kingdom of nations

Chapter 354 Ibn's End
People gathered in the square in front of the Governor's Palace.

The Saracens stood together; three thousand people was a considerable number, no matter where you looked. The square was a sea of ​​dark faces.

However, anyone who had ever witnessed the prosperity of Damascus, even Christians, would let out a long sigh. Even Walter, the Templar Knight who claimed to kill every infidel, couldn't help but look displeased. He certainly hated infidels, but he was also not comfortable with the fact that some people were not harmed by their own enemies, but were betrayed and slaughtered by their own kind.

For the surviving Damascusians, however, the trial seemed like a sign of Damascus's revival, as if the world was telling them that even after suffering such hardship, they should still hold onto some hope.

This Christian knight, a lord of the orthodox church, a black-haired, blue-eyed foreigner, acted in a manner quite like a Saracen.

It should be noted that the Saracens had always held the Franks' so-called laws in contempt.

After the First Crusade ended, although the Saracens suffered repeated defeats, they still arrogantly stated in their accounts:

The Franks were indeed fierce and strong, but their nature was like that of wild beasts. We could not match them, not because we were cowards, but because we possessed the virtues and morality befitting humanity.

Of course, this viewpoint has now been excluded from the mainstream.

However, a Saracen scholar was once fortunate enough to be invited by King Baldwin II and spent some time at Arathi Highlands.

While this scholar acknowledged that the Franks possessed some aspects of their own culture, he scoffed at their laws, particularly those concerning trials and punishments.

He said that the only way the Franks seemed to resolve disputes was through duels.

And these duels were even unfair. They forced the old to duel with the young, women with men, children with a strong butcher, or they would put a person in a cage and then submerge the cage in a river, or make him hold a piece of burning charcoal and walk past a plowshare that was also red-hot.

They use such foolish and ignorant methods to determine whether a person is guilty.

"In my opinion," he concluded, "most of those ultimately convicted are innocent. And the reason for this unjust and arbitrary trial is entirely because those who conduct the trials, whether priests or lords, are prepared to accept bribes from either the plaintiff or the defendant."

Yes, if a priest commits a sin, all he needs to do to proclaim his innocence is eat a loaf of bread.

By this time, the Saracen courts had become remarkably similar to those of later dynasties, with plaintiffs and defendants. Plaintiffs were required to file appeals, and defendants were required to respond to lawsuits and defend themselves, providing evidence and witnesses. The entire case was recorded, along with the final judgment.

While these trials cannot be said to be entirely just and fair, they were certainly better than the strange and unusual trial methods employed by the Franks.

Among these sinners who were brought forward, the Saracens almost all bowed their heads, not daring to look at the angry and disappointed eyes, while the Turks behaved very docilely, using this posture to show that they were willing to accept any punishment except the death penalty.

The most astonishing of all were the Isaacs, who constantly complained and appealed.

The appeal was based on two main grounds. First, they argued that Ibn was also a Saracen, the governor personally appointed by Nur ad-Din, and the successor to the legacy of the "Light of Faith." Sultan Saleh of Apollo also acknowledged his claims to Damascus.

In the absence of a leader in Damascus, he could have easily replaced Lazis, who had surrendered the city to the Christians, and become its master. There was nothing wrong with them serving their master.

Secondly, they believed that even if they did things for Ibn and led those vicious thugs, it was out of necessity.

Moreover, compared to others, they also suffered losses of their own property.

Even when the soldiers brought out the stolen goods they had taken from others and placed them in front of them, they said—we never took these things for ourselves; they were just in the same room as us. I didn't sell them, nor did I give them away; how can you say we possessed these things?

Even more remarkably, some Isaacs simply denied their crimes, claiming that their former friends or enemies were far more tragic than the Saracen woman's husband, whose entire family had perished in the war. They smugly assumed that no one would come forward to accuse them, but Cesar was prepared.

The plaintiff may be gone, but there are always accomplices.

The Saracens and Turks who were about to be sold into slavery, as well as mercenaries from other places, came into play.

Only then did the merchants realize why César had insisted they wait three days. If they had been sold from the start, the trial would have been difficult to continue.

The accomplices who were summoned also grinned. They believed their best outcome would be being sold into slavery; after all, they were strong soldiers and worth a fair amount of money. They would rather see others suffer the same fate as them, or worse. They spoke of their crimes without hesitation.

