A Crusader with System in the Middle Ages

”What was I supposed to do? Come back naked? If a man’s clothes determine his worth, then what does that make all of you, living here in the mountains?

Even in the mountains, you still have your palaces, your servants, your fine clothes from the old days—you even have your own Monastery, and a flock of idle Priests who do nothing but waste food and make matters worse.

The arrival of the Normans has emboldened those Armenian villages. Not a single one is willing to take us in. They scoff at us, the Nobility hiding in the mountains.

Perhaps you should step outside the Taurus Mountains and take a look at the kingdom you claim to rule. You’ll find that your ’rule’ is nothing but wishful thinking. Those Armenians remember what we did to them, and they resent us deeply for it.

The Normans might not rely solely on their Lances. Sometimes, we should think about what we took from those people, and what we brought them in return.”

With that, Vardan sighed and glanced at Ruben in disappointment. ”If you don’t believe me, you can ask Father Pireg.”

”He has already been sent back to Antioch,” Monk Shahak said coldly, ”to continue his mission. But we will ask him, you can rest assured of that.”

”I’ve already asked,” Ruben said, making a calming gesture toward Monk Shahak. ”Father Pireg vouched for you,” he added cautiously.

Vardan breathed a sigh of relief, but his disappointment did not fade. Perhaps it never would.

”My lord, regarding Mamistra City, have you decided what to do?”

Mamistra City was a key city in eastern Cilicia, though it wasn’t actually part of Ruben’s domain.

After the collapse of the Byzantine Empire’s rule in the region, the citizens of Mamistra City had formed their own militia. Combined with the city’s well-established defenses, they had put up a rather effective resistance against the Turkic People.

However, two weeks ago, for some unknown reason, Abul Kassim Bey—the most powerful man in southern Anatolia—decided to teach these complacent Christian citizens a lesson. Mamistra City was soon surrounded by a massive siege force.

Seeing that the situation was dire, the citizens of Mamistra City hastily appealed for aid from the most powerful local Christian ruler—that is, Ruben.

”Abul Qasim has relinquished all claims on Mamistra City. He has acknowledged that Mamistra City will forever belong to the Armenians of Cilicia.

His army will not invade it again. I have already promised him that I will return the previous captives to him. That was supposed to be your task.”

Vardan paused, then looked at Ruben and said, ”You tried to ransom the city?”

Ruben looked annoyed by the question but still gave a quick nod and said stiffly, ”I offered silver.”

This was a topic he did not wish to discuss.

”Enough, Vardan. The matter is closed. Go and get some rest.”

Ruben did not want to let the conversation continue.

Vardan shook his head and walked toward the door. Before stepping out of the room, he looked back at the Holy Image placed inside, then at Monk Shahak, and finally, at Ruben.

”My lord, perhaps you should actually pay attention to the matter of the recruitment parties. I believe you know, as a devout man, that building a magnificent Holy Image and supporting a group of Priests is far less important than saving a single family.”

...

Vardan walked slowly down the long corridor back to his room, the sound of his heavy footsteps echoing between the empty stone walls. His heart was filled with the pain and dejection of being misunderstood. The recent conversation with Duke Ruben still replayed in his mind.

Although he had done his utmost to explain why he had been released by Earl Norman, the suspicion in Ruben’s deep, cold eyes left Vardan utterly disheartened. It seemed his years of loyalty had earned him nothing but deepening mistrust.

As he neared his room, a sudden commotion erupted from the end of the corridor. Vardan stopped, his gaze drawn involuntarily toward the source of the noise.

The flickering light of a Torch illuminated several returning soldiers. They were clad in armor, their faces bearing brazen smiles as they shoved two panicked-looking servants.

And at the head of the soldiers, Ruben’s son—that violent and insufferably arrogant young man—was striding proudly. A cruel smirk hung on his lips, and his eyes glinted with the ecstasy of plunder.

Vardan frowned, stopping in the shadows of the corridor, his eyes fixed coldly on the young man.

He was a tall man in ornate armor, his face a mask of defiance. He looked as if he had just returned from a victorious battle; the blade of the Sword at his waist was still stained with blood. At his feet, two young women trembled as they were roughly held by the soldiers. Their clothes were in disarray, and their eyes were filled with terror and humiliation.

The young man noticed Vardan standing to the side. He stopped and gave a mocking smile.

”Well, well, General Vardan,” he said, his voice dripping with contempt and provocation. ”Are you waiting for me? Here to welcome my triumphant return?”

Vardan did not respond, his eyes full of loathing for the young man. Ruben’s son had been known since childhood for his cruelty and tyranny. He was obsessed with plunder and violence, relishing the suffering of those forced to submit to him.

However, one had to admit he did have a certain talent for most things involving violence.