kingdom of nations

Chapter 338 Equivalent Conditions

“I agree,” Cesar repeated loudly, “but it’s not you who made me agree,” he turned and looked down at the smug-faced man, saying in a loud voice, “Why should I agree to you?”

As a citizen of God, you are not devout enough. Even if you say that you have never missed a single prayer and that you often give alms, you do not take it seriously. Do not argue that the saints have bestowed their grace upon you, your brothers, and your sons, but you have not been grateful. You regard the power they have given to believers as goods that can be weighed at will, with comparisons, additions and subtractions, and bargaining. I see no reverence or respect in your words, only arrogance.

As a subject, you are not loyal enough—you should be loyal to King Richard I of England and the Grand Duke of Brittany, but you are obeying a stranger, a monarch to whom you have no favors, to whom you have no obligations. You are merely blinded by the present splendor and cannot see the price you will pay in the future.

"I didn't!" The Lord of Brest, having already seen the cold gaze Richard I cast upon him, hurriedly explained, "I didn't, Your Majesty... I mean, the Emperor merely spoke a word of justice for me..."

"When a lion roars, it can certainly make all the beasts tremble in awe, but a fox swaggered ahead of him, thinking that it was his strength and might that made all the beasts bow down."

Then the fox said, “I didn’t mean to use the lion’s power. They fear me because I have sharp fangs and claws. Do you believe me?” Cesar said coldly.

Some knights were already chuckling in hushed tones, while others continued to relay Cesar's words to those who couldn't hear them.

Frederick I's expression was truly unpleasant. While César's words were a compliment to him, they were a dagger piercing the heart to the Lord of Brest. However, the other man's words and demeanor also proved that César was telling the truth. He had once promised to support this man, but now he suddenly felt utterly uninterested.

"In the end, it is your dereliction of duty as a son and brother that has caused you to fail. Is the legacy your father left you just those castles, fields, woods and rivers that you see?"
"No, the most precious legacy he left you should be those who share the same blood as you..." Cesar raised his hand to interrupt the other's rebuttal. When the Lord of Brest challenged him on the grounds of being knights, he could certainly speak eloquently. But now that Cesar was speaking to him not as a knight, but as an earl and a monarch, he couldn't help but shrink back.

"When they were born, did your father, your mother, and you feel no joy? Did you not hold them in your arms? Did you not watch them take their first steps and babble? Did they not call out to you as they loved you as they loved their father? Your father's death is already a great loss, yet you have turned your brothers and sisters, born of the same root, into slaves and cattle, either enslaving them with all your might or driving them out of the land your father left you."

Does your father want you to do this? Even if you're not capable, you could at least teach them, show them a way, not like this—

They were once your most trusted allies and companions; their glory increased with their honor, and their disgrace tarnished your reputation; if they were injured or killed, a strong branch would be missing from the family tree, making it difficult for your descendants to receive the protection of their blood relatives.

The Lord of Brest hesitated, unable to say that he truly loathed his brothers and even sisters who were vying with him for the inheritance, that he had no feelings for them, and that their father did not love his children, including himself…

“As a lord, you are not competent either,” Cesar continued. “A great battle is imminent, and you are going to initiate a duel against one of the commanders. Whether I lose the duel or am injured in it, or more likely than not, I will emerge unscathed.”

"And what about your brothers, sons, and knights? They could have shone brightly on the upcoming expedition, received praise, and even gained the favor of the king and emperor. But if they were wounded in this duel, even with priests treating them, are you sure they would still be able to fight on the battlefield as before?" He shook his head. "This is precisely the time when we should be conserving our strength and fighting together against a common enemy, but you are only concerned with your own selfish desires..."

At this moment, he saw Longinus running towards him. "Why do I refuse to return Longinus to you? Although you may say that he is the law and the man of destiny—precisely because you are such a despicable, shameless, and fickle man, he is your father's youngest son, even younger than your own son. Anyone with a conscience, even if they cannot give him money or a future, would never banish him and leave him to fend for himself."

