Set Sail, Depart

The sea breeze blew gently.

Through the haze in the distance, a coastal port city crowded with buildings could vaguely be seen.

A merchant ship with a rounded hull and square sails was sailing across the Adriatic Sea.

It was a cog.

A type of vessel brought from Northern Europe by the Normans of Sicily, it had quickly adapted to the Mediterranean climate and was widely used as a merchant ship.

A poor monk clad in white linen robes and clutching a wooden cross preached to the sailors and passengers gathered around him.

"Jerusalem, a treasure existing between Heaven and earth—as an earthly city, it is breathtakingly beautiful; as a heavenly city, it is peerless in glory."

"Jerusalem, a sacred place, is now surrounded by ambitious heathens. The Ayyubids and the Sassanids, those two colossal powers, are loathsome, despicable devils."

"They destroy God's churches, kindle their so-called 'sacred fire' at the heart of the holy temple, blaspheme the sacred Heavenly Father, and slaughter, abduct, and sell our brothers and sisters in Christ everywhere."

"Pilgrims traveling the roads to Asia Minor are attacked by the Turkic cavalry they keep, subjected to inhuman abuse, imprisoned, or slain."

"They wish to burn the Savior's holy tomb and seize our earthly paradise, Jerusalem. This is something neither Catholics nor Orthodox believers can tolerate."

"Take up the weapons in your hands and destroy the heathens! Go to the 'land flowing with milk and honey' recorded in the Bible! Atone for your sins, and you shall receive eternal glory in Heaven!"

The people all cried out, "It is the will of the Heavenly Father!"

"Amen!"

Lothar, draped in a dark crimson cloak, stood amid the crowd under the protection of Hans, Ryan, and Moder, praying with a devout expression.

He had never been a Catholic, nor had he ever believed in any god.

But he felt that, since this was a world with supernatural powers, perhaps that so-called Heavenly Father really did exist.

If so, there was no harm in believing a little.

As long as it did not interfere with his affairs, he would remain "devout" forever.

Should the day come when his wings were fully grown, he would not hesitate to imitate Emperor Joseph and ask that classic question: "The Pope? How many divisions does he have?"

Of course, His Holiness the Pope of this era truly did have many "divisions"!

The Papal States occupied vast direct territories in the central Apennine Peninsula, while all the other major bishoprics were theoretically under the Pope's jurisdiction as well.

Unless absolutely necessary, even once his wings were fully grown, he had no desire to tear things apart with His Holiness the Pope.

Their group had only boarded the ship this afternoon.

They had risen early that morning and traveled from a northern town in Veneto to the southern port to board a ship.

Now, having only set out for two hours, they could still see the castles of Romagna on the shore.

The monk suddenly pointed at Lothar amid the crowd and said, "Lothar von Habsburg—this is a valiant knight from Swabia. Disregarding the obstruction of that blasphemous King Henry, he resolutely embarked upon the path of protecting the Holy Land. It was his devotion to the Heavenly Father and His Holiness the Pope that urged him to do so. May the Heavenly Father bless you, honorable knight!"

Because the Pope had excommunicated Emperor Henry, many clergymen no longer believed that the "crown" bestowed upon him by His Holiness the Pope still held any power.

Thus, they called Henry a king.

The passengers also cast reverent gazes toward Lothar.

"Praise be to you, honorable knight."

With a beaming smile, the monk invited him, "Knight Lothar, please say a few words to everyone. They need your inspiration."

Lothar's expression stiffened slightly.

Compared to the Poor Crusades, who looked more like famine refugees than an army, the passengers aboard this cog were somewhat wealthier. There were quite a few town craftsmen and city peddlers among them.

They shared Lothar's destination, also heading for the Holy Land in response to His Holiness the Pope's call for an eastern expedition.

Lothar did not wish to deceive them or speak words against his conscience.

Yet the crowd's enthusiastic cheers made it truly difficult for him to refuse.

After thinking for a long while, he finally said slowly, "This is a great cause. For the Heavenly Father, for the Holy Land not to be defiled by heathens, even if we die in battle, our souls shall return to Heaven."

"That's right. Those who die shall return to Heaven, while the living shall gain honor."

The monk continued preaching loudly.

And as a "devout" crusader knight, Lothar truly had no reason not to listen to the sermon—especially when this monk was so eager to praise him and build his reputation.

Looking at those retainers, the way they gazed at Lothar now was filled with loyalty and reverence.

In this era, when faith had already merged with people's daily lives, even if it was merely a disguise, Lothar had to disguise himself as a devout believer.

Two hooded women sat in the passenger cabin.

One was tall, the other petite.

They sat facing each other, neither paying the other any attention.

After holding back for a long time, Fringilla finally could not help saying, "This is so boring, you big oaf. Why does my lord have to listen to that old man ramble on and on?"

Prajna raised her eyes slightly and stared at Fringilla without emotion.

Only after staring until Fringilla herself felt a chill run through her did she resume sitting cross-legged on the wooden bunk, lost in thought.

"Hey, Prajna, are you a robot or something? Don't you ever get bored?"

Fringilla swung her little legs back and forth. "You really are such an unromantic woman. If you ever got together with the lord, you'd definitely drive him mad."

Prajna frowned, and at last, a slight ripple of emotion appeared on her face. "What nonsense are you talking about?"

"Ha, you answered me?"

Fringilla wore the look of someone whose scheme had succeeded. "I knew it—you really do have feelings for the lord! You scheming woman."

"But let me tell you, you and the lord are impossible."

"Even though your breasts are big, your butt is big, your waist is slim, your skin is delicate, and you're very beautiful."

Fringilla counted them off carefully on her fingers, then suddenly froze. "Wow, you bad woman, you actually have so many advantages? Oh no, maybe you really do have a chance!"

Prajna pressed her lips together, her expression still as placid as an ancient well. She said coldly, "What exactly are you trying to say?"

Fringilla raised her smiling face. "The grudge between the Blood Court and you is their business. It has nothing to do with me, Prajna. Just as my lord said, we'll be comrades fighting side by side from now on, comrades who need to cover each other's backs. I don't want things to be unpleasant between us."

Prajna furrowed her brow. "As far as I'm concerned, public matters are public matters, and private matters are private matters. No matter how much I may despise you, I won't compromise in battle in the slightest."

"So you needn't worry, much less deliberately try to curry favor with me."

The corners of Fringilla's lips curled up, a sly smile appearing on her face. "Prajna, you really do like the lord. If you truly have such thoughts, this won't do."

"Heh, do you think saying that will make me blush shyly like some ordinary mortal girl?"

Prajna said expressionlessly, "My feelings for the lord are merely those proper to a comrade-in-arms and a subject. I have none of the 'thoughts' you speak of."

"Really? I don't believe you!"

Fringilla teased.

"Whether you believe it or not has nothing to do with me."

Prajna closed her eyes. This time, she truly said nothing more.

Fringilla, meanwhile, looked as pleased as a little fox that had stolen a chicken, wearing a crafty smile.

If Prajna truly did not care at all, she would never have taken the bait.

But then Fringilla felt a sense of urgency.

The lord should be mine. I can't let this ghost woman beat me to him.