They only felt panic when the verdict came down and they too had nooses around their necks, standing alongside those who had colluded with them. But it was too late.

For the soldiers and knights, what difference did it make who sold these prisoners? Cesar had already made it clear to them that those found guilty of crimes would be punished.

A mercenary, possibly from Frankish origin, immediately changed his expression and shouted, "I am a Christian! I am a Christian! You cannot punish me just because I killed our enemy!"

Cesar merely glanced at him coldly. "If you kill a Saracen warrior on the battlefield, I will not only not punish you, but I will also reward you," he said without hesitation, even though many of those listening were Saracens. The Saracens did not mind a fair fight on the battlefield. They considered dying on the battlefield an honor, and a brave and fearless enemy would be respected.

But what did this soldier do? He abused children and raped women to force their husbands or fathers to submit. But even when they submitted, he did not keep his promise to let them get their loved ones back; instead, he killed them the moment they laid down their weapons or handed over their money.

The most ridiculous thing is that there were no victims in this case; they were all dead. He only stepped forward and identified one of the Isaacs because he wanted to curry favor with his new master.

After Cesar finished speaking, he paused, his sharp emerald eyes scanning the surroundings, taking in the faces of every knight: "Does anyone want to plead for him? You may step forward. Whether you are right or wrong, I will forgive you."

Silence fell.

Froy's emotions were complicated. He still remembered the look of surprise, disbelief, and reproach that the young man had given him after he killed those savages.

In fact, he was not at fault in this matter. He simply chose the former over the latter—his own life, his companions' life, and the savages' life.

But the boy was not wrong either; before he could move or shout, Geoffrey and the knights beside him had already done everything—for them, it was just part of their daily routine.

When a peasant or artisan leaves the city or village where he lives and refuses to continue serving his knight or lord, he essentially abandons their protection. These commoners have few rights, and this is the most important one. Once they leave the village or city, it means they are no longer human—the knights will regard them as wild beasts of the forest.

Besides, they built their houses by the roadside—which might pose a threat to pilgrims—and sometimes thieves don't have fixed identities. Moreover, there's almost nothing there, and many people kill for a sip of water or a piece of bread.

But no matter what, Jean-François knew that César was in a very, very bad mood at the time.

He was like an innocent child, seeing the cruelty of the world for the first time. It was indeed astonishing—but at that time, Geoffrey only thought it was because he had been too well protected before. Only someone who hadn't experienced suffering could so casually offer their pity.

But when he grows up, he will either go with the flow or ignore it, just like everyone else.

If Froy was wrong.

He has always wanted to change, and he has been changing all along.

If Froy hadn't told anyone, not even during his confession—shortly after the incident, he found an opportunity to go to the place and discovered that the hut was gone, replaced by a flat cemetery with a stone tablet that read, "God be with you."

There's also a small cross on top.

The stone was made of very crude materials, gray and worthless, but that was a good thing, because when Flavius ​​went to see it, it was still in the same place.

Geoffrey couldn't describe how he felt at the time, only that after he returned to the Knights Templar, people said he had become more docile.

As the verdicts were handed down, these people were either beheaded or sent to the gallows.

The Saracens were able to suppress their anger and wait calmly until the people died, the executioners left, and the execution was declared over, before they rushed forward, tearing their flesh, trampling it underfoot, or eating it whole.

“There’s another problem here,” Philip II said, clapping his hands as he turned to Cesare. “You may need a large population to populate this city.”

“I have already instructed the merchants to spread my decree far and wide.”

Cesar said, but Philip II felt that the matter was not so simple—the lords' biggest worry was keeping the population of their territories at a suitable level. If there were too many, they had to drive them away; if there were too few, they had to recruit. There was never a moment's rest.

Damascus is now ravaged, with a third of it destroyed by looting and fire. It is unknown how long it will take for it to slowly heal itself.

But there is a way.

Who are the richest people in the world who lack power and a solid foundation? Without a doubt, businessmen.

Damascus is wealthy because of its geographical location, not because of its city walls and buildings.

Merchants from Venice and Cyprus have arrived in droves. As a group of astute individuals, they immediately noticed the emptiness in Damascus, knowing that their lord needed them.