After all, as the youngest son who couldn't inherit any property, and having lost both parents at a young age, his future was already bleak. And what have you done for him? When I saw him, he was penniless and haggard, possessing nothing but the longsword in his hand and the armor on his body. Yet he still devoutly served the priests of the Church of the Holy Sepulchre, praying day and night for you and your family, never slacking off, and never falling into banditry. He even took shelter from me when I was just a child.”

Longinus had already made his way through the crowd to Cesare. He was in tears, choked with sobs, and could only kneel at Cesare's feet, touching his forehead to his feet.

Cesar did not back down or avoid the issue at first, but then turned to Frederick I. Under Baldwin's anxious gaze, he nodded slightly, signaling the other to calm down, and continued, "Therefore, I am not agreeing to this shameless scoundrel, but to you. Your Majesty, your achievements are like the morning sun, dazzling and splendid, and your fame has spread far and wide, from Damascus to Apollo. Whether Turks or Saracens, all tremble in fear of your arrival."

Frederick I smiled slightly, but waited patiently to see what else he would say.

“I do not wish to disobey your will, even though I have no obligation to you. But I also do not wish to disappoint another true hero. I have agreed to this unjust duel for your dignity and honor.”

Therefore, I think I should also be able to ask you for something here.”

Frederick I smiled, not entirely surprised. "Isn't it to make the knight at your feet more loyal to you? Or perhaps to gain more fame?"

“I have plenty of loyalty, and I have plenty of good reputation. I am now a lord of a region, the absolute ruler of Byzantium.”

"You don't bother to hide it at all."

"For the emperor, this is unnecessary. Although I cannot stand shoulder to shoulder with you, I would not stoop to such a despicable act, and the other party is not worth my exchange of honor and safety. The only person I entrust to is you."

"That seems like a very big request. What do you want?"

Frederick I was also curious, after all, the monarch of Cesarea should be Baldwin, the king of Arrassal, and his close friend was Richard I, the king of England, with whom he had fought side by side. And recently, the one he had been getting along well with and who was inseparable from him was Philip II, the king of France. He muttered to himself that this heretical Byzantine monarch was indeed as adept at social maneuvering and flattery as Bohemond had said.

"My request is, Your Majesty. If I could, as a mortal, face an entire Brest, those blessed knights..."

And as they say, God still favors me, preventing me from falling into the hands of these scoundrels. Therefore, I ask that you grant me one request—my request is that your lords, dukes, knights, squires, armed attendants, soldiers, and laborers obey the orders of the inspection team.”

Frederick I's face immediately turned stiff and frosty, and Richard I, who had wanted to interrupt their conversation, suddenly fell silent, while Baldwin IV remained calm.

People often say that Baldwin is stubborn and difficult to persuade. In fact, Baldwin knew that his best friend was the most difficult to change—almost no one could stop or change what he was going to do.

When the armies of England, France, and the Holy Roman Empire arrived in Allazar, military discipline became a difficult problem to manage. Just as Cesare had seen when he first arrived in Allazar, the army at this time was more like a huge armed tribe—with a king or emperor as its leader, and tribal chiefs from all over gathered under his command, who had come for glory, faith, money, and women.

These chieftains had knights and soldiers of varying numbers. The smallest was like the Lord of Brest, whose territory could not support so many knights, so he could only bring his sons and brothers. The largest was like Frederick I, who had three thousand knights and their squires.

This group's motives were never pure, and they lacked respect for their superiors, so military discipline was irrelevant. Everyone had their own needs, and fighting and violence were commonplace. Their attitude towards merchants and the general public was, needless to say, questionable.

Don't think that just because you're a Christian, they'll go easy on you. They were a bunch of beasts back home, and in a strange place, they're even worse than beasts when faced with infidels.

In the ensuing great battle, given their numbers and fighting strength, it was entirely possible for them to capture Damascus. Furthermore, according to Frederick I's plan, they might even advance on Homs, Hama, and even Aleppo. It's easy to imagine that without restraint, Damascus and the subsequent cities would become like the former Alassane Road.

