Drawing Cards in the Middle Ages to Rise in Ranks-Chapter 518 - 297: Phantom Spirit Knight

"That arrogant fool, a Germanic barbarian from the Jura Outer Mountain, dares to openly disregard the appointment of His Holiness the Pope, claiming he wants to serve the heretical Emperor!"

Sebastian vented his anger towards his servant.

"Does he think he is already a high and mighty king?"

The servant whispered in advice, "Cardinal, should we just head back and miss out on the most hopeful attempt to reclaim Egypt in hundreds of years?"

He pointed towards the Knight’s Jousting Arena not far away, where lines of Armored Archers and Iron Cavalry were slowly advancing in formation — their opponents were a group of Crusader Armored Soldiers.

The practice duel was splendid, the knights charged calmly like a hammer, while the armored soldiers stood steadfast, forming a tight square formation like an anvil.

"Look, my Cardinal, this is the army under Marquis Losa, this is a battle-hardened force, he is no mere Vassal Prince!"

Though they did not understand military matters, the prowess of these soldiers was evident even to an outsider.

Especially those Iron Cavalry with their horse armor, which made the European knights seem like a ragged band of beggars by comparison.

Sebastian’s heart trembled.

He recalled the words Losa had said before.

"It must be the Empress of Greece sponsoring him!"

"Otherwise, where would he get so much money to maintain such an elite force? His territories, Limassol, Hebron, Eira Port, even if he plundered them clean, he couldn’t gather this much wealth."

Sebastian, being a secretary by origin, had a sensitivity to numbers far beyond ordinary people.

With his hands behind his back, he paced for a long time before finally clenching his fist and striking the wooden stake in front of him, "You’re right, as the most devout servants of the Heavenly Lord, we absolutely cannot miss this grand event."

...

"Is he back again?"

Upon hearing footsteps, Losa asked without raising his head.

Kurs nodded, smiling slightly, "Master, your foresight is indeed admirable, I am impressed."

"Let him in."

Seeing Sebastian again, Losa’s attitude was much colder compared to the beginning, "Why does Your Excellency the Cardinal return? Is it to point at my nose again and insult my honor, claiming I am unworthy to wield the Holy Spear?"

Sebastian smiled somewhat awkwardly, "Marquis Losa, I know you resent me for once trying to seize control of the Divine Wood, which displeased you."

"But before knowing you were the Holy Spear Guardian, I only knew you as a secular lord; how could I understand your ability to control the Divine Wood, this Holy Object? Now I realize that you, being favored by divine grace, have miracles accompanying you, and the Divine Wood being guarded by you is most appropriate."

Losa carefully observed the slight expressions on Sebastian’s face, which were full of pent-up frustration.

He couldn’t help but shake his head; with mental strength and acting skills like that, he really couldn’t understand how Sebastian had managed to become a cardinal unless through connections.

"Cardinal, speak plainly."

Sebastian cleared his throat to cover up his embarrassment, "Marquis, what exactly do you want, feel free to say it."

"Want something?"

"Instead of asking what I want, it would be better to ask what you can offer me?"

After Losa finished speaking, he added, "Duke Raymond dispatched his second son, leading a thousand elite soldiers to pledge allegiance to me, and also sponsored a large amount of supplies, earning a title in the Duchy of Cyrenaica."

Sebastian immediately fell into deep thought, not finding fault with the trade of holy offices, but truly pondering what he could offer now?

Money?

Surely, Losa lacks none.

To afford such a wealth-exhibiting, opulent Armored Cavalry, with or without support from the Eastern Empire, proves conclusively that Losa lacks no money.

Army?

He is a cardinal, not a Monastic Knight, so even if he has a personal guard, the numbers are so few it’s pitiful; at most, he could only hire a mercenary group, but can mercenaries be considered elite?

Clearly not!

Even if the mercenary group he brought is considered reputable in the Apennine Region and its equipment decent, he knows full well that in terms of combat power, mercenaries fighting for money can in no way compare to truly devout Crusaders.

That leaves supplies!

Sebastian’s eyes lit up, and he said earnestly, "Marquis, I can send a letter in the name of His Holiness the Pope, requesting the monasteries and churches in the Holy Land to donate another batch of supplies to the Crusaders under your command."

"That would be excellent."

