Small Town

"Please guide me."

Prajna gave a slight nod, her expression still calm and indifferent. Though not respectful, she was not rude either.

Clang—

The Black Triangular Shield, made of some unknown material, rested against the ground.

Prajna looked up, a hint of inquiry in her brown eyes, as though asking what orders he had next.

Lothar looked away, feeling inexplicably guilty.

He had just carefully examined Prajna's appearance. Compared to her character illustration, there had been some adjustments, but she was still worthy of being his two-dimensional wife—her skin was flawless as jade, without the slightest imperfection.

Lothar liked that sort of thing. Pursuing perfection was humanity's instinct.

He had never liked freckles, nor did he agree with the so-called freckle aesthetic promoted in the West.

"You need to change clothes first. This outfit is still too conspicuous."

A black Motorcycle Suit did not sound as revealing as a short skirt and hot pants.

But what she wore was a skintight leather outfit Lothar had specially modified, perfectly outlining Prajna's flawless figure. The visual impact it created was simply too great.

Coupled with Prajna's near-perfect appearance, she would certainly attract plenty of unnecessary trouble.

On the other hand, her Black Long Hair was not particularly eye-catching. Though it was a little too silky and smooth, such hair color was not uncommon in either Europe or the Middle East.

"All right."

Lothar asked, "Do you like this outfit? I mean, considering your fighting style, would you prefer to wear heavy armor?"

Prajna frowned slightly. "Sorry, but I have never had the habit of relying on armor for defense. Just get me some ordinary clothes."

Lothar froze for a moment.

His gaze instinctively swept over Prajna's exposed, fair arm. It looked soft, tender, and immaculate, nothing like the arm of a heavily armored retainer with astonishing defenses.

It was hard to imagine that her stamina and endurance were both six times that of an ordinary person, while her strength was nearly four times that of an average adult man.

An image suddenly flashed through his mind.

Lin Daiyu Uprooting a Willow.

By the time Prajna appeared before the two retainers, Ryan and Moder, she had changed into a brand-new set of White Linen Clothes and wore a Veil and Turban.

It was worth mentioning that, as the gatekeeper of Hell in her settings, her body temperature was always icy cold. If one stood close to her, even in the height of summer, Lothar could feel a pleasantly cool chill.

It gave him an urge to hold Prajna and hide in his room for a long, deep sleep.

But it was only a thought.

On one hand, their intimacy was not high enough, and Prajna might not agree. On the other, he found such a thing somewhat despicable; his sense of morality would not allow him to make such a move.

There were no maids in white short skirts and white stockings at the Habsburg estate in the Small Town, nor was there a courteous butler in a tailcoat.

Lothar's father, Count Werner, was a typical Germanic military noble. He preferred living in Eagle Fortress, which he had painstakingly overseen and built with funding from his brother, a Bishop in Strasbourg, rather than this clearly more livable estate at the foot of the mountain.

The town was filled with serfs and freemen in ragged clothes, returning home to rest after a day of farm work.

Most buildings in the Small Town were made of clay and wood. A few were stacked from stone bricks, while those roofed with reeds and straw could already be considered the homes of wealthy farmers.

The Middle Ages were called the Dark Ages for a reason.

Most people of this era could not even fill their stomachs.

An old man whose skin resembled withered bark sat by the roadside, surrounded by a group of children listening to his stories.

His body was covered in old wounds, mottled scars crisscrossing one another. Even the uninjured parts had shriveled and wrinkled as though they had dried out.

A thick film clouded his eyes, making one wonder whether he could still see at all.

"He has sword wounds, arrow wounds, and other injuries that are impossible to identify."

Lothar frowned.

"Who is he?"

Moder said, "An Old Blind Man. They say he once went on pilgrimage to Jerusalem and even killed a Mamluk knight. But I think that is just his own boasting."

He was an elite sword-and-shield soldier personally selected by Lothar, one who had once defeated a knight in one-on-one infantry combat.

The Small Town was managed by more than fifty Habsburg family soldiers under the command of a resident knight.

The soldiers rotated in and out.

Naturally, Moder and Ryan had both lived in the Small Town before.

"What a pity he is blind. Otherwise, we might have had a decent guide."

Lothar sighed and withdrew his gaze.

At the square in the center of the Small Town stood a crude reservoir, surrounded by peasant women carrying clay jars on their heads, waiting to draw water.

"Lothar, why have you come here?"

The newcomer was the parish priest of the Small Town, responsible for all prayers, weddings, and funerals in the town and the nearby farming villages.

Wearing faded Vestments and a white Turban, he approached with a kindly smile. "It has been a long time, Lothar. Hmm, you are wearing the Lion Emblem now. Has your father finally knighted you?"

Lothar smiled. "That is right, Father Soyo. I have decided to embark on a Crusade to liberate the Holy Land, Jerusalem. I will set off tomorrow morning."

Father Soyo immediately looked delighted. "Congratulations, Lothar. This is a very wise decision. The Heavenly Father will bless you for your devout deed. I have a fairly decent packhorse that you may take with you, as a small and insignificant contribution to your pilgrimage."

"Thank you for your generosity."

Lothar lowered his head in salute.

It took him quite a while to Deal With the priest and send him on his way.

A little helplessly, he said, "Father Soyo really is enthusiastic. A packhorse is worth quite a few Dinars."

Beside him, Ryan muttered, "Of course. Father Soyo is a good man. He helps widows carry water during the day and hears their confessions at night."

"Oh, right. That widow's husband used to be a knight named Joseph. Later, he listened to the priest, sold his land and all his property to buy travel money and equipment for the eastern expedition, then ran off and left the widow behind."

The smile on Lothar's face stiffened.

In a low voice, he asked, "He did not come back, did he?"

"Of course not."

Ryan shook his head. "Last year, Old John—the Old Blind Man we just saw—returned from the Holy Land, hobbling along with a cane. He had gone with him."

"And what happened to Joseph, that knight?" Lothar asked casually. "Did he die in battle?"

"Not quite. In fact, he never even reached Jerusalem. He was robbed by pirates along the way and sold into slavery."

Lothar frowned. "No one paid his ransom?"

"No. That widow was having too much fun fooling around with the priest. Where would she get the money to ransom her husband? Besides, I heard Joseph did not treat her well when he was around."

"Young master, what I mean is, not everyone is fortunate enough to reach Jerusalem. Pilgrimage is a long journey filled with hardships and dangers. Only those favored by God can reach Heaven."

Lothar fell silent for a moment, then agreed. "You are right."

Fighting heretics in Jerusalem was dangerous, but the road to the Holy Land was equally filled with peril and hardship.

Most poor pilgrims simply could not afford the "enormous" fare to sail to the Holy Land. They could only rely on their own legs, and countless people fell to plague, famine, and bandits along the way.

PS: Medieval European currencies were complicated. Germania used Pfennigs, though old Dinars probably circulated as well. This is not rigorous, so please do not nitpick.