These knights and soldiers all came from outside the Arrasa Road. They did not need to stay here and live among those people who harbored hatred, so they acted recklessly. Among them, very few had any conscience or morality.

How are you going to let Baldwin rule these empty cities then?
Even if some of the population could be relocated, it would still be a drop in the ocean. The most likely beneficiary would be Antioch, which is second only to Arrassa in size. Although Bohemond was a cunning and venomous man, he was relatively tolerant of the people, or rather, he had no choice but to be tolerant.

After all, officials from the Byzantine Empire had long been involved in Antioch's state affairs and politics, so he certainly dared not arbitrarily expel and exploit those heretics and infidels.

"Some say that you flatter the monarch and bewitch the knights with a face more charming than a woman's, leading them to depravity, and use false benevolence and meager benefits to tempt the people to follow you."

But if it really reaches that level, even if it's fake, it's not that important.

Frederick I sighed, then looked at Cesar and pondered for a moment. After all, Cesar's request required him to endorse it with his own authority. Although knights were to be subject to the laws of another lord when they arrived in another lord's land, it was tantamount to them losing some of the benefits they should have received. They might not be willing to do so.

Frederick I knew the duel was unfair, yet he still supported it, driven by his previous prejudice against the young man and his growing arrogance—he had realized his mistake. If Cesare were merely a servant, he could certainly bribe him, but facing a high-ranking nobleman, he had to think twice.

As the Lord of Brest said, when a knight makes an excessive demand, his opponent can certainly respond accordingly, making him pay a heavier price.

The same applies to an emperor.

After much deliberation, Frederick I said, "If you are willing to offer some compensation..."

Cesar glanced at Baldwin, and seeing him nod, he said, "They will receive their due compensation, provided they can restrain their swords and desires."

He believed that in the fallen cities, people would be willing to give up some material possessions in exchange for their dignity and lives.

"But first you must win," Frederick I added opportunely. "Prove to me that your bravery is not mere boasting or fabricated evidence, and only then will I grant your request. For my promise is given to a true knight, not a liar."

Cesar did not speak, but gave him a brief bow before turning to put on his armor.

After countless battles, he could already sense that his body had been tempered like red-hot steel. He didn't know if others had the same thing—but from his observation, the knights around him, though strong and resilient, could not compare to him.

This might be a minor trouble that Bohemond has gotten himself into – he had spent several months with Frederick I, during which time he had whispered some bad things about him in the ears of the ambitious emperor, which was not a problem.

Frederick's prejudice against him was unlikely to change the course of the expedition, but even a slight bias from an emperor with an army of 15,000 could lead to a disastrous outcome.

Even Bohemond probably didn't expect that such an ignorant fool would jump out and compete with Cesar, and Frederick I also casually revealed his likes and dislikes here.

But if they didn't seize this opportunity to propose the bet to Frederick I, it would be difficult to find another chance later.

If Cesare had rashly demanded that Frederick I restrain his lords and knights from harassing caravans, plundering civilians, or killing infidels, the emperor would either have felt his authority challenged or thought they had gone mad—and this was the perfect opportunity.

Just as some clever people, when trying to ask lords for a tax reduction, wouldn't use biblical passages, the priests' constant preaching of benevolence, or the farmers' gratitude as reasons to persuade them—because those lords simply wouldn't care.

They would only make bets with him, invite him to place bets, or make him laugh with humorous words, or even use blood and lives to complete the so-called "test." Only when their desires were satisfied would they be willing to agree.

Frederick I looked back at the German princes and nobles who were following him: "Should I agree to this young man's request?"

The nobles were also whispering among themselves. They had indeed heard a lot about the young lord, but this kind of "competition" was really new to them. Before, no one cared about commoners and heretics. This would bring him almost no benefit and would also arouse the dissatisfaction of many knights. After all, there were good people in their army, but the bad people would inevitably make up the majority.

