Drawing Cards in the Middle Ages to Rise in Ranks-Chapter 430 - 114: Alandler’s Summoning Decree

Alandler.

Scattered estates and villages are spread along the oasis.

Shepherds drive their flocks over the small hills.

The azure sky is cloudless.

Such a scene of peace and tranquility.

Old Hassan squats in the mountain hollow, with a camel grazing beside him, and a trickling stream flowing through the gorge below. The stream is crystal clear. Scooping a handful, drinking it on such a hot day, is simply a supreme enjoyment.

As the Water Protector, he is responsible for guarding this stream, preventing it from being used by those foolish shepherds to drive their flocks here to drink.

After all, it’s a drinking water channel!

Since the tribe migrated here, the lives of the tribespeople have become much more prosperous.

At least they can fill their bellies now.

As long as they work, they can fill their stomachs and even save some money to buy wine.

Each year, not many tribespeople die in vain because of fighting over water sources and grasslands.

For a nomadic tribe, how extravagant such a wish seemed in the past!

He turned back to look at the end of the azure sky, where he could vaguely see the crown of an oak tree.

This is a sapling of the Tree of Life, originally just a small branch. Now, after a few months, it’s a giant tree that requires ten people to embrace. Hassan, who once led his tribe across the entire Arabian Desert, is deeply shocked.

"Praise Heavenly Father, under its shade, even the desert will sprout bubbling springs."

Old Hassan drew a cross on his chest.

In the distance, a young rider on a dromedary camel came galloping. He deftly leapt off the camel’s back and handed old Hassan a slightly yellowed piece of paper stamped with a Double-headed Eagle seal.

"Sheikh (Clan Leader), King Saladin is about to fight the Crusaders. The mobilization order has reached us, requiring us to provide ten light cavalrymen skilled in archery, each with their own mount."

"Just this?"

Old Hassan was somewhat surprised.

In the past, under Piercer Rauf’s command, whenever war broke out, at least half of the tribe’s over a hundred adult men were drafted, in addition to additional livestock, feathers for making arrows, and leather for making shield covers.

"Just this!"

The young rider’s face showed no worry about the impending war, instead, there was a kind of eagerness.

Old Hassan couldn’t help but laugh, "Thanks to my foresight, it must be because I led everyone to convert to the Cross Sect, showed our sincerity, and earned such treatment for our Shayue Tribe."

The young rider jested, "Ha ha, Sheikh, what kind of conversion is that? There’s still a Holy Fire Banner hidden in the woodshed."

"You little rascal, I’m just afraid that one day..."

Old Hassan stopped abruptly.

Due to their habit of nomadic life, the local officials allowed his tribe to continue living as a tribe. However, his authority as a sheikh was greatly diluted, with a Protector specifically appointed to govern them.

He is considered as a kind of superior to his part-time "Water Protector" role.

In reality, just a civilian official.

The Kurds cannot put down the whip and pick up the hoe. With their riding skills, they are often summoned by local officials to carry out some auxiliary patrol tasks to guard against those swift Bedouin nomads.

Old Hassan, who had labored for the tribe for most of his life, finally laid down his burden. While feeling relieved, he also couldn’t help but feel some sense of loss: "What’s written on it?"

The young rider laughed sheepishly, "I don’t know the words on it. Even the Franks themselves probably don’t recognize nine-tenths of the Frankish language. But I got this ’summoning decree’ from the Ulm Patrol Officer."

"He said this is a contract — stipulating the duties and obligations of our summoned people, oh, and the rights. The Ulm Knight said that if we achieve meritorious deeds, we might even be knighted!"

The young man’s face, tanned by the sun, was filled with excitement.

Old Hassan laughed, "If Lord Ulm said it, then indeed there’s no doubt."

Ulm had once helped old Hassan recover the tribe’s life-saving money. He was also the benefactor busy arranging their settlement when the tribe migrated here.

In this process, he didn’t take a single penny—which, in old Hassan’s and even the entire tribe’s eyes, seemed so unbelievable.

They didn’t know what chivalric spirit was, nor what the eight virtues were. But even if they didn’t know their content, Ulm’s image still remained the perfect knightly image in the eyes of the Shayue Tribe.

"Derum."

Old Hassan became serious.

The young man, rarely called by his full name, appeared a bit uneasy. Though he had traversed outside, believing he could converse with those Lord Knights and could be considered somebody, he still felt like a mouse meeting a cat when his Sheikh became serious.

"The battlefield isn’t a child’s play. It’s completely different from solving a few Bedouin robbers on patrol or, after getting drunk, arranging a brawl with others."

"Sheikh, I know."

Derum mumbled, "Those Lord Knights and the lord’s regular army wear sturdy armor. Even if they stand still, my blade wouldn’t harm them. The few sets of armor in our tribe are nearly rusted into iron lumps."

"But Sheikh."

Derum raised his head, his expression unusually firm, "I want to make a name for myself. The life here is what we have always dreamed of. If the Shayue Tribe wants to establish a foothold here, someone must rise to prominence."

"Not everyone is as noble as the Ulm Knight. I hope we don’t end up encountering a greedy official or lord who demands excessively and leaves us oppressed."

Old Hassan looked into the young man’s earnest eyes and spat, "Don’t act in front of me, you young rascal. Aren’t you just eyeing my set of armor?"

Derum paused and sheepishly laughed, "You saw through me?"

Old Hassan snorted coldly, "You little goat, dare to play tricks in front of an old wolf like me. Stand here with me till the end of this watch."

"Okay."

Derum readily agreed.

"Sheikh, have you agreed to lend it to me?"

"Bah, if Moody hadn’t died on the road, how could my treasure armor have fallen to a little cub like you?"

Old Hassan felt a bit sorrowful. He originally had sons, but on the road fleeing from Rauf’s territory, they were killed by pursuing troops—both of them died. Even though Saladin is of Kurdish descent, that didn’t stop these Bedouin lords from treating outsiders like them as beneath notice.

Derum resolutely said, "Dad, from today onwards, Sheikh, you are my father."

"Scram."

Old Hassan cursed, "You little brat, go find your own dad, don’t randomly claim kin. After this watch, come home with me to get the armor, and remember, bring it back to me just as it was."

Derum paused, "Dad, can your armor compare to Ulm Knight’s? His armor takes a cut from the Bedouin robbers and only leaves a mark. Your armor... I fear a few more hits, and it’ll just fall apart."

Old Hassan blew his beard and glared in anger, "Nonsense! This set of treasure armor has saved my life countless times, and you’re looking down on it. Get lost, get lost, I won’t lend it to you anymore."