Meanwhile, the Saracens were also taking action. Unlike other nations, the Saracens never considered commerce a shameful or lowly profession. On the contrary, their merchants were respected because it was permitted by their prophets.

Their business philosophy can be described as honest and kind.

Friend! You've arrived! Come and see my goods!

These are the most precious, rarest, and most beautiful. Go and buy some to adorn your wife and daughters, to slay your enemies, to soothe your parched throat and empty stomach, or to offer them to your king and sultan, or to honor your gods.

Look at this copper kettle, look at this silk coat, look at this box of spices…

What? You think it's expensive? No problem, friend, I'm willing to give you a discount. You can take all of these for a very small amount of money, but remember my name and my shop. Next time you come, I'll give you an even bigger discount!
Then both parties were happy and shook hands to complete the deal.

This was true of most Saracen merchants, which ensured that their goods rarely suffered from shortages or substandard products.

But the Isaacs were different; their pursuit of profit was endless. If you gave them a little, they would want three; if you gave them three, they would want five; if you gave them five, they would want everything.

In business, deception and fraud are their specialties. What's even more despicable is that they are not ashamed of it, but instead regard it as wisdom unique to the Isaacs.

They will not feel guilty for deceiving you and causing you suffering; on the contrary, they will take pride in it and use it as something to brag about.

And if you do them a favor, hey, don't expect them to be grateful—because it's something God promised them! They might even blame you for not being generous enough.

Haredi's experience also shows that among the Isaacs, the law stipulating that fellow tribesmen should help each other was nothing more than a dead letter.

They said that every Isaac merchant could apply for three free loans from their fellow tribesmen after suffering a calamity (note that these are loans, not gifts!).

But this is also because this clan, like the Lego of the past, possesses exploitable interests, while those who refuse to associate with them and are truly penniless will face their exclusion and oppression.

This is why, even though Cesar did not reject the Isaacs, they still did not get a share of the reconstruction work in Damascus.

They were unwilling because César's offer wasn't simply to collect donations, but rather to undertake the reconstruction of a certain area of ​​Damascus—once the reconstruction was completed, the houses and land in that area would belong to them for fifty years. Both Christians and Saracens thought this deal was entirely worthwhile, but the Isaacs believed they couldn't gain anything from it…

Of course, the Christians and Saracen merchants also had concerns, such as whether Damascus could continue to be ruled by this Christian knight, and for how long.
César's response was to leave half of his army without hesitation. Half of his one hundred knights and one thousand soldiers, and moreover, he left behind a reliable old knight, Albon.

Some of the merchants even recognized Albon, who had been employed by them, and the knight also had a good reputation in the Syrian region.

After a fierce struggle, the Saracen and Christian merchants were evenly matched, with neither gaining the upper hand.

"This will be a long battle."

Frederick I stroked his beard and spoke to his youngest son, Henry the Younger, beside him. If it were him, he wouldn't have left so many soldiers and knights here. Who knows if those Damascusians would go back on their word and sell Damascus to another Saracen?
Henry knew very well that his father probably couldn't understand Cesar, and even he found it strange that Cesar felt a sense of guilt towards these Saracens because he had promised them a stable future.

But was this Cesar's fault? No. Ultimately, the original Damascus people never intended to regard him as their master; from the very beginning, that Saracen, Lazis, harbored ulterior motives.

Many seasoned Christian knights at that time felt that Damascus had come too easily and too warmly, and their prophecies seemed to have been confirmed.

They didn't think it was Raymond's fault. The heretics were lucky to escape with their lives; what more could they want?

But Cesar firmly believed it was his responsibility, and even though he knew there were two more arduous battles to fight, he still left these knights and soldiers behind.

The king of Arrasar also expressed his support, leaving behind a portion of his forces to maintain order in the city and to defend against potential invasions.

Even Richard wasn't idle. Taking advantage of the few days when there wasn't much to do—he didn't want to stay and work on documents with Cesare like Philip II—he took his knights and slipped away to wander around Damascus, eliminating many bandits who took advantage of the situation.

Young Henry went a few times, but he didn't dare tell his father.

The effects of these measures were immediate.

Damascus is like a patient who has been starving for a long time. Although it cannot be made plump and healthy all at once, at least its life can be extended.

Merchants entered the city, taking prisoners and large quantities of spoils with them—and then more merchants came. They brought wheat, barley, oil, livestock, timber, stone… and everything Damascus needed now.