But why not agree? It will be a grand performance, so let's just say they're paying for it.

This duel was arguably the most anticipated battle before the expedition began, in terms of its cause, process, and outcome.

As he took his leave, the lord of Brest frequently glanced at Bohemond, who was following Frederick I. Clearly, he had not anticipated the current situation and hoped that the man who had instigated him would provide him with the help he had promised. Bohemond simply smiled, his wicked expression seemingly telling the lord of Brest that he did not care who would suffer.

Perhaps for this villain, the despair and sorrow of anyone could bring him pleasure.

But the lord of Brest was powerless to accuse him of greed, of relentless pressure, of taking chances. His only hope now was to use this injustice to win the contest—even if the reputation of the Brest family would plummet to its lowest point afterward, he would have already secured a permanent inheritance for his descendants.

Even as he left the stands, crossed the camp to his tent, donned his armor, and prepared his weapons, the gazes cast upon him by the knights were still unbearable.

While some of the great lords who came to Arazarus with their monarch were great lords, many of them were second or youngest sons who were not supported in their families. How he treated Longinus had already spread widely in the camp. Even those around him—his fellow eldest sons and heirs—considered his actions lacking in decorum. They might arrange for their younger brothers to become priests or send them away from their territories.

However, if the other party can carve out their own path, they will not shamelessly chase after them to demand power that does not exist.

His brothers and sons returned to his side one after another. The brothers deliberately avoided the eldest brother's gaze, and the sons did not look too good. There were also a few knights under his command. Two of them, after talking for a while, came to find Lord Brest and declared that they no longer wanted to be his knights.

In other words, they will not participate in this competition.

As for whether the Lord of Brest would strip them of their fiefdoms or their stipends, they were unwilling to do something that would bring them shame. The Lord of Brest was naturally furious, but there was nothing he could do. These two knights were not appointed by him, but rather recruited into his family.

If they persist, aside from reclaiming those two meager fiefdoms, as a minor nobleman with no background in the court or the imperial court, he has no other means to coerce them into continuing to serve him.

A knight who betrays his master before a battle will be criticized by others. He may even be unable to serve under other lords. In more serious cases, he may be knighted or stripped of his knighthood by the king.

But at this moment, the two knights' choice was undoubtedly correct. As soon as they left the lord's tent, other knights came to shake their hands and invited them to stay in their own tents. Presumably, in such a place where lords gathered, they would soon find new masters.

The lord of Brest dropped the cowhide covering the tent and returned to his seat with a gloomy expression. The tent was in disarray; his brother and servants slept together on blankets in the corner, while he had a bed all to himself. Even his sons could stay in another tent, with beds, and not have to endure the cold of the ground.

For the first time, his brother focused his gaze on him, from his table and chairs to his bed. "What are you all still doing here?" Lord Brest roared. "Get back to work!"

"We'll prepare." They only regretted being members of the Brest family, unable to leave as easily as those two knights.

"What do you have to say?"

"If you win, you get a city, or even a port. What do we get then?"

Before leaving Brest, they were content, at least they didn't have to leave Brittany empty-handed like their younger brother.

These younger brothers had received some favors from their elder brother, such as agricultural officer, castle steward, and chief steward, but now they were no longer satisfied with that.

If their elder brother can obtain a city, then they must obtain the territory.

It wasn't a mill or a small river, but a real territory with villages and towns. Their outrageous demands almost made the Lord of Brest laugh in anger, but at that moment, he knew that if he refused these fellows, he would be embarrassed in the arena.

"What good will this do you? You are also members of the Brest family." When Longinus was expelled, they only gloated and didn't even bother to send their younger brother off or give him any money. It would be ridiculous to talk about feelings now.

"It's not good for us, but if we lose, it's not good for you either."

The Lord of Brest fell silent. Although he had heard of Cesar's reputation, he had twelve men with him. They didn't need to kill him to avoid incurring the king's wrath; simply dismounting him, breaking his shield, and snapping his spear would suffice.

