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The battle ultimately never happened.

In truth, once the enemy discovered that Lothar's party carried no wagons or camel trains laden with gold, silver, and treasure, they had already begun to think of retreating.

The only reason they had still approached was to try extorting some valuables.

This was an age where the big fish ate the small.

At any time, in any war, one had to weigh the cost against the return.

If he lost too many trusted men, it could very well shake his position, while the gains would be meager.

And there was also the possibility of being caught in a pincer attack by reinforcements Savotding had dispatched.

The enemy ultimately chose to withdraw.

When Lothar had asked him to give his name, his refusal to take the bait showed that he was not some reckless fool who acted on impulse.

"Lothar, at a time like this, we must never choose to hand over our wealth."

"In this wilderness, there is no morality or rule that can restrain your enemies. Handing over your wealth will not make them stop; it will only reveal how easily you can be bullied."

Abdullah walked alongside Lothar, teaching him through word and example.

Lothar drew further conclusions. "And it would greatly damage the soldiers' morale. As our strength wanes and theirs rises, even if they originally intended to let us go, they might change their minds."

"Exactly!"

Another two full days passed.

They bypassed Irbid, which Savotding personally guarded, and chose a more roundabout, even more deserted route to avoid any enemies they might encounter.

Lothar had no confidence that, if he ran into Savotding again, he could bluff his way past him a second time.

"Once we pass this little hill, Caymont lies ahead."

Abdullah stopped before a sand dune with a smile.

Lothar's expression was somewhat complicated. "Are you leaving?"

Abdullah nodded. "By the Holy Fire, Lord Lothar, it has been my honor to fight at your side. If I survive this, I may choose to bring the lads to join you."

After saying that, he added with a laugh, "Though I hope you'll have a sufficiently prosperous fief by then, because the lads under my command do not come cheap."

"I promise I will."

Lothar patted Abdullah's shoulder, then looked at the Kurdish cavalrymen behind him and said sincerely:

"You are the bravest and most capable cavalrymen I have ever seen. I am proud to have served as your commander, and I sincerely wish you all safe travels."

He placed his right hand over his shoulder and gave a slight nod. "May the Heavenly Father's protection be with you. The Holy Fire burns eternal."

The Kurdish cavalrymen all placed hands on their shoulders in return.

Over this period, they had gotten along quite well with Lothar.

It had changed their preconceived notions of Crusader nobles.

Of course, after Lothar displayed his mysterious "sorcery," the Kurdish cavalrymen's feelings toward him became three parts goodwill and seven parts fear.

Abdullah was somewhat moved, but he only laughed heartily. "Lothar, praying to two gods in succession is hardly devout."

Lothar smiled. "Perhaps my god and yours are actually the same god? After all, both are creators."

"Perhaps."

Abdullah neither agreed nor disagreed with Lothar's blasphemous words.

He stepped away from Lothar, nodded to Hans, then looked at the two "Witches" and gave each of them the hand-to-shoulder salute.

"Farewell, two noble ladies."

"Farewell, brave and hardworking attendant."

Hans hurriedly returned the salute.

He had initially been flattered, but upon hearing the word "hardworking," he could not help feeling a trace of resentment.

Was I just the one who did all the odd jobs for my lord?

He exchanged one last look with Lothar. A smile appeared on his sun-darkened face, his teeth dazzlingly white.

Then the cavalry troop slowly departed one by one.

Lothar watched Abdullah and the Kurdish cavalrymen recede into the distance, like Gao Jianli watching Jing Ke depart to assassinate the King of Qin by the banks of the Yi River.

Only after a long while did he let out a sigh.

What waves could a mere few dozen cavalrymen possibly stir in Syria, where an army of a hundred thousand stood guard?

Even if that hundred thousand was merely an estimate, even if divided by ten there were only ten thousand men, it was still a colossal force that a few dozen cavalrymen could not hope to shake.

"They are warriors worthy of respect. Their loyalty to their sovereign surpasses that of most knights of this era."

Hans was full of emotion.

