When the palace gates reopened, the grounds within were already strewn with corpses, blood flowing freely through the seams between the marble tiles.
The battle had been brutal, but there was little of note about it.
The Qasari Guard was formidable. Among them were many elites raised on alchemical potions while Shemiel was still alive. Yet at most, they were on par with Lothar's soldiers enhanced by "auras," let alone the Order knights who wielded holy radiance.
Had these Saladin's personal guards not apparently witnessed their lord's downfall with their own eyes and resolved to die, they would have collapsed and surrendered long ago.
A Crusader knight in bloodstained robes said respectfully, "Your Majesty, Saladin's palace is now yours."
"It is thanks to all of you who fought so bravely."
Lothar nodded slightly, then dismounted. He walked past corpses scattered across the ground, through domed and flat-roofed palaces, through breathtaking courtyards, until he finally reached the heart of the Damascus royal palace.
Saladin had lived simply. When he died in history, he had left behind only a single gold Dinar and forty-seven silver dirhams.
Yet this palace remained magnificent. Lothar did not know whether Saladin had built it himself to display his majesty, or inherited it from the former dynasties of Zengi, Fatima, and others.
Clang—
In the distance, after centuries of silence, the bells of Christian churches rang once more for evening prayer across Damascus.
Everyone in Lothar's party stopped and listened intently.
After a long while, when the bells finally fell silent, Leopold smiled. "Your Majesty, from this day onward, Damascus is in your hands."
Lothar nodded faintly. "It seems the battle is settled. Sir Leopold, convey my orders. Inventory the palace's property, draw up ledgers, seal the halls, and keep idlers away. We still have much to