He looked at his brothers, along with his sons and the knights who remained, only two of whom had not received God's blessing—their father had initially been wealthy, and in the final wave, he had negotiated with the local bishop to send three children in at once.

So, his chances are still pretty good. He just doesn't believe that the other party has promised not to seek the saint's protection—he might be able to protect himself, but how could he possibly protect his spear and shield?

"Alright, I promise you, as long as we can defeat that heretic this time, I will find a way to get you a territory."

Brest is such a small place that it's impossible to divide up so many territories. But with money, one can certainly find ways to buy and sell, exchange, or use that heretical city as a base to expand to other places.

After receiving the promise, he kept the two brothers who had never seen a saint and gave them instructions in person. The two were hesitant at first, but then became determined.

They haven't even gotten married yet, and they usually just hang out with those peasant women and servants. Even now, as they get older, these women still dare to ask them for money.

Once the arrangements were complete, the lord of Brest breathed a slight sigh of relief. Even in the worst-case scenario, he wouldn't face any punishment. He thought to himself.

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.

“He’s practically being served by kings…” a priest couldn’t help but say. Indeed, people flocked to witness this unjust, but undoubtedly spectacular, duel. There were twelve opponents, ten of whom had been blessed by God and favored by saints. The other, though also beloved by God, was bound by an oath and could only fight in a mortal body.

"But how magnificent and beautiful he is!"

His handsome face was completely obscured by the lowered helmet, but the gilded helmet—clearly decorated with eagle patterns and adorned with bright red feathers—was lent to him by Frederick I.

The Earl of Berrian and the Earl of Étienne were busy making the final adjustments for him—under the helmet was a chainmail hood and leather padding, the leather straps of the gloves had to be tightened, and there was a breastplate on his chest—the lion's head was facing to one side, and its size, expression and mane were exactly the same as those of King Baldwin of Arathi Basin.

They were originally silver-plated, but after Baldwin became king of Arathi Basin, his armor was plated with a bright gold. Not long ago, he also plated another set of chainmail with gold.

It was immediately obvious that the chainmail was forged by the same person at the same time, and the steed beneath Cesar was none other than Castor. If he didn't use Castor now, he would never be able to ride that proud little horse again.

Of course, in terms of height, Castor was no longer small at all. Cesar was already tall, and Castor's shoulder height was over seven feet (1.8 meters). When the man and the horse stood there quietly, they looked like a bronze-gilded statue, making it hard to breathe.

"Don't worry. We all know that big people aren't necessarily agile."

Lord Brest whispered, “Remember, only hit one spot, and keep hitting it.”

The biggest difference between this real jousting and the performative jousting of later generations lies in the sturdiness of the weapons and armor. The spears, whether the wooden shaft or the spearhead, are very tough and will not break with a single impact. The shields are the same, and the armor is even more solid, sturdy, light and strong. Unless you encounter a knight like Cesare, who is deeply favored by God, they are quite loyal to the knight.

Two knights clashing on horseback might need to go back and forth two or three times, four or five times, or even more, before moving on to the next step—so in their respective camps, there would be five spears and two or three shields.

"That's...that's the spear of King Philip II of France!" the lord's eldest son couldn't help but shout, and the lord of Brest's face darkened; he had seen it.

Whether or not Philip II could lift those heavy spears, his arsenal must have been the most complete. As spears made exclusively for the king, they were naturally forged by the best craftsmen in Tours using the finest and purest iron. After the spearheads were forged, they were repainted blue and decorated with golden irises.

Blue and gold are the colors of the Capetian dynasty, and people can immediately tell that the five spears standing there belonged to Philip II.

Today, Cesar even wore a rare deep purple cloak, with new coats of arms gleaming on his chest and back, a sight that would ignite one's passion.

Baldwin made one last check of the saddle straps, then looked up at Cesar, whose voice came from behind his helmet, sounding rather muffled.

“What are you worried about? I don’t even have to face a Saracen.”

