Widow and Empress

In the blink of an eye, Lothar had closed to within two hundred meters of the enemy.

He could even clearly see the filthy, grease-caked beards on their faces, tangled like weeds.

Black eyes, black hair, and black beards.

Were these Hungarians?

He clamped his legs against the horse's flanks, and the Nisaan warhorse gradually shifted from a slow trot into a furious charge.

Wind howled past his ears, and hoofbeats thundered beneath him.

The instant he and the enemy were about to pass each other, he thrust out his lance. Its sharp tip pierced straight through the chest of the cavalryman on his left, violently tossing him into the air.

The tremendous impact left Lothar's arm numb.

But inwardly, he let out a breath of relief.

This light cavalryman, clad in nothing but a padded jacket, was not only far worse equipped than Lothar but also rather mediocre in combat. He clearly was no formidable opponent.

Blood flowed down the lance shaft.

Lothar casually discarded the lance, letting it fall to the ground together with the dead rider's corpse. He drew the arming sword from his saddle and swung it at the other cavalryman.

Clang.

The enemy's saber struck the shield, leaving only a shallow mark on its surface.

The two sides passed one another.

Lothar wheeled his horse around and charged the cavalryman again. But having watched his companion die in an instant, the man's face had filled with terror.

He only dared circle at a distance, utterly unwilling to charge in and fight Lothar again.

Lothar had no intention of pursuing him either. Even though the Nisaan warhorse was carrying a heavier load, it was still slightly faster than the other man's mount, but catching him would consume a great deal of the horse's strength.

Besides, Prajna was holding down the rear, so he was not afraid of anyone attacking his camp.

Thus, he pulled the lance back out of the enemy rider's body, ignored the fleeing cavalryman, and slowly rode toward the riders besieging the convoy.

The enemy's blood did not make Lothar nervous or uneasy.

Nor did he feel the fear and urge to vomit that novels described after one's first kill.

Instead, he felt an intense thrill!

Could I actually be a psychopath deep down?

Before he could get close, the enemy split off two cavalrymen and sent them charging toward Lothar.

Lothar fixed his eyes on the enemies rushing at him at high speed, while his mount gradually accelerated from a trot.

At last, the two sides met!

Crack!

With a tremendous crash, the lance punched straight through his opponent's shield.

The man was hurled away by the overwhelming impact, but at the same time, the white ash lance shaft snapped.

Lothar casually tossed aside the lance and switched to his arming sword.

At that moment, the other cavalryman's attack came right after. It was a two-handed cavalry spear, which Lothar deflected with his shield, leaving his wrist numb from the blow.

He swung his sword backhandedly, striking the opponent's leather-covered round shield. The two men reined in their horses and fell into close combat.

Lothar far surpassed his opponent in both strength and endurance. He soon spotted an opening and drove his sword point through the man's wrist, forcing him to abandon his shield.

Then he slashed backhandedly, cutting open the man's waist. Blood and entrails burst forth, staining the brown coat of the horse beneath him.

A rush of pure exhilaration made Lothar want to let out a long howl.

For the first time, he realized, So I'm this fierce!?

In the distance, the cavalry leader watched this scene coldly and muttered something. At once, four more cavalrymen approached Lothar in a mutually supporting formation.

Lothar showed no fear. Sword and shield in hand, he rode to meet them.

The convoy's resistance was fierce. The six knights and squires at the front of the column, led by the Peacock Knight, launched an effective counterattack.

But the enemy outnumbered the knights several times over. In such open terrain, the infantrymen could provide only limited ranged support. They did not dare leave the wagon formation and engage the enemy in melee.

A bearded knight shouted, "Look! It's the righteous warrior who came to aid us! He's like a bolt of black lightning! He's coming straight at them! Those four bastards can't stop him at all!"

Another knight showed an admiring expression. "He truly is impressive. If you ask me, this knight's skill would have been enough to take first place in the last Vienna Knight Tournament."

A hint of delight appeared on the Peacock Knight's face. "Men, it's time for us to counterattack as well. Let these cavalrymen learn the difference between knights and mere riders!"

The six knights and squires formed up and charged the enemy like a steel blade.

Three heavily armored knights rode in the middle, while three lightly equipped squires covered their flanks. They tucked their lances beneath their arms and executed a standard couched-lance charge.

The cavalrymen blocking their path were immediately torn apart as though they were dry wood and rotten weeds.

Even the squires were professional soldiers who had undergone years of training, and their coordination with their respective masters was exceptionally seamless.

The cavalry leader looked back at Lothar. Of the four riders who had surrounded him, two had already been dealt with in the blink of an eye.

Where the hell had this Robin Hood come from?

After weighing his options, he finally gave the order to retreat.

The cavalrymen withdrew as swiftly as an ebbing tide, leaving behind more than a dozen corpses and riderless mounts pacing back and forth across the grassland.

The system notification sounded:

Congratulations, you have completed your first milestone: First Battle Victory.

You have obtained one normal-quality card draw opportunity.

Lothar let out a long breath and had no intention of giving chase.

These cavalrymen were more like a band of nomads. Their equipment was outdated, their tactics backward, and in every respect they could hardly compare to knights who had received strict military training since childhood.

But enough ants could devour an elephant.

A bearded knight crouched down and carefully examined the corpse of a dead rider. In a grave voice, he said, "They're Magyars, most likely wandering in from the Border March."

The Peacock Knight roared furiously, "Damn Daschmair! He actually hired a band of Magyars to attack the Countess! I'll go to the Imperial Court and petition His Majesty the Emperor over his crimes!"

Murder among nobles was an exceedingly common affair.

The reasons varied wildly.

But most of the time, it was probably over inheritance.

