Chapter 443: The Burning Crusade (Part 2)

“My lord, please believe me, this is a great honor. I have never seen him so pleased with anyone. Do not underestimate the door you have opened. It means you will have a future in Suleiman Shah’s court, even if it might not be right away.”

“I have my own career.”

“My lord, you need only know that when you are in need, the court of Suleiman Shah will always be open to you.”

“I am deeply honored,” Eric said with a smile, still nodding perfunctorily.

By now, the party could see the city gate. There were no guards at the gate itself; they were all on the battlements above, and the gate was wide open.

Though Eric found it a bit odd, he didn’t dwell on it. He just assumed it was all part of Suleiman Shah’s arrangements and continued toward the gate.

As they drew closer, Eric caught the scent of blood. Fresh blood. And it was growing stronger.

As he passed through the gateway, a drop of warm liquid fell onto his cheek. Eric wiped it away with a finger.

It was blood.

Then, something plummeted from the battlements, landing as if on cue right by Dost’s hooves. The horse snorted and immediately kicked the object away.

Despite Dost’s quick kick, it wasn’t difficult to see what the object was.

It was a torso, its four limbs severed. It was nailed to a broken Cross, upon which a phrase was written in ink in Arabic script—”False Convert.”

Eric tilted his head back and looked up at the battlements. Three large crosses hung there. Nailed to each Cross were dismembered body parts, sorted as if by category. One Cross held nothing but hands, another, nothing but feet.

The third Cross was covered in heads—the faces of Greeks and Franks. A small decorative Cross had been driven into each one, their features twisted in agony.

Without a doubt, those who had been so brutally murdered were Christians.

Turan and the Nobility following Eric out of the gateway were stunned by the scene.

Turan immediately roared in fury, “Who… Who was the bastard that ordered this! Who was it?!”

But the soldiers on the battlements merely exchanged glances, hesitating to reply.

“Idiots! Are you all blind? Do you not recognize me? I am Turan Hajiib, Chief Steward and Hunting Officer to Suleiman Shah!”

“My lord, of course I know who you are, the magnificent Lord Turan…”

A guard scratched his head, steeling himself to reply, but his words were cut off by a familiar voice.

“I gave the order. What about it, Turan?” A young man leaned out from the battlements, propping himself over an arrow slit and looking down condescendingly at Turan.

“Lord Turk.” Turan’s face went pale, and his voice held a slight tremble. “What are you doing here?”

“I was just wondering that myself.” Turk stroked his chin, feigning thought. “My beloved uncle told me to go wherever I please, so long as it’s not the palace. What’s wrong? Am I not allowed to be here? Are you planning on giving me orders, too?” Turk’s eyes narrowed. “Who do you think you are?”

“Of course, of course. There is certainly nothing to criticize if Lord Turk wishes to defend the city and serve His Majesty the Sultan.” A cold sweat broke out on Turan’s brow. “It’s just… His Majesty the Sultan has already promised Lord Gloucester that the Christians entering Antioch would also be under his protection.”

“Oh, is that so? My uncle is as just as ever, I see. He always did have a fondness for silver-tongued jesters and poets.” Turk looked at Eric, clapping with a smile. A moment later, the smile vanished. “But who said I executed them for being Christians? Did I execute Christians? Look closely! It is written here: ‘False Converts’!” Turk pointed to the Arabic script on the Cross. “False converts! These people are liars! Even in the Christian world, are not the faithless also put to death? Your Pope of Rome would not tolerate such acts. He is strict and abstinent, like a Cultivator—not like our own King of the Faithful in Baghdad, who spends his days chasing lust and greed. Am I right?”

Turk sneered. “Furthermore, may your road to Jerusalem be smooth and tranquil. Because of your friendship with the Land of Rom, I now applaud your journey. O, you abominable Warriors of Heresy, I praise you now, I praise you now.

Your arrival is fated! Your Power is unstoppable! Desecrate that city to your heart’s content! Though she is so holy, so incomparably great! You will brandish your Swords there, and adorn her streets with blood.

You will burn her sanctuaries with your shouts and turn her ancient scriptures to ash. Ah, great Jerusalem! So sacred, so revered, yet she cannot withstand the fervor of those who follow Heresy.

Desecrate her! Trample her glory!

May Allah protect you! May Allah protect you! May Allah protect you! May you always be safe, may you always be safe! O eloquent Earl of Gloucester.”

Cursing and laughing hysterically, Turk shouted the formal Arabian blessing, touching his hand to his chest and lips before giving a slight bow. Then, he turned and left the battlements.

Turan had an ugly expression on his face as he looked at Eric with concern. “Lord Eric…”

“It’s time to leave,” Eric said calmly to Turan, then shook the reins, urging Dost to move forward.