Reincarnated Into The Middle Ages

The next morning, Norn, who had been plied with copious amounts of wine the night before, was awakened by Sasan. With a hangover still clouding his mind, Norn shook his head, trying to clear his wits. The intense fighting of the previous day had taken a significant toll on his spirit, and the direct consequence was that Norn had indulged himself at the banquet the night before, using alcohol to completely numb himself. He didn't even remember when he had returned to the camp.

After washing up with cool, refreshing water, Norn finally dispelled the fog of the wine god and stepped out of his tent. The soft morning sunlight bathed the camp, and Norn strolled out, careful not to kick anyone. The ground was littered with sleeping mercenaries, who, like him, had relied on alcohol to numb themselves after the fierce battle. After all, they had also paid a heavy price for this victory.

To Norn's satisfaction, his guard still adhered to his rules, with the sentries remaining vigilant. However, seeing William, who was snoring loudly near his tent, and Patrick, who was using a wine bottle as a pillow, Norn couldn't help but shake his head in resignation. He took off his fur-lined cloak and covered them with it.

"My lord, please hurry! King Baldwin has summoned you for a council this morning," Sasan said.

Hearing Sasan's words, a vague memory flickered in Norn's mind; it seemed there was indeed such a matter. He had no choice but to quickly mount his horse with Sasan's assistance and gallop towards the castle.

As Norn approached the hall and heard the faint noise inside, he knew something was amiss.

"Attacking now is a death sentence! You brainless fool!"

"But retreating to the Holy City to hold our ground, we won't make it in time!"

Just as he expected, the hall was in chaos. King Baldwin sat in the main seat, with a map spread out on the long table in front of him, roughly depicting mountains, rivers, and some castles.

Norn had intended to slip in quietly like a shadow, but as soon as he entered, Count Renaud spotted him.

"Ah! Isn't this our little hero, Baron Norn?" Renaud's tone was full of mockery. In contrast, Grand Master Odo sternly said, "Norn, you rascal, stop dawdling and get over here!"

Norn immediately understood that his investment had paid off, and he quickly scurried to the side of the table with his head down.

King Baldwin glanced at Norn, waved his hand to let him off the hook, and continued to study the map.

Compared to the nobles' bickering, Norn was more concerned with the map. On the western side of the map, on a small castle, there were three infantry pieces holding kite shields and spears, and one knight piece charging on horseback. The details of the equipment were so lifelike that Norn instantly understood they represented his side.

Not far to the north of Ascalon Fortress, there was also a cluster of pieces representing Saladin's forces. As for the numbers, Norn didn't want to count; counting them would feel utterly hopeless.

"If Baron Norn could repeat yesterday's miracle, our army would surely be able to easily behead Saladin," Count Renaud suddenly made a very tempting suggestion.

Norn, who was still thinking, suddenly heard his name called and only then realized that everyone was eagerly looking at him.

"Sorry, I can't do it again," Norn regretfully shook his head. Seeing the disappointed faces, Norn had to explain that he had accidentally discovered that gunpowder used in fireworks could explode if sealed in a confined space. However, saltpeter, which is used to make gunpowder, could only be imported from the Saracens and was extremely scarce. The supply he had used yesterday was all he had accumulated over the years.

Everyone was greatly disappointed, but King Baldwin remained unmoved. He glanced at Jerusalem, then at Ascalon Fortress, and suddenly asked, "Norn, which route did you take to get here?"

Confused, Norn traced his path on the map, showing that he had traveled almost in a straight line from Jerusalem to Ascalon Fortress in the southwest, crossing the desert.

Baldwin calculated the time and couldn't help but blurt out, "This route is at least 120 kilometers. How did you get here so quickly?"

Norn then explained that his small army had procured enough wagons and draft horses, and by traveling light, they were able to move so swiftly.

King Baldwin turned to Grand Master Odo thoughtfully and asked with certainty, "If I remember correctly, Taj al-Din said Saladin planned to move north from Ascalon, along the Mediterranean coast, right?"

"Yes, Your Highness! Saladin's large army would face difficulties in resupplying along the way," Grand Master Odo seemed to realize something as well, continuing, "He would not cross the waterless desert directly but would follow the populated towns to ensure supplies."

King Baldwin's gaze followed the towns of various sizes, from Ascalon northward, then eastward, and finally to the north of Jerusalem.

"Baron Norn! Take us there!" King Baldwin pushed his piece to a spot on the map, weak but with an undeniable tone, "There! We will decide our fate with Saladin!"

Late the next night, a Mamluk cavalryman, covered in wounds, galloped along the coast, not daring to stop for a moment. The three horses he had brought for rotation had already been reduced to the one beneath him, which was now panting heavily. But the knight still dared not relax, constantly whipping his horse to squeeze out its last bit of energy.

Finally, a camp with flickering lights appeared on the horizon. The cavalryman rejoiced and whipped his horse again.

"Giddy up!"

As he neared the camp, the horse finally gave out, letting out a mournful neigh as it collapsed to the ground, blood frothing from its mouth. The cavalryman, who had barely crawled out from under the horse, ignored his mount's pitiful cries and staggered towards the camp.

Fortunately, the commotion of the horse caught the attention of the guards at the gate. By the time they noticed, the messenger had already collapsed to the ground, blood still seeping out.

"Urgent military news! I must see the Sultan!" The cavalryman's already hoarse throat croaked out a dry voice. The injured rider was immediately carried to Saladin's royal tent.

Saladin, who had already retired for the night, rushed to the messenger in a cotton robe. Usually gentle, he now shouted, "Physician! Where is my physician?"

Looking at the shouting Saladin, the dying cavalryman, in a final burst of strength, grabbed Saladin's right hand and said with his last breath, "Taj al-Din... has been defeated! The King of Jerusalem... the entire army... marching northeast... to reinforce Jerusalem!"

With his last mission accomplished, the cavalryman's body went limp, and the last glimmer of life in his eyes faded.

The previously noisy tent fell silent instantly. Saladin, looking at the loyal Mamluk cavalryman, was filled with pain and regret. He knelt in front of the rider, slowly closed the rider's eyes with his right hand, and continuously recited prayers for the soldier. Everyone around him also knelt and joined Saladin in praying for the rider.

The entire royal tent was solemn.

After a long while, the prayer finally ended. Saladin sorrowfully brushed his hand over the rider's cheek, "May you return to the embrace of the True God and find your place in paradise."

After the others carried the rider's body out of the tent, Saladin, who had been sitting listlessly on the couch, slowly got up, took an oil lamp from a slave, and walked to the map. His eagle-like gaze moved from Ascalon, following the northeast direction, to Jerusalem. Saladin closed his eyes, with various possibilities flashing through his mind, as if trying to find some clue.

"Are you afraid, Baldwin?"

"Emir!" Saladin slowly opened his eyes after finishing his contemplation and issued his command: "Order half of the army to disperse tomorrow and raid the villages and towns along the way."

"Will you come out of Jerusalem?" Saladin seemed to be asking someone.