Baldwin laughed.

“My lord.” Longinus presented the spear, then stepped back a few paces, knelt on one knee, and turned his face toward the dusty ground.

"I will be here to await your triumphant return."

“Everything will be as you say,” Cesar replied, and then the two knights rode forward to greet the four kings (Baldwin quickly ran back) and nobles in the stands. Cesar, however, merely nodded slightly and lingered a little longer in front of Baldwin.

Then, at the referee's (the Earl of Champagne) request, the two knights walked to the center of the field.

Logically, they should have shaken hands, as a sign of mutual respect. The Lord of Brest did extend his hand, but Cesar remained motionless.

A surge of malice rushed to the little man's head. He turned to look around the arena, trying to get support from the audience—after all, they shouldn't look down on a Christian knight like that. But the audience just cheered loudly, thinking that he deserved to be treated this way.

The Earl of Champagne, acting as the referee, raised his hand and loudly announced the names of the two knights dueling. One was, of course, Cesar. The other was one of the brothers of the Lord of Brest, who had been blessed, but whose abilities were not particularly strong—he was sent out first, more as a test.

His horse veered off course from the start, turning from straight to crooked. The audience could see his cowardice and booed incessantly. César knew immediately that his lance wouldn't be able to reach him. Just as they were about to pass each other, a sharp gust of air swept past César's ear. He sensed that the other man was trembling, not the usual trembling caused by the horse's jolting or fear, but a rhythmic undulation. He was gathering strength.

Just as he expected, at the last moment, his opponent suddenly half-stood up. Other knights might have been fooled by the previous feint, but on the battlefield, the enemy doesn't play by the rules. Many knights were knocked off their horses by thrown weapons, shields, or even other objects. Cesar simply tilted his head slightly to avoid the spear that seemed to have "fallen out of his hand," and Castor was still able to change direction even while galloping at such a high speed. Cesar rested his spear on his shield and thrust it into his opponent's flying cloak!
This move actually lifted the rather heavy knight into the air, then threw him to the ground. The knight crashed to the ground, his shield slipping from his grasp, and his horse, now without its master, galloped wildly. It wasn't until the edge of the arena that a squire stopped him.

The Lord of Brest leaped to his feet and cried out, "He has broken the agreement! He has begged for the saint's favor!"

But the other referee standing in the center of the field, the Archbishop of Paris, simply shook his head and raised a finger to indicate that César had not broken his promise: "He is indeed just a mortal now."

"How could a mere mortal do this!" the other party continued to roar.

The Archbishop of Paris was quite a character; he picked his ear with his little finger and then called over another priest who seemed to have a way of making his voice louder so that everyone could hear him.

"Just because you can't do it doesn't mean other knights can't."

People burst into laughter, and the Lord of Brest could only sit down with a livid face.

Next to appear is the only one among his brothers who has never received "blessing." He is the eldest of all his brothers and the one most likely to pose a threat to the eldest son.

Unfortunately, although his father was willing to spend money on him, the result was disappointing. In short, he was sent out in a daze without hearing anything.

The former Lord of Brest, whose father even made him pay the bill, suffered the most among his brothers, but that didn't stop him from venting his frustration on his youngest brother, who was handing him a spear and winking at him.

"He should understand what I mean."

After seeing his uncle off, the eldest son said with a troubled expression.

“He should understand that this is all the use he has. If he can’t do it, we’ll send him to work as a manager on the farm when we get back.”

The knight didn't resort to any tricks; he charged straight at Cesar, their spears striking each other's shields. Although he hadn't yet received the saint's favor, he certainly had rich combat experience. Cesar's spear struck his shield, and although he tried his best to block, he couldn't withstand the force and fell backward, the spear slipping from his hand. But the spear didn't fall to the ground intact like the previous spears—it suddenly exploded, countless fragments flying in all directions, clanging and clattering against Cesar's helmet and cloak.