There are people.

Craftsmen, farmers, women... even children can earn money if you have a little strength... everyone who stays in Damascus can be employed—Damascus is currently in dire need of manpower.

As he fell asleep, Frederick I could even begin to complain: "These people are so noisy!"

The market and the square in front of the Governor's Palace were almost brightly lit, with everyone busy delivering and picking up goods. St. John's Cathedral was packed with people—the priests complained, as it had become another administrative center and trading place.

However, they all fell silent once Baldwin IV agreed to leave a portion of the True Cross fragment in St. John's Cathedral.

Before going to sleep, Frederick I saw that Henry the Younger had brought him a silk robe with a distinct Byzantine style. He immediately remembered that he had sent messengers to warn those wretched Byzantines that they had either delayed or deliberately “misplaced” the goods—such as replacing horses and mules with pigs and sheep.

The messenger brandished his fists and roared through the Grand Palace in Constantinople, hurling insults at Grand Duke Bohemond of Antioch and that unfortunate Dukas—surely the things that would follow would be more presentable.

“The supplies delivered this time are quite good: horses, arrows, armor,” Little Henry listed them off one by one, “and tents, some sheepskin cloaks, and a new siege tower. I’ve checked them, and all the parts and metal fittings are complete.”

“That’s good.” Frederick I nodded, uttering a vulgar remark that young Henry ignored. “Are you going to the farewell ceremony tomorrow?”

"Go, why not go? I've really made the right decision to come on this eastern expedition!" Frederick I said enthusiastically. "There are so many good shows to watch every day!"

Henry was speechless. What you consider a good show is a great humiliation to those people, but they have no way to refuse it.

These are the cowards who, under César's coercion, used the lives of those Christians—2,367 people—to ransom their own lives.

If he could, Cesar would prefer to hang them on the city walls, since they were the ones responsible for this calamity.

But he also knew that, according to both Christian and Saracen laws, they had the right to redeem themselves, and besides, he had to keep his promise.

He thought this would provoke the survivors' anger, but their representatives simply listened calmly to César's explanation and silently accepted it.

The man took away only two thousand Christians, but nearly a thousand Saracens also received his protection and left Damascus—they were almost all children, pregnant women, and the elderly, who would have surely died if they had stayed in the city, which was ravaged by war and famine.

What surprised Cesar was that some of those people's relatives and friends had also survived.

They first knelt down to express their sincere gratitude to Cesar, and then pleaded, "May we ask about those people?"

They rattled off several names one after another, and Cesar listened intently. This one, this one too. Yes, he clearly remembered every Saracen who had kissed his feet outside Damascus.

Cesar showed a hint of joy. "They thought you had met with some misfortune, so they didn't want to stay in Damascus anymore. However, they didn't go to seek refuge with relatives or friends elsewhere. Instead, they insisted on going to my fiefdom, which is in Bethlehem, in the Jillon Valley, near the St. Bartholomew's Abbey."

"Are you going to stay in Damascus, go with them, or bring them back?"

The representative was silent for a moment—his youngest daughter was among them.

He stared intently into César's eyes, making sure his joy was genuine—a Christian lord rejoicing for them from the bottom of his heart.

He remained silent, then returned to the crowd to discuss the matter. Afterward, he came back with a relieved yet compassionate smile. "Your Highness," he said, "we have decided that we will not bring them back, nor will we go there, nor will we stay in Damascus."

Cesar was somewhat taken aback. His representative shook his head. "Your Highness, these women have already lost their chastity. It is already an extremely rare and fortunate thing that they have been able to regain their precious lives. What's wrong with them being able to live peacefully in your territory?"

If they return to Damascus, it's hard to say whether they'll be attacked and lose their hard-won lives. Let them stay there.

"Does no one want to reunite with them?"

"Yes, but they have more important things to do, so I can only thank you for your kindness."

"You said they don't plan to stay in Damascus either. Where are they going?"

“Go to the place promised by God,” the representative said, raising his voice slightly. He spoke proudly, tears already streaming down his cheeks.

Cesar understood his plan, and he nodded with a sigh.

The representative bowed to him, then knelt down, kissed his feet, stood up, and walked backwards out.

Cesar watched him turn around, raising his arms amidst the expectant gazes. He could be faintly heard saying, "We have permission."

