A Crusader with System in the Middle Ages

The book was in a rather awkward position. It jutted out from the other books on the shelf, as if placed there in a hurry, showing that the person who did so was in a rush.

Out of curiosity, Eric took the book down. It was very thick and seemed to be stuffed with quite a few things, making it bulge.

Eric opened the book. The text wasn’t written in Greek, but in Arabic.

Eric had studied Arabic with Leif for a time, but he hadn’t practiced for long. His vocabulary was limited, so he could only read simple words and phrases.

The Arabic in this book, however, seemed intentionally written to be unintelligible. Complex sentence structures were employed where they were entirely unnecessary, and it was filled with obscure words.

Eric flipped further into the book. Text wasn’t the main feature; instead, it was dominated by a series of hand-drawn maps. Besides being crudely drawn, the maps also showed many signs of corrections.

Suddenly, a slip of paper fell from between the pages.

It was an exquisite bookmark, its edges ornately bound with gold thread.

The bookmark also had a sentence in Arabic—a question: ”What is speaking?”

Just then, a figure rushed toward Eric. The target, however, was not Eric himself, but the book in his hands.

Eric yielded, allowing the person to easily snatch the book from his hands.

Eric turned his head to look at the person who had taken the book.

It was a young man who looked about the same age as Eric. He was small and slender, with dark, curly hair and a handsome face. The Monk’s Robe he wore and his clean-shaven face indicated he was a Cultivator.

The young man seemed to have just gotten a clear look at Eric’s build, for he instinctively took a step back. Still, he raised his chin, maintaining an overbearing posture. But in the end, he couldn’t stop himself from explaining to Eric, ”Friend, this book... it’s mine. I just... I just went to the lavatory and left it here for a moment. If you were observant, you would have noticed its placement was particularly different from the other books.”

Eric walked toward the young man.

This startled the young man.

”Wh-what are you doing?”

”Your bookmark.”

”Oh, thank you.” The young man, noticing Eric was speaking Greek, let out a sigh of relief.

He bowed to Eric and took the bookmark.

”Speaking is the translation of the soul,” Eric said suddenly.

The young man paused for a moment, but he quickly understood.

It was the answer to the question he had written on the bookmark.

He laughed, finding this foreigner before him quite interesting. He continued, asking, ”What is it that we use to speak?”

”The tongue.” Eric walked slowly along the shelves, his gaze sweeping over the titles of the books.

”What is the tongue?” the young man asked, hurrying to catch up.

”The whip that strikes the air.”

”What is air?”

”The protector of life.”

”What is life?”

”The joy of the happy, the sorrow of the unfortunate, the wait for death.” Eric looked at the young man.

The young man was silent for a moment, then continued, ”What is death?”

”An unavoidable event, an uncertain journey, a cause for the living to weep, the confirmation of all wills, and a thief who steals life,” Eric continued.

”What is man?”

”A slave to death, a passing traveler, a guest in his own home.”

”What is man’s station?”

”A traveler wandering the world.”

”Where is he placed?”

”Between six walls.”

”Which six walls?”

”Above, below, front, back, left, and right,” Eric said with a smile.

The young man laughed too, clutching his stomach as he roared. ”You’re truly interesting, foreigner. I haven’t heard such fascinating answers in a long time. I feel I must apologize for my previous stereotypes about Westerners.

You are one of the few people whose rhetoric and logic I can truly praise.”

”Perhaps I should ask you a few questions in turn, as my reward for answering.”

Eric enjoyed this kind of exchange. Back at the Monastery, he often had them with Philip.

”Of course. I would be delighted. I look forward to you stumping me,” the young man nodded.

”What is sleep?” Eric asked.

”The image of death,” the young man replied instantly.

”What is man’s freedom?” Eric continued.

”Innocence, ignorance, a simple mind,” the young man answered swiftly.

”What is the head?”

”The summit of the body.”

”What is the body?”

”The soul’s dwelling place beneath Heaven.”

”What is the sky?”

”A rotating sphere, a great dome. Within the dome is light.”

”What is light?”

”The torch of all things, by which we have day.”

”What is day?” Eric continued to ask.

The young man paused, considering for a moment before continuing, ”Beneath the sun, it is the call for man to labor.”

Then, before Eric could pose another question, the young man preempted him. ”What is the sun?”

”The splendor of the universe, the beauty of the cosmos, the grace of nature, the glory of the day, the arbiter of time.” Eric, not at all angered by the young man’s preemption, replied with a smile.

”We now know of the things of the heavens, so what of the things below? Foreigner. What do you believe the earth to be? I think you should know that name, even though you’re a Westerner.”