After falling from his horse, the knight strained to look at Cesar, hoping to see a pained expression on the man's face—his lance had been intentionally cut before battle; though it appeared intact, it would shatter into countless pieces with the slightest force. These small fragments, of course, would do little harm to a fully armed knight, but they could fly through tiny gaps and cause injury—ideally, in the eyes.

But they were about to be disappointed again. When Cesar felt the different sensations on the shield, he had already raised his arm to block it. He even had time to use the shield to protect Castor's head and neck, preventing it from being harmed in the slightest.

The crowd's clamor grew louder and louder, but the spear breaking was a common occurrence at martial arts tournaments. It could only be attributed to his own poor maintenance, but it couldn't prove that it was a premeditated accident.

Although this would ruin his reputation, the eldest brother was a burden to the Lord of Brest, who was not favored by God and could be considered a useless son.

This behavior enraged Cesar, and when facing the third challenger, his strength was so great that he overturned the horse and the rider on it. The first two riders, though broken and fractured, at least did not die on the spot. This man was not so lucky. He was crushed under his mount. If it were just a broken bone, there might be a chance to heal. But when the priest rushed over, he regretfully announced that because half of a broken rib had pierced his lung, he had no hope of survival.

This news caused unease to creep into the faces of the challengers waiting in the tent. One of Longinus's brothers jumped up, about to say something, when his elder brother tossed out a bag of gold. "Here are a hundred gold coins. They're yours for anyone who steps up, whether we win or lose. Of course, if we win, we'll give you the promised reward as well."

They hesitated, especially since the king's attendants had come to urge them on—this was no entertainment competition; it was a real contest where honor and lives were at stake, and it couldn't be stopped at will.

The fourth challenger took the stage. He was knocked away by Cesar and dragged along by his own horse for a distance, suffering a head injury and a broken arm. He died shortly after being carried back to his tent.

The same was true for the subsequent challengers; the fourth to last to take the stage was none other than the eldest son of the Lord of Brest.

He kept asking his squire in alarm, "You say he's already exhausted? Surely he is? He's facing so many knights, and almost all of them were once blessed by God."

He had seen these uncles spur their horses, pick up wild boars, and cut down enemies. They were so fierce that it seemed as if they could only smash rocks when they crashed into them, while their opponents were just... fragile flesh and blood. And with such a relentless challenge, he must be getting tired too.

The lances used by the knights were not the kind of flimsy things, not to mention the enormous momentum brought by the speed of the horses.

The eldest son did not disappoint his father's expectations. He received the best favor, and even under the midday sun, he could still be seen to shimmer with holy light. He was also the first person who did not drop his shield when Cesar charged at him. They went back and forth, exchanging blows twice.

But after the third clash, the eldest son, who had walked a short distance, suddenly turned back, now carrying a short axe. Baldwin, who had been watching Cesar closely, was the first to notice and immediately leaped up from his position.

But Cesar was not the target; the short axe was aimed at Castor, who was not wearing any armor, only a magnificent horse coat. If Castor were hit, he would either die or be seriously injured.

But contrary to his expectations, as soon as he raised his short axe, Castor, as if he had eyes in the back of his head, raised his hind legs high, and to his disbelief, the huge hoof slammed into his chest, instantly creating a huge dent in his chest.

His wide-open eyes fell down, and he died instantly.

The tents in Brest emitted cries of grief and sorrow.

"No, I won't go! That's a devil!" shouted the second son of the Lord of Brest. If his eldest son were still alive, the Lord of Brest might not have forced his second son to continue fighting. But whether he was willing or not, if he retreated at this moment, even if he didn't die, it would be the same as being dead.

"Go now!" Lord Brest roared, "or I'll kill you right here!"

He drew his short sword with a swift motion, and the madness in his eyes showed that he was not joking. His second son was gone, followed by another familiar cheer, and then the tent fell into dead silence.

Now only the youngest son was left in the tent. He looked pleadingly at his father, hoping he would kneel before Count Edessa and admit his mistakes—whether it was death or a monastery… “You only have me left! Only me left!”