For instance, if Lothar murdered Otto, he would become the first heir to the County of Argau. Few people could resist such temptation.

Lothar shook his head. "Without evidence, it will be difficult to accuse a count with real power, especially when he is the vassal of a duke."

Lothar knew of Daschmair. He was a vassal of Lionheart, the Duke of Saxony in the north.

Not every duke had counts beneath him. Although the rank of duke was higher than that of count, counts in Greater Germania were mostly independent lords directly subordinate to the Emperor.

The vassal of my vassal is not my vassal.

If a count swore loyalty to a duke, he no longer needed to fulfill his obligations to the Emperor. The Emperor could govern the duke, but he could not bypass the duke and govern the duke's vassals.

The Peacock Knight approached with a smile. He removed his helmet, revealing a head of gleaming golden curls. "Thank you for your help, valiant knight. You are from the Habsburg family, are you not? I have seen your coat of arms."

Lothar smiled in return. "That's right. I am Lothar of Argao, son of Count Werner. I plan to travel south from here through the Austrian Marches, sail across the Adriatic Sea, and reach the Holy Land to join this round of the Crusades."

"Ah... so you are a great Crusader!"

The knights and squires immediately looked at him with solemn respect.

A servant ran over from the convoy and called out, "Brave knight, in recognition of your courage and fearlessness, please come with me. The Countess wishes to see you."

Lothar did not refuse. He leapt down from his mount and said to the Peacock Knight, "My squires are still behind us. When they arrive, have them wait for me here."

Lothar was soon led to the center of the wagons.

There stood a Noble Lady dressed in a white linen gown, with long hair falling over her shoulders.

The Noble Lady smiled. "I recognize that coat of arms. I have a good relationship with Count Werner. Which member of the Habsburg family are you? Otto, or Lothar?"

Lothar answered neither humbly nor arrogantly, "Yes, my lady. I am Count Werner's second son, Lothar von Habsburg."

The Countess had a seductive voice and rather striking features, though a closer look revealed fine lines at the corners of her eyes and densely scattered freckles.

She smiled. "I am Marianna of Augsburg, a widow. Daschmair wants to seize my late husband's lands. There is no need to guess who orchestrated this attack. Only he has close ties with several Hungarian Princes and Nobles."

"Come back with me, Lothar. Argao is a poor place, but its warriors are fierce. Augsburg, meanwhile, is wealthy but lacks warriors as brave as you. Our two sides should form an alliance and exchange what we have."

Lothar asked somewhat doubtfully, "For something like forming an alliance, my lady, you should speak with my father."

The Countess paused, then smiled. "Perhaps I was not clear enough. I want you to become my husband and the Count of Augsburg."

"To be frank, this is a political marriage. I need your family's strength to support me against Daschmair."

Lothar frowned.

The Countess looked somewhat puzzled. "What are you hesitating over? For a second son of the family like you, marrying a wealthy widow like me would immediately bring you a substantial dowry, along with the inheritance of my lands and title. Is that not precisely what you have always dreamed of?"

In Europe, noble widows were indeed highly sought after.

But...

Lothar chuckled. "My apologies, my lady, but I have no interest in that. If I really wanted to be some pretty boy living off a woman, I might as well go to Constantinople and seek the Empress's favor."

After the Late Emperor Alexios of the Eastern Empire passed away, the government had fallen under the control of his widow, Empress Ragaia. She claimed that she would relinquish power once the heir came of age.

But that had still made her the most coveted prize in the eyes of all nobles.

Anyone favored by the Empress could immediately rise to great heights.

"Pah, wishful thinking!"

The Countess spat. "There are more Princes and Nobles, mercenary captains, and military commanders than can be counted who want to latch onto that sugar mama. What makes you think you qualify?"

Lothar grinned. "Ha, I have a strong stomach. I never planned on living off a woman anyway."

"Hmph, think carefully. I have good relations with several Elector Princes. His Majesty has no heir. If you wished it, I could even secure you the right to inherit the throne."

The Countess's tone had turned somewhat hostile. She had no shortage of suitors. She had chosen Lothar partly because he was highly skilled and handsome, but more importantly because she wanted to borrow the Habsburg family's strength.

Although Count Werner was tucked away in Switzerland, he was far from unknown within the Empire. During the Emperor's war of conquest against the Slavs, he had personally been appointed commander of the imperial armies.

"The right to inherit the throne?"

Lothar fell silent.

The Greater Germania Empire was modeled after the Holy Roman Empire from Lothar's previous life.

Voltaire's assessment of the Holy Roman Empire was that it was "neither holy, nor Roman, nor an empire." Though biased, it was not without reason.

For instance, Emperor Henry of the Hohenstaufen family, who ruled Greater Germania at present, did not possess any particular advantage in directly controlled territory compared with several of the Empire's great Vassal Lords.

Although the Greater Germania Empire was vast at this time, the Emperor's income was likely not even one-tenth that of the Empress of the Eastern Empire.

One had to know that the Eastern Empire had already declined terribly. The interior of Asia Minor had basically all been lost, while the Bulgarians in the north rebelled at times and raided southward at others.

The Peloponnese Peninsula also often suffered harassment from Normans and North African pirates.

Even under such circumstances, the Eastern Empire remained far wealthier than Greater Germania.

Strong branches and a weak trunk had always been a major problem plaguing Greater Germania.

Fortunately, Greater Germania had not yet fallen to the point of issuing the Golden Bull, explicitly decreeing that the Emperor would be elected jointly by the seven Electors.

Though the electoral system was a tradition passed down from the tribal age, it had not yet taken such deep root. There was still hope.

So the question was, should he accept this offer and live off her?