The crowd cheered and then dispersed.

------

When Ibn and his accomplices emerged from the gates of Damascus in a disheveled state with only a handful of servants, they felt a chill run through them even under the blazing sun. As soon as they were outside the city gates, they eagerly spurred their mules and galloped away.

They planned to at least reach the next village and use their swords—but due to tradition, César allowed them to take their weapons—or use their status to force the farmers or shepherds to serve them…

Perhaps they could get a camel and a horse and get back to where they feel safer more quickly.

"How far do you think they can get?" Richard asked thoughtfully, watching the panicked figures.

“I don’t know,” Cesar said. “It depends on whether luck or revenge comes faster—but in any case, the latter will always come.”

------

"Sir, we need water."

"A servant said."

“We can’t keep running like this,” another servant said. “The mules are foaming at the mouth and could collapse at any moment. If they do, we won’t be able to go far on foot.”

Under normal circumstances, Ibn would have already lashed him with a whip, but his familiar servants had already been hanged by that despicable Christian for their sins.

He had only two innocent servants by his side, but their innocence indicated that they were never on Ibn's side. They were simply Homsians, their families still in Homs, and they longed to return home and reunite with Ibn as soon as possible, rather than accept the promises he made.

Ibn was unaware that Holmes had fallen. His confidants had sent carrier pigeons earlier, but unfortunately, Cesar had already dispatched Laila and a group of Bedouins hired by him to intercept them.

He failed to receive this crucial intelligence.

Ibn was filled with anticipation, believing that as long as he returned to Holmes, he could regroup and make further plans—he looked back at the white city walls, which shone even brighter in the moonlight, chewing on resentment and shame, hiding his anger behind his stiff face.

They still hadn't gone very far—mule could endure more hardship, but it was nowhere near as fast as a horse or as long-stretched as a camel—and it was already getting dark. It was easy to get lost in the dark, and getting lost in the wilderness was tantamount to death.

"We really should find a place...to get some water and rest."

They searched for a long time, almost to the point of giving up, before finally finding a house.

This was just a temporary camp, with dilapidated tents—Bedouin "wool houses"—that were not made of leather, but of wool blankets and felts strung together, pitched next to a small oasis.

Among those who emerged were no strong men, only an old man with a gray beard, an old woman, and a young girl. The girl's face was ravaged by the wind and sand, making her look more like someone old enough to be a mother. Given her ordinary appearance, Iben only glanced at her before turning away.

Although the family was cautious, they did their best to entertain Ibn.

Ibn was not foolish enough to reveal his identity, but instead disguised himself as a merchant's servant who had come to gather information. After some subtle questioning, Ibn confirmed that the people in the tent were not Damascusians, nor did they have any relation to them; they were indeed just a Bedouin family.

Ibn was relieved, but he still declined the old woman's offer of goat's milk and instead went outside with his servants to fetch water from the small lake.

The old man's smile vanished the moment he turned and walked away.

The girl whispered, "He kept staring at our camel."

Yes, they had two camels, tied to a date palm tree. For a family like theirs, these were their most important assets. Whether it was a sandstorm or war, they could immediately roll up their belongings in a tent, tie it securely, place it on the camel's back, and ride away.

Ibn, meanwhile, stroked the scimitar at his waist, pondering whether to use it to trade for the two camels, or to use it to "trade" for the two camels.
In the end, he made his decision—to strike when these people were off guard. It wasn't that he was stingy; a scimitar was nothing compared to his life.

The problem was that he worried the Bedouins would refuse his request because they were afraid of not being able to buy new camels soon—everyone knows how important camels are to such families.

Another reason he was worried was that they would reveal his whereabouts.

He told his plan to the two servants. But he didn't say he wanted to kill the three men; instead, he said they should just be tied up and put in the tent.

When they return to Holmes, they can give the family a generous reward.

He then reassured them, “Don’t worry. There are only two old people and a woman here. The man certainly won’t go too far. He might be back the next day. They might lose some property, but not much. I will also leave my scimitar here.”

The scimitar he used was, of course, the "tiger tooth" often worn by Saracen nobles, extremely sharp and luxurious, with a pure gold hilt inlaid with gemstones, enough to buy a hundred camels.

