Drawing Cards in the Middle Ages to Rise in Ranks-Chapter 460 - 242: The Plan Unfolds (Part 2)

The Mamluk soldiers sitting around the campfire were having their dinner.

A member of the Imperial Guard with a Jewish background was loudly boasting about his experience of killing a two-headed snake monster: "I used a round shield to block the petrifying rays of the monster, pretended to be paralyzed, and when it got close, delivered a lethal strike!"

"By the holy fire, you would hardly imagine how terrifying the monster’s blood is. As soon as my treasure sword stabbed in, only the guard and the hilt were left after a while. If I’d released my grip a bit later, the deadly poison would have corroded my hand too."

A story full of holes.

Yet, the Mamluks listening intently continued to ask about what happened next.

Fulk tore the wheat cake into small pieces and soaked them in the lamb soup; the cake absorbed the broth and became soft and delicious.

Everyone knew this guy was boasting; the two-headed snake monster was a taboo creature in the desert, more terrifying than a scorpion-tailed lion. It’s said that its size is as large as an aggressive dragon, and even without using deadly petrifying rays or its drool that can turn a clear spring into poisonous water, its massive strength can easily kill elephants.

Yet, a free storyteller added pleasant variety to the monotonous camp life.

Especially now, with casters being involved in the war, soldiers were particularly interested in legendary novels.

"The food isn’t bad, right?"

Fulk’s master sat next to him: "I spent a lot of money preparing this for you. The Mamluks in old Zarr’s camp next door can only have thin porridge tonight."

"It’s really good."

Fulk had to admit this; in the camp, it was delightful to drink a warm bowl of lamb soup after a day’s toil.

"You still won’t call me ’Master’?"

Fulk remained silent.

He had no intention of abandoning his faith; he would have run away long ago if he could.

But since the Saracen army experienced a night raid, they took camp defense more seriously than before.

Attempting to escape the camp was difficult both day and night.

"Fulk,"

The man chuckled lightly: "If you won’t call, that’s fine. At least call me by my name."

The firelight reflected on Fulk’s face; he hesitated but then smiled: "Your name is too long for me to remember."

"Just call me Abdullah like everyone else."

Fulk teased: "But if I shout Abdullah, at least half of the people will stand up to respond in this camp."

Abdullah means "servant of Sun God Ra" and is a common name among Fire Worship followers.

"Then call me Ivan; that was my former name."

Fulk promptly responded: "Mr. Ivan."

"Mr. Fulk."

The two exchanged smiles.

Fulk felt a warmth in his heart, and he had to admit, meeting a good master like Ivan was his fortune.

"Finish up, we still have those big animals to feed."

Ivan urged.

He didn’t notice a blood-red outline fleeting in the shadow behind him.

...

Ivan and Fulk pushed a heavy cart through the camp.

Behind them was a brigade of servants pushing carts full of cattle and sheep—this was the reason the Saracens’ rations had been diminishing lately.

These big animals consumed rations daily equivalent to a Persian war elephant, and they ate meat.

"If it continues like this, we’ll end up eating vegetables daily before even defeating the Franks."

Ivan sighed lightly.

Fulk remained silent, yet felt some joy in his heart. He could clearly sense the implementation of a rationing system these days; the staple stayed just about enough, but the meat allocated daily for cavalrymen had continually decreased.

Yet, combined with Saladin’s prestige and religious zeal, such trivialities hardly affected the Saracens’ morale.

"Ivan, how do you see today’s duel?"

Ivan raised his eyebrows: "We won, brother, that’s it—I know it doesn’t seem honorable to you, but as our king said, Lord Venezia was blessed by the holy fire, not a monster."

"Do you really believe it?"

Ivan paused a little, responding evasively: "The opponent wasn’t normal either. If they were normal, who could spin such a heavy iron spear like a windmill? Who knows what lies beneath that human skin, perhaps a devil."

Fulk insisted on asking: "You don’t believe it either, right?"

"Shut up."

Ivan complained a bit impatiently: "You can’t just say such things casually. I don’t care what kind of monster it is; as long as it helps us win this war, even a monster could be a good one."

He spoke quickly: "If we win, my master might grant me a prosperous city as territory—I’m eligible, and then you’d be my left and right arms, with endless spices, wealth, and women, so stop saying such foolish things!"

Fulk remained silent.

Inside, he felt strong guilt and fear because Ivan’s description of a bright future genuinely tempted him.

If they truly won the war, his barren land of Languedoc seemed irrelevant.

...

Kurs merged into the shadow of darkness, silently watching the scene here.

Unexpectedly encountering an acquaintance in the enemy camp—Fulk once recuperated his injuries in Hebron’s castle.

But he had no intention of revealing himself to Fulk.

The Saracen camp is as large as the Crusaders’, filled with numerous accompanying merchants responsible for selling goods, maintaining logistics, and purchasing spoils.

No better opportunity for infiltration than them.

Before the Saracen army even set out, the "Shadow of Darkness" had already placed agents, following the blood imprint left on them allowed precise identification of these informants.

In the early hours just before dawn, Kurs gracefully exited the Saracen camp.

...

The sleepless yet spirited Losa kept his head down as he watched Kurs drift into the room: "Is everything done?"

"It’s done."

"You didn’t do anything extra, right?"

Kurs replied respectfully: "I just glanced at the enemy caster’s camp from afar and left; their guards are very strict, approaching even a little triggers detection arrays, assassinating them is difficult."

Losa frowned: "Kurs, as an Assassin Master, please assess Celina’s chances if she were to assassinate a single enemy caster and retreat successfully."

Kurs spoke softly: "Sorry, my lord, I wish I could reassure you it’s promising, but..."

Losa interrupted him: "How probable is it?"

Kurs shook his head: "I cannot estimate an exact number, but there’s at least a thirty percent chance. However, this assumes Celina faces two strong casters attacking during assassination; if the enemy in Egypt has only one or is weaker than the casters in the Saladin camp, the chance increases considerably."

Losa gently sighed: "Hopefully, all goes well."

...

Early morning hit the Saracen camp, and chaos rapidly spread.

A partially devoured corpse was discovered in a hidden corner.

The body bore horrific teeth marks, and its chest and abdomen were cut open; alluring innards vanished, and several pitch-black triangular scales lay scattered nearby.

With the aid of interested parties, in mere hours, rumors about Saladin’s casters having a cannibal evil beast spread like a tempest through the entire camp.

Once all the camps counted the missing persons.

People were terrified to find that just last night, over a hundred people disappeared, and their bodies, similarly devoid of innards, were later found in various hidden corners.