Princess Sibylla

They bade farewell to Baron Godfrey.

It was already late.

The four prepared to return to the manor.

The sky was dotted with stars. The deep blue heavens seemed close to the earth, and the stars themselves felt almost within reach.

No wonder people said this was the place closest to God.

Even at dusk, the Holy Land remained scorching hot. The ground, having absorbed immense heat during the day, was like a blazing griddle baking the soles of their feet.

"Prajna, are those your clansmen?"

Fringilla pointed at a caravan by the roadside, its members wearing high bound-hair crowns, with black hair and black eyes.

Prajna had no intention of responding to her.

She was of the ghost race. How could she possibly have clansmen in the human world?

Lothar explained to Fringilla, "They're Song people—merchants from that great empire in the East. The equivalent of the Yanxia Empire in your world."

He studied the caravan carefully.

They had broad-shouldered, thick-waisted guards clad in lamellar and leather armor, servants dressed in short, fitted outfits, and several men in splendid red silk robes gathered at the center.

Their brows were tightly furrowed as they discussed something unknown.

Lothar listened closely for a while, but the surroundings were too noisy, and these Song people had heavy accents. He truly could not make out what they were saying.

The official language of the Song people should have been the Kaifeng dialect, though it differed greatly from the Kaifeng dialect of later generations. If he listened carefully enough, he could probably still make it out.

But from a distance, it was simply gibberish.

"Forget it. Let's go."

Lothar lightly pressed his heels to his horse's flanks, and the group passed the Song caravan.

Making contact with Song people now would not bring him much benefit.

Perhaps, with his knowledge of Song Empire history and his linguistic advantage, he could more easily earn their trust.

But at most, he would gain a channel for buying slightly cheaper silk. They could offer Lothar no greater profit.

For instance, papermaking had long since spread here, and improvements to it might not even require their help.

As for printing, he knew it himself.

For the compass, he knew the principles behind it, and he had no merchant fleet to establish or need to explore the New World.

And as for gunpowder, setting aside how powerful gunpowder of this era actually was, these merchants certainly would not know its formula.

Lothar at least knew: one part saltpeter, two parts sulfur, three parts charcoal. Though that knowledge was meaningless, since those were molecular coefficients rather than ratios by weight.

He did not belong to this era. With the face of a foreigner, he was destined to be unable to return to the Song Empire and become a pillar supporting the Zhao dynasty's rule.

He only wondered whether the Tatar cavalry, like the Scourge of God in history, would still arrive as foretold.

According to the history of his own world, the Tatar cavalry's western campaign should still have been decades away, shouldn't it?

Just as he was lost in thought, a troop of cavalry galloped past ahead.

At the front of the procession, an attendant carried a Jerusalem Cross banner on a red field. Holding an oval shield, he loudly ordered pedestrians to clear the way.

They surrounded a noblewoman riding a white horse, wearing an Arab-style turban and a black veil over her face, as they raced onward.

"It's Princess Sibylla!"

The knowledgeable people on the road quickly recognized the emblem. Princess Sibylla was not merely a princess—she was also a Duchess with her own fief.

Port of Jaffa, which they had passed on their way here, was one of her territories.

So she was Baldwin IV's sister!

She had seemed rather inconspicuous in the great hall earlier.

The thought had only just crossed Lothar's mind.

Then, the veil over her face suddenly blew loose in the wind. Lothar instinctively reached out and caught it.

In that fleeting glance, he saw Princess Sibylla's lovely brows, eyes, and features.

Yet she did not stop, continuing to gallop away and leaving behind only a waft of fragrance.

"Tch, that was awfully deliberate."

Fringilla gave a soft snort. "Lothar, she seems interested in you. Did you meet this princess in the palace today?"

"I did, but I didn't pay much attention to her."

Lothar handed the veil to Hans beside him. "Keep it safe for that lady. Return it to her for me the next time we meet."

"How does it feel?"

Fringilla's face was full of smiles, but Lothar knew very well that her eyes already revealed intense displeasure.

With her temperament, she was probably already thinking of how to drain Princess Sibylla into a dried-up corpse.

Prajna's gaze remained as calm as still water. She merely glanced at him before looking straight ahead again and riding onward.

Lothar shook his head. "She's far inferior to you and Prajna—not much to speak of, really. And she's a widow who's already had a child. I couldn't possibly be interested in her."

She was actually still quite beautiful.

It was just that he spent every day around Fringilla and Prajna, and his standards had been raised far too high.

Unless she was a widow like the Empress of the Eastern Empire, Lageia—beautiful, and bringing an entire empire as her dowry—he would never live off a woman.

Besides, the reason this princess was so sought-after was because she had borne a son with her former husband, making him the first in line to inherit after Baldwin IV's death.

But what if Baldwin IV did not die?

Lothar was quite certain that if he managed to draw a five- or six-star medical retainer, curing leprosy would not be impossible.

Actually, he had a solution even now.

He could have Fringilla give him the First Embrace.

