A Crusader with System in the Middle Ages

Matilda liked this feeling.

She hadn’t changed into another court dress, but into a new riding habit.

She hated fussy gowns. The clean, sharp lines of the riding habit offered a brief escape from the troubles her identity as a woman brought.

The door to the room opened. It was none other than her mother, Beatrice: Regent of Tuscany, eldest daughter of the Duke of Upper Lorraine, Duchess of Lower Lorraine, and Marchioness of Tuscany.

She had a slender waist and long, pale-gold hair that fell to her waist, possessing a unique elegance for a woman of her age.

She was a legendary woman—a staunch ally of the former Pope Alexander and a steadfast supporter of Church reform. Not even the armies of the old Emperor Henry III had managed to crush her ambition.

She had made it so one woman could act as regent for another, and she had kept Tuscany from being carved up.

Matilda had inherited her mother’s silver-gray eyes, but she hoped it was the only thing they had in common.

A person like her mother was nauseating; almost anyone could become her tool.

Yet whenever Matilda tried to become stronger than her mother, she felt herself becoming more and more like her.

This fact tormented her.

But reality was always cruel. She was constantly turning into her mother—becoming cold-blooded and ruthless.

”You shouldn’t be here,” Matilda said, turning to face her mother.

”It is you who shouldn’t be here, my child. Ugo told me you returned with that Earl Norman.” Beatrice paid no mind to her daughter’s tone.

”What of it?”

”Shouldn’t I be the one asking you that?” Beatrice said with a smile.

”He seems obsessed with his Cultivator identity.” Matilda had seen a portrait of Eric, so she had recognized him the moment they met.

”That proves his Devotion.” Beatrice took a silk ribbon from a nearby table and began to braid Matilda’s hair. ”Hilbrand will favor him for it.”

It was tradition for a woman to let her hair down only in front of her husband; otherwise, it must be braided and pinned up or covered.

”Why can’t it be that he’s insecure about his current position? He’s afraid of losing everything he’s gained. That’s why he’s always ready to run back to the Monastery—so his fellow Cultivators there won’t think he’s blaspheming the Holy Spirit or violating God’s law. It’s why he still dresses so humbly.” Matilda’s tone was aggressive.

”Are you referring to the Speed of his promotions? To go from an unknown Cultivator to a Count in half a year is indeed astonishing. But that’s how the men of his family are.”

”That also means his family’s bloodline isn’t noble, because it isn’t ancient. You value that, don’t you?”

”I think you misunderstand. Whether the bloodline is noble or not is a secondary concern. The main point is whether he has value as an ally. You may not know this, but the new king of England has granted him a very high position. He is the fourth Earl of the Kingdom.

Even though he’s a bastard son of the Outville family, Giscard would be more than happy to use that as a pretext to ally with Tuscany. Like us, he detests the Emperor and does not wish to be constrained.

I’ve told you before, you can choose a penniless Knight for a husband, but only if that Knight is exceptional enough. Exceptional enough to be valuable to us. Exceptional enough to become a titled member of the Nobility worthy of a marriage alliance. I would even make time to arrange it.

But you said no one could become a titled noble before the age of twenty. And yet, here someone is who has done it. And even faster—in less than half a year.

So you cannot call me harsh. If anything, your assessment of this Earl of Gloucester is the one that is particularly harsh.”

”Being born into the Outville family is already his greatest advantage,” Matilda retorted, still unwilling to concede.

”Is that so? Then why are his poor relations in Normandy still so destitute?”