Blacksmith Males

On the streets of Jerusalem's Old City, pilgrims from afar were paying homage to the Via Dolorosa, translated as "The Way of Suffering."

Legend had it that Jesus had borne the cross along this road as he ascended Mount Calvary to suffer his crucifixion.

The streets leading up the mountain were filled with pilgrims who had come from far away.

They knelt upon the ground in devout worship.

Not far from Lothar's feet, an elderly man in ragged clothes was prostrate on the ground.

He continuously kissed the stones beneath him and murmured prayers, letting the sharp grit scrape his scalp raw and red.

Lothar could not make out exactly what he was saying, but he could vaguely tell that he was speaking Latin.

Gaulish had evolved from Latin, mixed with many Germanic words.

Although Lothar only knew Gaulish and not Latin, he could still recognize the language the old man was speaking.

The old man's beard had already turned white. His body was frail with age, and his movements sluggish.

When he prostrated himself once more, his forehead pressed against the uneven stones, his stiff body did not rise again for a long while.

He was dead.

Someone said delightedly, "Old John has ascended to Heaven here. That lucky old man—the Heavenly Father has forgiven every sin he ever committed!"

Lothar no longer had any interest in climbing Mount Calvary again or visiting the Church of the Holy Sepulchre.

He was just about to leave.

But then, a familiar figure appeared before him.

The man held a Bible and wore white vestments as he shouted aloud:

"The Holy Land is in peril. Pilgrims who have come from afar, your devotion is moving, but worship alone cannot fully cleanse you of your sins."

The pilgrims exchanged glances.

Someone looked troubled. "Oh, merciful Lord, even here, closest to the Kingdom of Heaven, will Heaven's gates still not open to us?"

"Did Old John not ascend to Heaven at all?"

Someone asked through tears, "What must we do to gain salvation? We have already given so, so much."

Amid the clamorous crowd, the priest spoke again:

"Saladin's evil hounds are gathering. The armies of the heathens have surrounded the Holy Land. Only by defending the Holy Land and dying in battle against the heathens can one attain true salvation!"

He waved the Bible in his hand, as though everything he had just said could be found within its pages.

"Join the Crusaders! All who can bear arms, go and fight. All who can offer coin, go and donate. All who can work, go and labor. We shall surely claim final victory."

The pilgrims' fervor was quickly stirred. "Heavenly Father bless us! We will fight to the end!"

The priest raised his voice and cried, "In the name of Jerusalem, in the name of the Father, fight for the Heavenly Father and kill every heathen!"

"In the name of the Father!"

The pilgrims erupted in cheers. Some immediately stopped worshipping and crowded around the priest as they headed down toward the foot of the mountain.

Lothar frowned.

This priest was an old acquaintance.

He was Father Beckett, who had traveled with him by ship to the Holy Land.

It seemed that he had now received an official clerical post and was putting his greatest talent—"preaching"—to use in the Holy Land.

Lothar felt no joy at seeing an old acquaintance again. Instead, a trace of discomfort welled up within him.

He looked at the few elderly pilgrims who had no ability to work and no money to offer.

They remained where they were, lost and at a loss.

They did not know whether salvation still awaited them, nor whether what the priest in their Small Town had told them before they set out—that reaching the Holy Land and confessing their sins would bring salvation—still held true.

Most likely, it had never been true at all.

Constance Manor.

Lothar handed the reins to Ryan. "Was there a problem recruiting blacksmiths and carpenters?"

Ryan said somewhat ashamedly, "Indeed, my lord. All the blacksmiths have been conscripted by the various lords of Jerusalem. There are two carpenters, though, and their skills are fairly good. One of them even built siege engines for Count Raymond before."

"Good. As for blacksmiths... set that aside for now. Have the two carpenters pack their belongings with their families in advance and prepare to return to the territory with us."

Just as Lothar had expected, Jerusalem had already begun wartime mobilization. Hiring blacksmiths now had become a difficult matter.

Ryan answered, "Yes, my lord," then suddenly came to his senses. "T-the territory?"

His face filled with excitement. "My lord, have you received a fief?"

Lothar shook his head. "Not a fief, a barony. His Majesty the King has made me Baron of Yorgrys. I now have the right to knight others."

He patted Ryan on the shoulder. "Work hard. Once you and Moder have accumulated enough merit, I will not begrudge you a knight's title and a fief."

Ryan looked ecstatic. "My lord, I swear that I will earn merit."

"Where's Moder? Have him give the recruits an extra meal to celebrate my promotion to baron. Also, take them out for drills this afternoon. They've been training behind closed doors for so long—it's time to let Jerusalem's nobles see what the Habsburg family is capable of when it comes to training troops."

"Yes, my lord. I guarantee they won't disgrace you!"

Ryan replied resolutely.

Back in his room, Lothar immediately used the Extraordinary Retainer Draw Ticket.

Unlike an ordinary card draw, this time he had no chance to inspect the card's attributes beforehand. Streaks of azure light burst forth in dazzling brilliance.

With nowhere to go in the sealed room, the light eventually gathered before Lothar and formed into a burly, bare-chested giant nearly two meters tall, gripping an iron hammer.

His information immediately appeared.

Blacksmith Males

Quality: Extraordinary (Four Stars)

Level: 1

Affinity: Indifferent

Strength: 25

Agility: 5

Vitality: 10

Endurance: 20

Mental Power: 5

Skills: Master Forging—Blacksmith Males excelled at crafting all manner of weapons and armor. His craftsmanship was exquisite, wholly deserving of the title of master.

Introduction: Blacksmith Males was once the chief master craftsman of the blacksmiths' guild in the Polis Federation. He once forged a fully enclosed suit of armor for King Jagiellon VIII of the Polis Federation, but it was ultimately pierced through with ease by the Grand Commander of the Teutonic Knights in East Prussia, wielding the divine artifact Holy Lance. As a result, he was exiled.

"A blacksmith?"

Lothar's eyes immediately lit up.

Heavenly Father be praised—just what he needed.

Perhaps from spending too long surrounded by smoke and fire, Males's voice was rather hoarse. "You must be my lord, then?"

Lothar nodded. "That's right. I am Lothar von Habsburg, lord of Yoglusburg, enfeoffed by His Majesty Baldwin IV of the Kingdom of Jerusalem."

Males lowered his head. His massive frame, like a small mountain, sank to one knee. "Males is willing to serve you."

Lothar helped him up, his expression solemn. "I promise you, Mr. Males, that the unfair treatment you suffered in the Polis Federation will never happen to you again."

He held Males in great respect.

Not merely because Males was a four-star retainer, but because of his identity. He was undoubtedly a talent who possessed the most advanced knowledge of armor-making.

Far superior to the Lombards.

He could even spark an armor revolution across Europe and Asia in the Holy Land.

Males nodded slightly. He too was a taciturn, dull-witted fellow, with no visible fluctuation in emotion.

Still, Lothar's fine words were not entirely meaningless. At the very least, Males's affinity had risen slightly, though the increase was hardly noticeable.

"Come, Males. I'll introduce you to everyone."

Lothar pushed open the door and stepped out.