A Crusader with System in the Middle Ages

Participating in the trial was just a small episode.

Eric just hadn’t expected his reputation to take off so quickly in Caen City.

It was the first murder trial Caen City had seen in months, so it had drawn a great deal of attention.

Life was bitter, the future was bleak, and a bit of novelty was the only pleasure to be had.

Many people who had only joined partway through caught bits and pieces of secondhand information. Others hadn’t been there at all, but they all joined the clamor, claiming to have witnessed everything and even participated in the debate. They began to hold court in the taverns, regaling everyone with tales of that day’s spectacle.

A Cultivator from England versus a venerable Abbot—what a juicy headline.

Thanks to Eric’s line of reasoning: ”If someone dies in a tavern, the owner should be the one to explain!”

Quite a few bored people started mimicking him, making special trips to taverns just to cheekily repeat the line.

The tavern owners were now delighted to hear it; the business it brought in could last them for days. Some even hired a few destitute poets and writers to give dramatic retellings in their establishments, drawing in many peasants who had come to town for the market.

Soon, everyone knew: ”An eloquent sage has come to Caen City, and he made the corrupt Priests take a fall.”

The only unhappy ones were likely Dean Rez, Priest Kenji, and the Cultivators of the Monastery. Whenever they were spotted, people would shout, ”Loves his brother more than he loves God!”

Some of the more devout Cultivators began to flagellate themselves, begging for God’s mercy. Others started to argue, pointing fingers and shirking responsibility.

Eric, however, paid little attention to all this. He had more pressing matters on his mind.

They were about to depart.

Sesil was preparing to leave, but Eric saw no army or Knights arriving to escort her.

There was only a single carriage waiting in front of the Monastery.

Eric quickly understood. ’She plans to use us as her escort to save a bit of money.’

”Let’s get to work, men. Hoisting a flag on the mast takes little effort, but trying to lower it again will come at a great cost, our honor included.”

Eric planted a banner on the flatbed cart being pulled behind a horse. He then dusted off his hands and looked at the ”Warriors” standing behind him.

To make the journey easier, he had spent some money on three old packhorses and a few used flatbed carts to transport his Warriors. Packhorses were far cheaper than Warhorses.

”Here’s an advance on your pay. It’ll cover your expenses for the next few days. When we get to Rouen, I’ll give you the rest to make up your full monthly wage.”

He then opened a chest, took out the money inside, and handed it to each of them.

Two shillings for each man.

This was less than the average monthly wage for a Mercenary. Eric was worried some of them might desert, so he deliberately shorted them.

”I’ve decided. My Warband will be called the ’Divine Hand.’ The left hand of God displays His might! The right hand of God shall raise me high!”

The moment the words left Eric’s mouth, Leif raised his hand, clearly unhappy with the name.

”Hey, I know what you’re going to say. Leif, you son of a bitch, I’ve had it with you!”

Eric grabbed Leif’s arm, gave him a thump on the chest, and then stuffed three shillings into his breast pocket.

”I gave you an extra shilling,” Eric whispered. ”Don’t push it. I’m trying to lead this outfit, so give me a break. You’re putting me in a tough spot.”

Leif said nothing, just held up three fingers.

”It’s a wonder you don’t burst. You bastard.”

Eric pursed his lips and then shoved two more shillings at him.

The very instant the two shillings were shoved into his pocket, Leif dropped to the ground, putting on a show of excruciating pain.

The corner of Eric’s mouth twitched as he watched Leif’s ham-fisted acting.

”See that? That’s what happens when you don’t listen to advice,” Eric said, pointing to the theatrical Leif on the ground. ”Let me be clear. I don’t want to hear what you think. All you need to know is that what *I* think is what matters most.”

The men looked at each other, unsure what to make of it all.

Hessin glanced around, his thoughts a mystery. He stood at the very back, as he was the Navigator and Shipwright.

Soon enough, it was his turn. Eric stood before him. Just as he was reaching into the chest for the money, Hessin clamped a hand over his.

”Ah, Priest, I haven’t been feeling well recently. My back is sore, my legs are cramping, I get winded just climbing stairs... Oh, maybe I’m just not used to the Normandy climate. It’s awful.”

Hessin pressed a hand to his forehead, feigning a look of great discomfort.

”When I think about my forty-year-old mother and my twenty-year-old brother, and here I am, about to be a soldier... it feels like my future is so bleak. I have to think about how my family will survive after they lose me, Priest.

I... I really love my family so much. So, the money...” Hessin rubbed his fingers together.

”Oh, I understand. Indeed. You’re only fifteen, and we’re asking you to take up such a dangerous profession. I think we should all take special care of you.”

Eric seemed to have an epiphany, smiling benevolently at Hessin and patting him on the shoulder.

The other men standing by nodded in agreement.

Then, Eric pulled a rather heavy pouch from his tunic and tossed it into Hessin’s hands.

He looked just like a seventy-year-old, white-bearded Priest, brimming with kindness. The sunlight catching his face even seemed to form a holy aura.

At least, that’s how it looked to Hessin in that instant.

”Priest, you’re a good man! Ah!”

Feeling the weight of the coin pouch, Hessin immediately latched onto Eric’s thigh, wailing and sobbing—though not a single tear was produced.

”There, there. It’s the least I could do. I understand your hardship. Everyone has hardships. I’m not a Demon, after all.”

Eric helped him to his feet and patted his shoulder.

Hessin then opened the pouch and saw it was full of silver pence, along with a few shillings.

A wave of pure bliss washed over him. It was the first time he had ever seen so much money.

Soon, however, he found a slip of paper inside. He couldn’t read, though.

”Priest, there’s a note in here. What’s written on it?”

”Oh, it’s nothing. Just an IOU. You just need to pay it back with 10% monthly interest. No need to thank me, it’s the least I could do.”

Hessin: ”Priest, you are truly a good man...”

Hessin fought back the urge to start swearing and just sighed.

A short while later, Sesil emerged from the Church, accompanied by three Nuns.

She wasn’t dressed as a Nun today. She wore a form-fitting, blue-green gown. An emerald pendant rested on her chest, a perfect match for her jade-green eyes.

Eric immediately turned his head, avoiding Sesil’s gaze.

The gesture made Sesil frown.

Sesil said nothing, however, and simply boarded the carriage with the three Nuns.

After a moment, one of the Nuns poked her head out of the carriage. ”We’re ready to depart.”

”Move out!”

Eric, mounted on his horse, bellowed to the men behind him.