Lothar patted Hans on the shoulder. "You've worked hard these past few days."

Hans nodded deeply. "Indeed, my lord. You gave all the rough work to me. I had to put up two tents and feed eight horses by myself. I sincerely hope you can find me a few companions soon."

Lothar's face darkened.

What rotten luck!

Wasn't this brat cursing me to draw nothing but one-star cards from now on?

"Cut it out. It's not like I did nothing!"

Without waiting for Hans to argue, Lothar said, "Pick up the pace. Let's get into the city and rest."

What he wanted most right now was a cold bath.

He had not bathed in nearly a week. Trekking beneath the blazing sun every day, even with Prajna acting as a little air conditioner to cool him down, he was often drenched in sweat.

Caymont was a somewhat run-down frontier city.

Large patches of plaster had peeled away from the walls after years of neglect.

The occasional passing merchant caravan that entered the city only paused briefly before heading deeper inland.

There was no fountain in the city, only a filthy drainage ditch running through its center. A thick layer of slick grime had accumulated inside, and it smelled like a sunbaked latrine.

This place lay on the northeastern frontier of the Kingdom of Jerusalem. To the north was the former Principality of Antioch, now the Syrian governorate of the Kingdom of Ayyub.

As a gateway city,

it constantly faced Saladin's hundred-thousand-strong army drilling in the north. Even the city's lord had abandoned his fief and fled to Jerusalem's royal palace to serve as Master of the Horse.

Inside the tavern,

the few customers present were drinking.

Lothar's group pushed open the door and entered. The two women found a corner to sit in first, while Lothar and Hans went together to the bar.

Someone laughed and teased them, "Ha, two noble knights are actually sitting at the same drinking table as us. Care to have a few drinks together?"

Lothar put on a humble, courteous smile. "Of course. It's on me."

As he spoke, he flicked out a silver coin with his finger.

"Bring each of these gentlemen a mug of ale, and one each for me and my companion."

"Thank you, generous sir!"

"May the Heavenly Father bless you, Sir Knight."

The customers beamed with delight.

Lothar flicked out two more silver coins and pressed them onto the counter. "Prepare two clean rooms, and enough bathing tubs for four people to bathe separately."

Then he looked at the customers.

"Gentlemen, has anything unusual happened in the Holy Land these past few days?"

The customers looked at one another, unsure what counted as unusual.

Could the knight also be interested in the gossip about how the stonemason next door had been given a very sturdy pair of horns by his wife while he was away?

At that moment, someone who seemed well-informed stepped forward. "Sir Knight, you're German, aren't you?"

Lothar nodded. "That's right. I am Lothar of Argao, from Swabian Switzerland."

The man said, "Yesterday, I heard from a merchant that your Emperor has gone to war with the Lombards on the Apennine Peninsula."

"Apparently, the Lombards defied the Emperor's orders and refused to pay the Crusader tax. The Emperor could no longer endure it and decided to act against them."

"Ah, this..."

Lothar found it rather unbelievable.

This Emperor Henry was not as ambitious as the famed Frederick the Great, Redbeard, from the same period in history.

His attitude toward the vassal lords within his realm, particularly the northern Apennine lords separated from Greater Germania by the Alps, had always been quite mild.

Why had his approach suddenly changed at this critical time, when he was about to ease relations with the Pope, and why was he now resorting to thunderous measures?

Someone said worriedly, "At this rate, the German Crusaders may not arrive for a long time."

"This truly is major news."

Lothar nodded and raised his cup for a deep gulp of ale. The ale in such small taverns carried a faint bitterness and the aroma of malt. Its alcohol content was negligible, making it perfect for quenching thirst.

The man continued, "Other than that, there's Balian of Ibelin. They say he's going to duel Guy of Lusignan."

At this, his face lit up as though he had witnessed it himself. "Both men have fallen beneath Princess Sibylla's skirts. To decide who is more suitable to become Your Highness Princess's husband, they have resolved to hold a fair knightly duel in Jerusalem three days from now."