Losa replied without emotion, "But I still don’t know how many supplies there will be, and when they will arrive."

Sebastian gritted his teeth, "I will endeavor to gather enough military supplies for ten thousand men for three months as soon as possible!"

This sum of money is not a small amount, especially now with the soaring prices.

His private purse certainly doesn’t have this much money, but this is official business. Many of the funds donated by the parishioners he managed, who contributed to the Crusaders, as well as the money from purchasing indulgence certificates, are in his hands.

Investing this money in Losa is something no one can criticize.

But the money was originally intended as tribute for His Holiness the Pope.

Though he is a confidant of the Pope, what maintains this relationship? Isn’t it the unwavering tribute he sends every year? Otherwise, how could he have been appointed as the diocesan bishop of the Alexandria District immediately after the Church received the news?

Losa immediately put on a smiling face: "Please sit, dear Your Eminence the Cardinal, forgive my previous rudeness..."

A torrent of flattering words gushed forth, and Sebastian, who was used to hearing sweet words, was momentarily flattered, then slightly irritated—was this guy part dog, to change so quickly?

...

Arishe.

Nasser, under the glaring sun, raised his water jug to take a sip of the newly filled sweet spring water, which dispelled the heat in his heart.

Compared to the riding spear, he felt more suited to using a reed pen to write poetry in a room.

"What a pity, such sweet and pure spring water."

Watching the soldiers lifting the dead bodies, ready to throw them into the well, Nasser felt a twinge of regret.

This well had supported countless nomads and large livestock over the years, and now, it was about to be destroyed by the very people it had nurtured.

He turned his back, planning to use this feeling of regret to write a poem expressing his emotions. Suddenly, he heard the deafening sound of hooves and the panicked shouts of the soldiers beside him.

"Enemy attack!"

"It’s the Frankish winged cavalry!"

"Run, we are no match for them."

The battle ended swiftly.

Even though the winged cavalry had come from afar, under Hans’ leadership, they still effortlessly slaughtered the elite under the lord of Arishe, the sole survivor being the poetry-inclined Nasser.

Thus, the following account was recorded:

When I spotted the Frankish winged cavalry, I saw the leader wearing a helmet resembling a mighty bird of prey in flight, his eyes through the helmet’s slit were like those of a hungry wolf on the desolate nighttime plain.

And his mount, I can guarantee, it was more magnificent than any horse I had ever seen.

Its speed was like a spectral creature of the night, seemingly covering the distance to us in just a moment.

He swung a riding spear as black as pitch, like he was wielding an iron rod, and smashed poor Luther’s head before my eyes—my horse was terrified by the giant horse that seemed like a spectral entity.

I fell to the ground and had a leg broken by my poor, fainted horse.

...

Hans, wearing a helmet with wings, looked at the terrified Nasser and frowned: "Take this lucky guy away, interrogate his origins clearly!"

"Don’t kill me, don’t kill me!"

"Let me go, I promise to send someone to pay you the ransom, I swear on my family’s honor and my devotion to the Sacred Fire!"

Nasser was terrified, shouting loudly in the Saracen’s language, and Hans understood a few words, surprised: "You’re the lord of Arishe and Feilai Mai, son of Yasal?"

Nasser quickly nodded.

He could speak Greek but not the Frankish language.

"Take him away, ensure his safety."

Hans gestured to Ulm with a hooked finger: "Brother, this could be a big fish; whether we can extract more intelligence from him depends on you."

Ulm solemnly replied: "I understand, sir."

Hans jumped off his mount and patted the sleek neck armoured with horse armor of ’Eclipse’: "Buddy, did you enjoy this run?"

Eclipse lifted its head excitedly.

It had enough of staying in the stable or following the slow-paced marching troops. It needed to run freely, needed the exhilarating feeling of blood splattering on its body—so Hans brought it out for a run.

Hans smiled, whispered: "Remember our first agreement, don’t truly let loose because the master isn’t around—especially remember, no eating people, there’s jerky prepared in the saddlebag, I’ll feed you when no one’s around."

Eclipse nodded with human-like understanding.

"Good horse!"

Hans patted Eclipse’s neck again, then ordered solemnly: "Everyone, check if the water source is contaminated. If not, replenish the water on the spot, feed the mounts, we must get ready to depart again shortly."