Chapter 451 - 320: The Situation Isn’t Too Bad Yet

"There’s still time. I know a good place nearby that will take us in. There’s wine and women. We can wait until Yajisiyan’s soldiers have had their fill of killing, then come back here.

I promise you, we’ll still be welcomed back. We can return as saviors, or as some kind of Messiah.

Trust me, I can think of a good reason. I have a knack for fooling those idiots.

Now is the best time to leave. Any later and the roads will be blocked.

So let’s leave together. Also, I hope you have some spare horses to carry my spoils from the last few days. Don’t worry, I’m willing to split them with you.

I like Normans, because they’re never fanciful or unrealistic. I’ve always gotten along well with Normans.

Come on, come on, tell me your choice, my Norman messiah."

Bagrat tightened the turban on his head and said to Eric with a smile.

Then, without waiting for Eric’s reply, he left him behind and walked out of the passageway. He leaped onto the high platform where the leaders were standing and shoved aside one of the men in his way. The unlucky fellow stumbled and fell right off the platform. As he was helped up, blood pouring from his nose, he wasn’t cursing Bagrat but shouting, "Hallelujah!"

Bagrat paid it no mind. He let out a smooth, piercing whistle that cut through the crowd’s cheers, drawing glances from several people.

"Shameless fools! Vile scoundrels! Let us once again cheer for our Sword of Heaven! Forget your cowardice and your sins! Roar and praise with all your might! The Lord of Heaven is by our side now! By His will, we have our Saint George.

Therefore, sin! Sin freely! Everything is permitted, everything is approved! In His holy name! In His holy name!

Your souls are forgiven! Let your flesh bear the sins!"

"Praise the Lord!"

"Praise the Lord!"

"..."

The crowd roared, not minding Bagrat’s insulting names for them in the slightest.

Bagrat and the nineteen Norman adventurers who followed him were not exactly Mercenaries, nor were they devout believers, nor did they feel much pity for the tragic plight of the Eastern Christians.

Landless and with nowhere to go, they had become wandering scoundrels in the Near East, much like Eric’s father, Giscard, before them. Profit-driven and unscrupulous, it was their only way of life.

After learning that the Pope had launched the Crusaders, they used the Crusaders’ name in the Near East. Leveraging Bagrat’s own Identity as Armenian Royal Family, they deceived any Eastern Christians dissatisfied with the rule of the Turkic People, inciting and leading them to attack the local Heretics.

When the Heretics organized a large army, they would turn and plunder their fellow Christians, fleeing before the army arrived. Then, without a shred of guilt, they would find the next Christian village to deceive.

Finally, amid the cheers, Bagrat jumped off the platform, entered the passageway, and quickly returned to Eric’s side.

"My Count, this is child’s play for me. The glory of God, igniting cruel bloodshed, fanned by lies, and the Messiah shines in the East.

They cry out for Saint George, not Saint Paul, because Saint George speaks through the sword!" Bagrat laughed heartily. (Saint Paul is known as the "Peace Saint," while Saint George is known as the "Warrior Saint.")

"I’m going to punch you so hard all the nonsense falls out of your head." Eric kicked at Bagrat, but Bagrat sidestepped and dodged it easily, not at all annoyed. "You’re getting innocent people killed for your despicable actions."

"What a joke. If a man commits murder, do you punish the murderer, or the one who sold him the knife?" Bagrat sneered. "My dear Count."

"You should learn to live up to your Identity. If you still remember you come from the Armenian Royal Family." Eric tried to restrain his anger.

"Identity? Don’t make me laugh. That was eight hundred years ago. Do I look like I belong to a Royal Family? I don’t even own a plot of land the size of a cowhide. I can be called Bagrat, and you could be called Bagrat too.

This title is just a tool to me. If it can get me gold and land, I’d destroy it in an instant."

Bagrat suddenly noticed that Eric had drawn his Longsword at some point.

"Are you planning to fight me? No, you won’t. If you’re rational enough, you know a moment of satisfaction is meaningless. And it’s not worth it for these idiots and fools."

Bagrat slowly backed away. Three Norman adventurers also noticed Eric’s Thrusting Sword. The candlelight reflected off the blade, creating a harsh glare.

They moved toward him, positioning themselves in front of Bagrat.

"Count Eric, don’t do this. We shouldn’t be enemies. We all have our own ways of surviving. You can’t expect a landless man to live by the same code as a landed one." Guymer Crespin also stepped in front of Bagrat. Seeing no reaction from Eric, he drew his Sword and continued, "What we’re doing is no worse than what your father did back in his day."