The two servants exchanged a glance. Then Ibn swore again that as soon as they returned to Holmes, he would immediately promote them to guards, and they would be given a large house filled with furniture, utensils and silk—their daughter would have a good marriage, and their son would marry a noblewoman.

The two servants seemed to be moved, and they nodded.

Ibn decided to sleep for a while and make his move before dawn. He instructed his two servants to wake him.

In his dream, he had returned to Holmes and once again become the dignified and noble governor—but before he could dream of regrouping the army, capturing Damascus again, seizing the Christian boy, humiliating him, and then killing him, he awoke.

He couldn't possibly not wake up.

Because he was already tightly bound with several water-soaked cowhide ropes.

He tried to call his servant, only to find his mouth stuffed tightly with a wad of grease-soaked cloth, which, thanks to the lubrication of the grease, had almost been pushed down his throat.

He was both shocked and furious, not knowing what had gone wrong.

He racked his brains, trying to recall if he had ever scolded the two servants. Perhaps he had, but which servant hadn't been scolded and beaten by his master? It was nothing out of the ordinary, especially since he had promised them a bright future.

He struggled desperately.

Suddenly, the tent lit up. He saw his servants, who were kneeling solemnly beside him, one of them holding an oil lamp.

Not long after, the three people outside the tent—two elderly people and a girl—came in, making the small tent feel a bit crowded, but they didn't seem to mind.

The attendant was silent for a moment: "You know who he is, don't you?"

“We know. Your army made quite a spectacle when it passed through here.”

One of the servants immediately looked embarrassed: "You..."

"Don't worry." The old man simply waved his hand quickly. "We had already hidden ourselves when the dust started to rise, so you didn't disturb us."

Do you have relatives in Damascus?

"nor."

Has someone offered a reward?

"You mean that prince? No, he is not a man of his word."

"Then why... He's planning to trade you for camels—that scimitar alone is worth a lot of money."

The old man smiled slyly: "Isn't it mine now?"

The servant quickly shook his head: "No. This is what you deserve. But..."

To be honest, he was tempted when Ibn made all sorts of promises, but he quickly came to his senses.

Before Ibn entered Damascus, did he not make any promises to the Damascus who came seeking his help? If he hadn't solemnly vowed that after expelling the Christians, he would grant all the Damascus people freedom and dignity—including Razis, who was imprisoned by the Christians…

He even promised not to touch a single piece of Damascus property, let alone allow his troops to plunder. He came to carry on the will of Nur ad-Din—the successor to that great Sultan, and would certainly act in the same manner.

But everyone saw the result.

Why don't we just watch him leave and pretend nothing happened?

The old man gave a hoarse laugh.

"We live in the desert. If we see a jackal, we must kill it; if we see a poisonous snake, we must trample it to death; if we encounter overgrown thorns, we must throw them into the fire to burn them."

Why do you think that is? Because leaving them in this world will inevitably cause us harm. If they aren't there today, they will be tomorrow; if we don't have them, our relatives and friends will.

Must we leave such a huge hidden danger just because of a little bit of kindness or concern?
We already know what he did in Damascus. It's a disgrace for someone like him to live; only death brings peace of mind.

You don't need to worry, you can leave here—I believe you can find your way back to Holmes, and there's no need to worry about anyone holding you accountable.

"what?"

The old man looked at them with pity. “Perhaps you don’t know, Holmes has changed hands. But the Grand Eunuch doesn’t seem to have done anything terrible—at least he’s better than this guy. Your families are probably still alive, even if they’re in a difficult situation.”

Hearing this, the two servants were even more eager to go home. One servant, his lips trembling, knew he shouldn't, but still insisted on asking, "Can we trade those two mules for your camels?"

He didn't hold out much hope. After all, camels were also very important to this family.

“Take it,” the old man readily agreed. “It’s not far from Damascus. I’ve heard that the Christian knight is now the master of Damascus again. Wherever he goes, merchants flock to him. He can produce priceless treasures with the flick of his wrist, just like a horned jinn.”

Moreover, he is an upright person and acts fairly..."

He glanced at the light filtering through the gaps in the tent; perhaps soon, a group of merchants herding livestock would pass through.

“We can simply buy two new camels from them.”

His words deeply moved the two servants. They not only left Ibn and his scimitar, but also gave the old man all their valuables, even their headscarves.

This was top-quality cotton cloth, and the old man accepted it all without any remorse. Then he said, "Help me move this pig outside."

