A Crusader with System in the Middle Ages

Face it: Milan is a disgusting, filthy, and dangerous place.

But Caterina loves this madhouse of a city. She broke up with me, all because I’m not fucking crazy enough?

For Christ’s sake, give me a break. Is there not a single normal person left here?

When did being a mass murderer become synonymous with Devotion?

”Is there any justice? Any law at all?” Lamberto yelled.

”Calm down, bro. You need to keep your voice down. Maybe it’s not that bad.” Giovanni tried to soothe Lamberto, having noticed people in the tavern glancing their way.

”Bad? That word doesn’t even begin to cover it. This city is a giant pile of dog shit.

Alright, alright, I was just kidding. I absolutely love this city. As if!”

Lamberto noticed the strange looks too and finally lowered his voice.

Giovanni breathed a sigh of relief.

”Maybe I should take a look at that leg of yours. I am a doctor, after all.” Trying to change the subject, Giovanni lifted Lamberto’s injured leg onto his lap and hiked up the pant leg.

There were four shallow scratches on Lamberto’s calf.

Giovanni prodded at the scratches with his filthy hands, the black grime from under his nails seeping into Lamberto’s open wounds.

”Seriously, you really don’t like washing your hands, do you?” Lamberto facepalmed, mourning his now-contaminated wounds.

”That’s an awkward question.” Giovanni wiped his dirty hands on his trousers. It had no effect; they were still filthy. He went back to prodding Lamberto’s wounds.

”So, what’s the treatment plan? Say something, if you’re actually a doctor,” Lamberto said, his voice laced with irritation.

Giovanni looked up, his expression deadly serious. ”I know this is hard to accept, but as a doctor, the most important thing is to be honest. So, my advice is to amputate your lower leg. These wounds will cause your toes to turn necrotic, and then your whole foot will rot away.”

”I don’t believe you. And come on, they’re just fucking scrapes, man! You want to cut off my whole lower leg for that? Get outta here. If you weren’t my buddy, you’d be on the floor right now.”

”Suit yourself, Lamberto. But as a trained physician, I’m telling you, this is no exaggeration. I’ve seen scratches just like these cause rot from the toes to the knee within a week,” Giovanni said with a completely straight face.

”Just wrap it up, thanks,” Lamberto said.

Giovanni shrugged, tore a strip from his pant leg, and wrapped it around Lamberto’s wounds.

”And why is a doctor treating patients in a damn tavern, anyway?” Lamberto asked.

”My clinic doubled as a den for Wizards. The choir took it over and turned it into a chapel.”

Giovanni pointed to a wooden hut outside. As he spoke, its window shattered. Inside, a dozen choirboys holding Crosses were screaming their heads off, smashing piles of potion bottles and medicine jars to bits.

”That’s the only right thing the Patulin Sect has ever done. It keeps you from harming people,” Lamberto said, looking in disgust at the bandage Giovanni had tied. There was a smear of what looked like snot on the cloth.

Just then, someone in the tavern suddenly shouted, ”Heretic! Heretic!”

Everyone in the tavern instantly shot to their feet, instinctively grabbed whoever was closest, and started beating the hell out of them.

”In the name of Christ!”

”Go to Hell, you heretic!”

”Devil! Devil! The Devil is here!”

”...”

The tavern patrons roared and shrieked.

Lamberto immediately grabbed Giovanni, and the two started to fake a fight.

”Oh, we’re really going at it over here!” Giovanni yelled.

”Yeah! A worthy opponent indeed, you heretic!” Lamberto shouted back, hoping to convince anyone watching that they were diligently rooting out heresy.

Giovanni and Lamberto continued their mock fight as they retreated, backing all the way out of the tavern.

Once outside, they picked up their Long Spears.

”Oh, right! It’s our turn for guard duty today!”

”That’s right! We have to go guard the city gate! Protect our beloved Milan!”

Shouting their excuses for all to hear, Giovanni and Lamberto hurried toward the city gate.

They had just finished relieving the on-duty guards and were getting ready to slack off when...

A troop of nearly a hundred men approached the gate from below.

As Eric watched, Sforza tilted his head back and shouted up at the soldiers on the gatehouse wall.

”Hey! Open the gate! I am Sforza, Deputy Commander of the Black Rose Corps! I have urgent business to report to the Grand Commander.”

The gate opened, but just as Sforza was about to lead his men inside...

A group of guards emerged from inside the gate, blocking the path for Sforza and Eric’s men.

”Apologies, Deputy Commander. We don’t doubt your Identity, but per the Grand Commander’s new directive, these are dangerous times. Anyone entering the city must undergo an inspection and have their Identity verified,” a guard said, bowing respectfully to Sforza.

”This...” Sforza involuntarily glanced at Eric.