But Fringilla would never agree. How thoroughly would that cleanliness-obsessed young girl have to be manipulated before she would lower herself to drink a leprosy patient's blood, then inject him with her precious vital blood?

Nor would Lothar make such a request.

No matter how highly Baldwin IV might regard him in the future, he could never make that choice.

Because nothing disgusted him more than being generous with someone else's possessions.

Seemingly pleased by Lothar's reaction, the notification for increased affinity sounded again. But perhaps just as Lothar had guessed, it was still one threshold short; the affinity remained in the indifferent range.

Do I really have to face another life-or-death crisis?

I want to play with magic too!

Lothar walked to the front of the group and glanced back at Prajna.

The two stared at each other for a long while.

Only then did Prajna ask in an even tone, "What is it?"

The corners of Lothar's lips rose slightly, but he said nothing—if not for the system notification telling me our affinity increased, I would have thought you truly did not care at all.

After hesitating, Lothar still asked, "Prajna, what do you think? Does Princess Sibylla really have feelings for me?"

Prajna shook her head. "I cannot see into people's hearts. It is not my field of expertise. Fringilla may be able to."

Fringilla said in a mocking tone, "The big dummy does have good taste. I can indeed sense it. I know the scent of a bitch in heat better than anyone."

Lothar put on a worried expression. "This princess is at the center of Jerusalem's current political turmoil. It would be best not to provoke her."

Princess Sibylla could only choose her husband from among the Royalist Faction, the Baronial faction, and the Queen Mother's faction.

Originally, Sibylla should have chosen Guy of Lusignan, the candidate put forward by the Queen Mother's faction, as her husband, since Sibylla herself was also a member of that faction.

Moreover, although Guy of Lusignan was merely a Gaulish knight with no inheritance rights, he was the younger brother of Amalric, Jerusalem's chief military and political minister.

Lothar truly could not understand why Sibylla would want to involve him.

Even if she wanted to win over the Royalist Faction, she should have gone to Balian.

He was merely a new recruit who had just joined them.

As though she had seen through Lothar's thoughts, Fringilla said with a smile, "But when love comes, nothing can stop it. You had better be careful."

"I will."

Lothar nodded solemnly.

The Royalist Faction was in decline. Even with the Ibelin family's support, if he wanted to marry Sibylla and become regent, he would inevitably face countless difficulties.

Not to mention that he had no desire to marry Sibylla at all.

"Balian is a good choice. Hans, I'll trouble you to make another trip. Give this veil to Lord Balian, and tell him to pass it on to Princess Sibylla."

The Ibelin family was Lothar's most important political ally. If he could seize this opportunity, it would benefit him as well.

Hans wore a helpless expression.

He looked at the two legendary- and epic-tier big shots and sighed inwardly. "Master, you brought me along because you wanted me to do all the menial work and errands, didn't you?"

The group returned to the manor.

That night, Lothar was unusually generous and treated all his subjects to a fine meal.

Roasted whole lamb, wine, bread, fruit, vegetables, and butter were supplied without limit.

During the long sea voyage, many of the subjects had already developed feelings for one another. With alcohol warming their heads, they began dancing to the rhythm.

Tevir was somewhat dejected.

There were seven men and six women among the subjects. He happened to be the extra one, and no one liked him.

The bonfire illuminated one joyful face after another.

Lothar sat beside the fire, watching the scene with a smile.

Yet a sense of melancholy stirred within him.

Would these vibrant, smiling faces become corpses lying in pools of blood in the next battle, their features too mangled to recognize?

He rose and stopped watching.

Mercy had no place in command. Sometimes, he felt that he simply was not suited to be a commander.

He patted Tevir on the shoulder. "Train hard. Women will come sooner or later. When that time comes, I'll officiate your weddings."

"Lord, I..."

After a whole day of being mocked by the brothers from his village, and seeing the girl he loved look down on his cowardice, he had already bottled up far too much bitterness.

Now, comforted by Lothar, tears immediately streamed down his face.

"Don't cry. What kind of sight is that?"

Lothar's tone grew sterner as he said in a low voice, "Stick to the path you want to take. Whether it's farming or joining the army to fight, once you've chosen, don't regret it."

Tevir tried hard to sniff back his snot and said through his tears, "Lord, I've made up my mind. From now on, I'll take up weapons and defend your glory and dignity. I won't disgrace you again."

"I believe you."

Lothar rose to his feet and headed upstairs to the small building.

Fringilla sat on a treetop in the darkness, silently watching the scene with an unreadable expression.

Prajna still stood by the window, seemingly gazing into the distance. Yet whenever her eyes occasionally swept over, they always lingered briefly on Lothar.

That night.

All sorts of suppressed panting drifted through the manor.

Though it was midsummer, the air carried the scent of spring.

Fringilla's seductive laughter rang out from the room. "My lord, if you want it..."

"You can come over to my side."

Lothar glanced at Prajna's cool gaze and covered his head with a pained expression.