Eric’s gaze was like a knife, and the Longsword in his hand glinted with a cold light. He wasted no more words. He swung his sword fiercely, the back of the blade crashing down on the first adventurer’s head like a hammer. The man instantly lost consciousness and collapsed in a faint.

Eric gave him no chance to breathe. He spun around, the Sword Back striking the second adventurer in the chest with immense force. The man only had time to let out a pained groan before he was sent flying, falling to the ground, unable to get back up.

The third adventurer tried to draw his sword and counterattack, but Eric swept the Sword Back around with the speed of lightning. The heavy blow struck the back of the man’s neck, and the adventurer fell like a puppet with its strings cut.

Eric gave them no chance, using only the Sword Back to swiftly and precisely subdue all three of them.

He looked down coldly at the three figures on the ground without a hint of pity. Bagrat’s face turned a little pale watching this, but he still hadn’t lost his confidence, still wearing that same disdainful smile.

Guymer lowered his head and fell silent for a moment, appearing to weigh the situation. He clearly had his own calculations. Although he was Bagrat’s accomplice, he wasn’t one of the blind followers who believed unquestionably in everything Bagrat did. The Eric before him—powerful and decisive—seemed far more dangerous than he had imagined.

"Count Eric..." Guymer finally spoke, his voice tinged with hesitation. "We don’t have to fight like this. You know we each have our own way of surviving. You don’t need to waste so much time on one Armenian.

You’re a smart man, Count Eric. You see through Bagrat’s nature, but can you extricate yourself from this situation?"

Eric suddenly laughed and sheathed his Thrusting Sword. "I just know I have no reason to let a waste of space who can’t satisfy Christ or me leave here content.

There are a lot of people like that lately, and it’s starting to piss me off.

Guymer, shut your mouth now, or I won’t be able to stop myself from killing you all."

Eric continued to approach Bagrat.

"You madman, what do you want?" Bagrat said slowly, still dismissive.

"Stay or die," Eric replied in a low voice, his gaze fixed on Bagrat.

Bagrat narrowed his eyes, feeling the almost palpable aura coming from Eric, one that could tear a man apart.

The next moment, Eric sneered, and the back of his sword slammed viciously into Bagrat’s face. Bagrat’s face instantly contorted, blood spurted from the corner of his mouth, and his eyes nearly lost focus from the blow.

Bagrat’s body swayed, and then he fell on his ass, looking like a dying fool.

"You psycho, you dare hit me?"

Before Bagrat could even get angry, another vicious slap landed on his face. The force of the blow nearly spun him around, his face instantly turning crimson as he let out a muffled grunt.

Bagrat fell to the ground, clutching his swelling face and feeling a stinging pain.

"Motherf..."

Bagrat gritted his teeth, but in the next instant, another slap, even harder this time. Bagrat’s head snapped back, and a trickle of blood escaped the corner of his mouth. His vision swam, and for a moment, it was as if he saw a flock of birds fluttering before his eyes.

"I’ll stay! I’ll stay!"

SMACK—

Bagrat was spun around again. The force of this slap even made his ears ring. Dizzy and seeing spots, he nearly collapsed. Another huge red mark instantly appeared on his face.

"Hey, I said I’ll stay! Why are you still hitting me."

"Did I say I’d stop hitting you if you stayed? Hmm?"

Then Eric stepped back and ordered a few Knights who had noticed the commotion and approached, "Beat him. Beat him until he’s smoking."

Eric had never been so furious. He felt like his luck had hit rock bottom.

...

’The situation isn’t that bad yet,’ Eric tried to convince himself.

Although he had learned from Bagrat that Yajisiyan, the master of Hama City, had abandoned Suleiman and switched his allegiance to Tutush.

Suleiman’s edicts were no longer effective, but Suleiman’s side was completely unaware of Yajisiyan’s betrayal.

Therefore, by using Turandot’s Identity as Suleiman Shah’s special envoy, Eric could make a big play. Turandot had also said that to repay Eric for his previous kindness, he was willing to give his all to help him, even if it meant going through fire and water.

This could at least delay Yajisiyan’s suppressive forces, giving Eric time to summon troops from Shazha Castle.

’The situation isn’t that bad. Yes, it’s not that bad,’ Eric comforted himself as he lay in bed.

Until, in the middle of the night, Eric, who had finally managed to fall asleep, was woken by Leif.

"Eric, Turandot and his Turkic Cavalry are gone."

More and more things were slipping beyond Eric’s control.

For the first time in his life, Eric felt he had been foolish and naive, even a little childish.

’Perhaps this was all part of Suleiman Shah’s plan from the start.’