Damascus Square was packed with people.
Many of Damascus's citizens, guild leaders, and prominent dignitaries had been ordered to attend this ceremony—yes, not an execution, but Lothar's coronation as King of Damascus. The execution was merely an insignificant part of it.
These native Damascenes, still shaken by recent events, looked pale as they watched the Crusader Princes and knights, so clearly distinct from themselves, afraid that a single displeased word might bring slaughter upon them.
As a prisoner with a sack over his head was pushed onto the execution platform in the middle of the square, the atmosphere immediately grew far more solemn.
Some Damascenes who did not know the truth even thought Lothar had captured Saladin and intended to execute him before their eyes. Their faces could not help but show worry and grief.
But soon, a herald announced the man's identity—Reynald of Châtillon, a butcher who had repeatedly attacked Saracen border villages and whose hands were stained with countless lives.
For violating military law, murdering seventeen civilians, and plundering their wealth, he had been sentenced to hanging.
For a moment, all sides erupted in uproar.
"That heathen king actually established such military laws. No wonder those Frankish barb—soldiers have always been so restrained. The rumors truly cannot be fully trusted."
A potbellied merchant with a small mustache beside him smiled. "I said it long ago. The Franks have one body and one head, just like us. I often deal with them in the spice trade. Compared to our crafty compatriots, the shrewd Greeks, and the mercenary Persians, these Franks are much more likable."
Others were indignant. "He is deceiving us! This Reynald is a notorious fiend among the heathens. They are merely putting on a show. Just watch—I refuse to believe he will truly execute Reynald next. Devils