The two servants, one lifting Ibn's head and the other his feet, carried him to a small hill that the old man had indicated.

It's breezy and quite shady here now, but you can imagine that when the sun rises, the temperature in this open area will rise sharply and the air will become dry.

Ibn seemed to have sensed his fate and struggled hesitantly.

He looked at the old man with pleading eyes, then at the servant, as if begging and threatening at the same time, but the old man didn't even look at him: "I know you must be in a hurry to go back, but you must also have some worries - so at least I can let you leave with peace of mind."

As he spoke, he drew out the tiger tooth sword, admired its beautiful Damask pattern, and then casually swung it, severing Ibn's nose with a single stroke.

While the servants stared in disbelief, the old man pulled the cloth out of Ibn's mouth and, as Ibn howled, plunged a knife into his mouth, ripping out half of his tongue.

"Okay, that's enough, he's useless now."

The two servants visibly breathed a sigh of relief, as they had worried that once they left, the old man might send Ibn back to Holmes for the reward and Ibn's promise.

While they felt relieved, they couldn't help but feel guilty. The old man simply waved his hand and said, "Go on, your families are waiting for you."

The two servants turned and left.

After watching them for a while, the old man turned and walked toward the tent. He hadn't harmed Iben's eyes and ears, so Iben could see and hear clearly that he was loudly urging his wife and granddaughter to pack up the carpet and tent, roll them up, and put them on the mule's back.

He told his two servants that he would wait there until a caravan with livestock passed by, but the old man didn't tell the whole truth. Why wait here? They could go to Damascus first.

However, he did not leave. Instead, he sat down under the date palm trees in the oasis and began to slowly enjoy this rare moment of leisure. He even had the leisure to brew himself a pot of tea (Sarasan grass).

By the time the tea was ready, the sun had risen above the horizon, and the ground temperature quickly rose, soon becoming scorching hot, replacing the initial warmth. The old man had also taken off his sheepskin cloak.

He walked up to Ibn, and after twisting Ibn's tongue and cutting off his nose, the old man immediately sprinkled a handful of sand on it to stop the bleeding. He was very careful not to cut too deep, lest the swollen tongue root block Ibn's throat.

Therefore, this useless fat pig can hold on for a long time.

The old man returned to the date palm tree, lay comfortably in the shade, and used a date palm leaf to shield his eyes, only occasionally peeking through the gap.

Ibn's struggles gradually weakened, not because he was about to die—he too had received a prophetic revelation, but this blessing now seemed more like a curse—the water-soaked leather rope began to shrink under the scorching sun, tightening more and more, embedding itself deeply into his skin, muscles, and even bones.

But death still lingers in the distance, never getting close.

The old man waited patiently, and at noon, he took out a piece of dried meat to fill his stomach. He also poured out some rock sugar.

He was indeed a Bedouin, and he didn't really have much of a connection to Damascus. If anything, his son had previously been one of the archers hired by Cesare to intercept carrier pigeons flying from Homs.

Being a mercenary is a dangerous job. There are countless examples of people being cheated out of their promised wages, being accidentally wounded in battle, being killed when defeated, or being killed by their employers who believe they have betrayed them.

But his son didn't experience any of these things. After receiving his due wages, he went back the next day.

On the third day, he received an extra reward—the rock sugar that the old man is now eating.

He originally intended to leave all the sweet treats to the old man, but at the old man's insistence, he took half of them with him.

The old man then divided the pieces among his wife and granddaughter. There were only two pieces, each the size of a fingernail, but that was enough for him to while away the whole day, allowing him to watch the fat pig die to his heart's content.

He didn't recognize the people in Damascus, only occasionally watching them pass by. But how many of those people... those men, women, old people, children... were still alive?
He stood up and, in the last rays of the setting sun, walked toward Ibn and slit his throat with a knife.

The old man sighed regretfully. This was the end he deserved.

But compared to those who are in despair, how easy and fortunate his death was.

The old man shook his head, no longer thinking about it, and kicked Iben off the hill. The night would bring wolves or other carnivorous beasts, and the sand blown by the wind would quickly cover the remaining bloodstains. This nourished land would soon grow grass and trees, burying him completely.

Once he has turned into a pile of skeletal remains, who will remember that there was such a despicable villain?
(End of this chapter)