“He has already fought eleven knights,” Lord Brest said enticingly. “You are the twelfth, boy. Perhaps he is already at his last gasp. With just a tap, he will fall off his horse.”

His spear should have broken, his shield should have shattered, but perhaps just one last... just one moment, how lucky you are! Your uncles and brothers have paid the price, and the final fruit is right before you. Just reach out, child, and you can pluck it.

Yes, everything will be yours, whether it's Brest or the new territory.

Urged on by the Lord of Brest, the youngest son reluctantly went to the tent. He had stood there, watching his uncle and brother being knocked off their horses. Even if they didn't die, they were seriously injured and could no longer fight. They also lost their reputation and the king's trust. Perhaps they shouldn't have opposed this man in the first place; his father was too arrogant.

Yes, his father only had him left, but even disregarding the children his brother left behind, didn't Brest still have a male member?

He stepped out of the tent, and in full view of everyone, he did not mount his horse, but went directly to the center of the field, knelt down, and begged Cesar and his uncle for forgiveness.

He watched as the white horse, stained with blood, came before him. The bloodstains were of varying ages and depths, but they all shared the same characteristic: they did not belong to the horse or its owner. Even without the blessing of a saint, he could still accept their successive challenges. None of his father's previous plans had come to fruition.

His victory was flawless.

“Please forgive me. I swear, from now on I will be your servant, and you may do whatever you want with me, or banish me, I will not complain at all—this is the only ransom I can pay you, Your Highness.”

Are you the last one?

“This is the last one,” the youngest son answered nervously, and then he heard laughter coming from above.

"No, you are not the last, but I will grant your request. Step aside. Child, I never condone the culprit escaping punishment because of so-called caution... But before that, answer me, are you willing to become a monk?"

"I am willing."

"You're willing to give up everything you had before for this."

"I am willing."

Cesar nodded.

The Count of Champagne, acting as referee, was about to declare the victor when Cesar stopped him with a look. The lord of Cyprus did not dismount but instead took the spear and shield back from his entourage. He stood quietly in front of his own tent, raising his spear and pointing it directly at the tent of Brest.

"Come out, Brest."

After a long while, the Lord of Brest, dressed in armor, emerged looking weary, but without removing his faceplate. "I am old," he said.

“Even an old knight is still a knight,” Cesar replied ruthlessly. “Mount your horse, raise your lance and shield, and let us finish this duel.”

“You have killed my brother and son.”

"They died because of you, and now it is your turn to repay that debt."

Lord Brest glanced again at his youngest son, who stood silently on the sidelines. His will to live surged once more, but what terrified him even more was that his squires had brought him spears and shields. "How could you betray me?"

The squire remained silent. In fact, he was related to the Lord of Brest by blood—yes, he was the illegitimate son of the previous Lord of Brest: "Mount up, sir," he said earnestly as always, "Don't look too bad."

When he told others to die, the Lord of Brest did not hesitate for a moment, but when he actually faced death, he trembled all over and could hardly move. However, his squire forced him onto a horse, and the gazes and ridicule of the audience forced him to urge the horse to move.

When the final moment arrived, he finally unleashed the ferocity that had been hidden within him. He shouted the name of the saint and the slogans of the French knights, "For the King! For the King!! For the King!!!" He yelled, each shout higher and more frenzied than the last. He may never have had such courage, ambition, and the power that came with it.

In that instant, he felt invincible, unstoppable, but everything came to an abrupt end the next moment. Cesar's spear pierced through the gap between the shield and his arm, striking him squarely in the throat. Despite the protection of the neck guard and chainmail, he was thrown backward, flying high and far.

Before he landed on the ground, everything was dark before his eyes. The last thing he heard was the earth-shattering cheers of the people. Although it was against the rules, it was exhilarating.

He even heard Frederick I laughing.

And what the young Cypriot lord said to his youngest brother, whom he had once regarded as an "obstacle" and a "burden".

"You are free, Longinus!"

(End of this chapter)