk's head was slowly lowering towards him, until it could no longer maintain the proper angle, and then with a thud, it fell off his body. His eyes were still filled with anger and disbelief.

The Hungarian nobleman's sword pierced his throat, but could not go any further. A layer of light, like moonlight, shielded him from this terrible blow.

The Hungarian nobleman's eyes immediately cleared, and he promptly released his grip on the dagger, flipped backward, and cried out for mercy, "My lord! My lord! Your Highness! I am willing to surrender..."

Before he could finish speaking, he was pierced through from front to back by a javelin, his tall body even staggering backward a few steps before collapsing.

The commander, still shaken, looked up and, amidst the fog, smoke, and fire, saw the most perfect face he had ever seen. That face did not possess the compassion and gentleness that people praised; instead, it was filled with grimness and coldness.

Cesar, holding a javelin, plunged it into the young commander's shoulder, then lifted him off the ground as easily as picking up a rabbit and tossed him to his entourage.

"Hey, we caught another one!" Gian excitedly caught up from behind. "Who's this? Oh, purple, is he a Byzantine?"

“Not only is he a Byzantine, but he’s a big fish!” Longinus said with a grin. “This must be the emperor’s illegitimate son, the commander of the army.”

"Wait, capturing the commander-in-chief, doesn't that mean..."

“I’m afraid it won’t be easy.” Longinus looked around. The place was in such chaos that it felt like the end of the world, whether Christian, Orthodox, or Saracen.

"Your Highness! Your Highness!" A joyful shout rang out as the old knight Albon charged through the demoralized, routed soldiers towards Cesar, who went to meet him. Seeing the knight about to dismount and salute, he immediately raised his javelin and lightly patted the old knight on the shoulder in acknowledgment.

"No need for formalities at this time, fight alongside me once again!"

His voice wasn't loud, but it seemed to travel through the entire camp, and every knight heard it. Their morale soared, and they seemed to have inexhaustible strength and courage to defeat or kill every enemy who dared to stand in their way, and then rush to join their lord.

And every knight he met, Cesar would share his power with him without hesitation, like stars following the moon, more and more points of light gathering around him.

They were like countless drops of water, coalescing into streams and rivers, sweeping across every corner of this place. No one could withstand a single blow from them; even the most solid mountains crumbled and collapsed in their line of attack.

The enemies scattered in all directions, the camp was still burning, and as time passed, when the sun was high in the sky, all that remained were wisps of smoke, charred ashes, and corpses. The knights who followed Cesar were all drenched in sweat and exhausted, but their eyes shone with an indescribable brilliance. Their hearts were pounding, their blood was boiling, and they wished they could shout a few times to fully express the joy in their hearts.

This opportunity came soon.

When the gates of Nicosia opened again, the guards on the city walls and the people on both sides of the street saw the familiar red flag and the black-haired, blue-eyed king once more, they all cheered with earth-shattering cheers.

"Caesar! Caesar!"

"Long live Caesar!"

After his great victory at the Sea of ​​Galilee, Cesar jokingly told Baldwin that a triumphal procession should be held for him.

Today he is simply returning, but what is presented to the people is not a triumph, yet it surpasses any triumph.

All the people rushed out to greet him, throwing flowers, ribbons and fruit at him, even though they themselves were starving.

Although the city had ample reserves, it was impossible to simply take them out and let people eat and drink as they pleased when the siege would last for an unknown period of time.

Natia strictly implemented the quota system as instructed by Cesar.

Of course, before implementing this system, she had invited representatives of the people to see the mountains of grain, wine and olive oil—as long as people knew that the city could hold on for a long time, they would not panic.

Surrounded by people, came César's sister Natia, along with his wife Portia and the child in her arms. Portia was César's first child, a girl, but with a boy's name.

Although she longed to rush into Cesar's arms as quickly as possible, Natia stepped back, giving the opportunity to Portia. Portia, holding the child, threw herself into Cesar's arms. The toil, sorrow, and worry that had been suppressed for many days burst forth completely in her outstretched arms. She wanted to wail and cry, but she wanted to laugh out loud even more. In the end, she could only hand the child to Cesar, saying, "This is Lorenz."

She choked out, “Your child.” She hadn’t even had a chance to say that she was a girl—though she had already said so in the letter—before César took the swaddling clothes, mounted his horse, and lifted the child high on Castor’s back so that everyone could see her.

“This is my first child,” he shouted, “she brought us victory.”

Ladies and gentlemen, let's cheer for her! She is our victor!

(End of this chapter)