Reincarnated Into The Middle Ages

Thanks to Norn's alcohol, many wounded soldiers successfully avoided infection, and over half of them managed to keep their limbs and even their lives. Both the healed soldiers and the attending monks and nuns praised it as a blessing from the Lord, channeled through the Adler family to protect the Crusaders.

As the news spread, it didn't take long for Patriarch Bertrand to show up at Norn's doorstep.

A magnificent carriage, adorned with gold-threaded filigree, slowly pulled up in front of Norn's manor, followed by numerous monks, servants, and a few Church knights for protection.

The Patriarch, dressed in a gold-threaded white robe, wore an ornate bishop's miter and held a scepter in one hand, while a massive ruby ring adorned the other. He looked to be in his fifties, his white hair a testament to a life of privilege that gave him an air of authority.

With great elegance, the Patriarch stepped down from the carriage, using a servant's back as a step. Facing Norn, who had come to greet him, he offered a faint smile and extended his right hand.

Norn knew this was the Patriarch's expectation of a "kiss hand" gesture. But the idea of kissing an old man's hand was something Norn just couldn't stomach.

Before the Patriarch's hand was fully extended, Norn quickly stepped forward and grasped it with both hands, shaking it vigorously. "Your Eminence, your presence here is an honor beyond words for the Adler family."

The Patriarch's brow furrowed slightly at this unconventional greeting, but then he softened, remembering that Norn was just a young baron from a small village. "Baron Norn, may the Lord bless you."

Norn put on his best show of humility, as if being blessed by the Patriarch was the greatest honor he could imagine. After a few moments of polite small talk, Norn led the Patriarch and his entourage into the manor.

In the courtyard, several Danish mercenaries, recovering from their wounds, were lounging in the sun. These burly Norsemen, having used alcohol to stave off infection, were healing quickly and were now able to move around freely. They were showing off their muscular physiques, cracking crude jokes in Danish.

The mercenaries didn't even pause their activities as the Patriarch's group approached. Accustomed to the Church's teachings more as a formality than a belief, they had little reverence for the high-ranking clergyman.

Seeing the noisy group, Norn feigned irritation and stormed over. He aimed a kick at one of the mercenaries' backsides, but given the man's height, he settled for a solid kick to the shin instead.

"Scram, you lot! Don't mar the view for His Eminence."

The mercenary leader, who would have normally taken offense and thrown a punch, simply shrugged. After all, Norn was a kid, and he was the one providing food, drink, and medical care. "Sure thing, boss," he grumbled, and the group dispersed.

"Apologies, Your Eminence. These country folk have little sense of propriety," Norn said with a sheepish grin, though he knew full well he had orchestrated the whole scene.

"These are warriors who have fought valiantly for the Lord against the infidels. A little rudeness cannot erase their bravery," the Patriarch replied with a smile, though he couldn't help but ask, "Have they also received the Lord's blessing?"

Norn nodded fervently, his face a picture of zealotry.

Satisfied, Norn led the Patriarch to a storage room. He made a dramatic sign of the cross and pointed to the door with an air of excitement. "Inside lies the blessing bestowed upon us by the Lord."

As the heavy door creaked open, a cloud of steam billowed out, carrying with it the rich aroma of wine. For a moment, everyone seemed entranced.

When the mist cleared, a large distillation apparatus was revealed. On the cooling iron pot, Norn had painted a bright red cross.

Approaching the device, Norn explained to the Patriarch, "Behold, this is the blood of the Son, blessed by the Church—wine."

A servant poured a bucket of wine, purchased at great expense from the monastery, into the clay pot, beginning the distillation process.

Norn then took a clay jug and poured a stream of water, which had been blessed by the local bishop that very morning, into the cooling pot. "This is holy water, sanctified just this morning."

As the distillation continued, steam filled the air once more, and the intoxicating scent grew stronger. Pure, colorless liquid began to drip from the wooden tube into a small clay bottle.

"This is the Lord's blessing!" Norn held up the bottle of alcohol, his voice rising in fervor. "When the wine, symbolizing the blood of the Son, is purified by the flames and meets the holy water in the sanctified pot, it is transformed!"

"This is the legendary holy water!" Thomas, one of Norn's men planted in the crowd, exclaimed in awe, dropping to one knee in prayer.

Many of the onlookers, unaware of the trick, followed suit, bowing and praying fervently, thanking the Lord for His divine favor.

The Patriarch and his knights were also visibly impressed. Though they were no strangers to deception, seeing Norn use such simple tools and Church-sanctioned materials to produce this fragrant liquid from the wine was nothing short of miraculous.

"This legendary holy water cannot be exposed to air for long, or it will return to the Son," Norn explained, his voice dripping with reverence. "It represents the Son's mercy, capable of driving out all evil and relieving the pain of fever when applied to the body."

"It also serves as a warning from the Son," Norn continued. "Anyone unclean who comes into contact with it will find peace from their suffering."

Norn felt like he had truly embodied the role of a cult leader, his performance a perfect blend of fervor, fanaticism, and just a touch of madness. He was sure he could win an Oscar for Best Leading Man.

The Patriarch, witnessing Norn's passionate display and recalling all he had heard and seen about this holy water, was now filled with a fervent belief.

"This is the Lord's blessing!" The Patriarch took the bottle of alcohol from Norn's hand, his voice trembling. "This is the essence of the Son's blood! This is the Son's blessing upon humanity!"

With a face radiating sanctity and zeal, the Patriarch raised the bottle and drank deeply.

Norn was almost blown away by the Patriarch's audacity. "He actually drank that stuff!"

Sure enough, as soon as the Patriarch swallowed the alcohol, his face turned bright red. His already trembling body shook even more violently. After a few desperate struggles, he collapsed into the arms of his servant. His eyes glazed over as if he were seeing heaven, a smile playing on his lips as he muttered indistinct prayers.

Clearly, the Patriarch was in no state to stay. His attendants had no choice but to help him back into the carriage. Before they closed the door, the Patriarch seemed to regain a bit of clarity and vaguely pointed at Norn. "Norn, very well..."

Watching the carriage disappear into the distance, Norn couldn't help but wonder if he had overdone it and completely bamboozled the old man.