Old Friends Arrive

If the Mexicans of future generations were given a vote—whether they wanted to become Texans or remain Mexicans—they probably would not hesitate in the slightest.

But for now, it was hard to say. Initial resistance was inevitable.

Although Mexicans were not considered "white" due to their high proportion of Native American ancestry, they were still staunch supporters of the Catholic camp.

The caravan rolled slowly along a country dirt road. Lothar, restored to human form, rested his head on Prajna's soft, cool thighs, his brow slightly furrowed as he endured the tearing agony raging within his body.

Archbishop Michael's obsidian sword had not inflicted any physical wounds on him, but the highly aggressive holy radiance it contained was still rampaging through his body.

The sword Archbishop Michael had wagered his life on seemed to have carried his rock-solid will along with it.

Prajna asked with some concern, "Can you still hold on?"

Lothar opened his eyes and looked at Prajna, who remained flawlessly beautiful even through his "death vision." He could not help chuckling. "It's nothing serious. Once we get back to Wolfsborg, Nia can treat me and I'll be fine."

Then he sighed softly. "But this bit of holy radiance scorching my body is still far less than what Jeanne has to endure every time."

For the decisive battle against the English, Lothar did not want Jeanne to fight again. Though death in the Combat Record was not real death, neither the process nor the pain involved contained even the slightest bit of falsehood.

Prajna's long, thick lashes, like two rows of tiny brushes, fluttered once. "After I advance, I'll be able to share some of her burden in the future."

The Crusaders raised the Double-Headed Eagle banner and escorted the caravan onward. The Texans were filled with curiosity