Beneath the walls of Damascus, in the Crusaders' camp.
"Help!"
"Quick, someone come! Where's the doctor?"
More than a dozen scouts, covered in blood, rushed in while pushing a cart bearing the wounded.
A Hospitaller Knight immediately stepped forward to assess the situation.
The young scout froze for a moment, then shoved him aside and roared, "Move! I want the gentlemen of the Saint Lazarus Order to treat my captain!"
The Hospitaller Knight could not help but smile bitterly. Pointing to the eight-pointed cross on his chest, he said, "Don't worry, I'm a member of the Saint Lazarus Order too. Let me see your esteemed captain. I promise I won't give him an enema or bleed him."
The Hospitaller Knights here referred to those under Lothar's command.
Since they had all received seeds of holy radiance and undergone considerable tempering in several Combat Records, those seeds had flourished. They were perfectly suited for treating external wounds.
The young scout was doubtful. He only knew that, all along the way, the greatest number of wounded soldiers had walked out of the Saint Lazarus Order's camp. In the other camps, most of the wounded had been carried out.
He did not want Gario, whom he had always cared for and regarded as an elder brother, to become one of those foul-smelling corpses that, in the climate of the Holy Land, would be covered in flies soon after death.
"No! I want the Order's monks to treat our captain."
The Hospitaller Knight said irritably, "I told you, I am one! If you don't want your captain's treatment delayed, hand him over to me now!"
As the two argued, a commanding voice rang out. "What is going on?"
Everyone hurriedly bowed. "Your Majesty."
Lothar took one look and understood what had happened. After obtaining