A Crusader with System in the Middle Ages

Vardan knew full well that this young man was the one who would inherit Duke Ruben’s title. And once Ruben died, Cilicia’s future would descend into even greater chaos and depravity.

”These prisoners,” the young man said in a flippant tone, ”are my playthings for tonight. Care to come and watch, enjoy the show? Or will you just scurry back to your room and continue being a loyal dog?”

Vardan’s hand trembled slightly as a wave of fury surged within him. He suppressed his anger, knowing that acting rashly at this moment would only bring him more trouble.

He watched the young man quietly, his eyes showing not a hint of submission, only a deep coldness.

”You’d best walk away, ’old’ General,” the young man sneered, a glint of cruelty in his eyes. ”Otherwise, you might regret it.”

Vardan gave him a cold look, then turned and walked away toward his own room. As laughter and whispers followed him from behind, Vardan’s heart grew heavier still.

He knew that within this palace, he was no longer the respected General he once was, but an object of suspicion for the Ruben Clan. And this arrogant young man would, sooner or later, lead the Duchy to its ruin.

As Vardan pushed open the door to his room, his heart filled with an unspeakable bitterness. He realized that the Duchy he had served for so long was no longer the place he once knew.

The dim candlelight in the room cast flickering shadows on the stone walls, its warm, dancing glow creating an air of tranquility. Yet, this peace could not calm the storm raging in his heart.

His recent conversation with Duke Ruben hung over him like a persistent shadow, leaving him weary and dejected. Just as he was about to sit down, a gentle voice spoke from a corner.

A young man stepped out from the shadows, his figure gradually becoming clear.

The young man was named Salvar. He was one of Vardan’s Personal Guard and also Ruben’s illegitimate son. Few people knew this, even though Salvar bore a striking resemblance to his father.

Salvar was the son born of an affair between Ruben and a serving girl after he was already legally married.

Ruben had once confessed to Vardan in an unguarded moment that Salvar was his constant condemnation, a living reminder of his grievous sin.

Because of this, Salvar harbored a deep resentment for Ruben. Ruben, who saw Salvar as the manifestation of his sin, had tried to make him a Priest.

Salvar had defied that fate and become one of Vardan’s Warriors. Salvar was not a natural Warrior, but he brought a keen intellect to the battlefield—and intellect is a sharp weapon, with a long reach.

”Salvar, what are you doing here?”

Vardan was actually somewhat relieved to see Salvar, but he still chided him for being there, as his presence would only make things more complicated and dangerous.

Salvar was one of the few members of Vardan’s Personal Guard to have survived the charge of the Norman Knights.

He had been released by Count Eric along with Vardan a few days prior.

”To let you know, sir, that there are still those who stand by your side,” Salvar said, bowing to Vardan.

”Do I look that pathetic?” Vardan asked, waving his hand dismissively.

”It couldn’t be more obvious, my lord,” Salvar replied with a shrug. ”The Duke shouldn’t suspect you like this.”

Vardan fell silent for a moment, then slowly sat down, his face etched with weariness. ”He doesn’t trust me, I know... Perhaps he never truly did.”

Salvar watched Vardan, a mixture of complex emotions welling up inside him. He resented his father, Ruben, who had never truly acknowledged him, always treating him as the shame of his life and forcing him to do things he despised.

But Salvar held an immense respect for Vardan, and he had always believed the General deserved a better fate.

”General,” Salvar said softly, his tone gently persuasive, ”you have served Ruben for many years and won countless victories for him. His suspicion of you is unjust. Perhaps, now is the time to think of yourself...”

Before Salvar could finish, there was a knock at the door.

The knock put both men in the room on alert.

Vardan opened the door and was surprised to see Taglan, the very man who had joined Monk Shahak in attacking him before Duke Ruben.

Taglan was dressed in a silk robe with exquisite gold thread embroidered along its dark edges, as if to symbolize his distinguished status and power.

”Lord Taglan, what brings you here?”

Suppressing his impatience and anger, Vardan welcomed Taglan inside. Salvar silently slipped out of the room.

”I’ve come to apologize for my words earlier,” Taglan said with a smile, his voice also sounding gentle.

It was a complete reversal from the harsh attitude he had shown toward Vardan in front of Ruben.

”What?” The sudden change in the man’s demeanor left Vardan stunned for a moment.

”Monk Shahak,” Taglan said, shaking his head. ”Few in the court dare to cross him directly these days. He has great influence over Ruben.”

Regardless, the Duke always had to consider Lord Taglan’s opinion.

Taglan’s family had migrated to Cilicia long ago and established itself on this land over a great while. Strictly speaking, the Ruben Clan were the newcomers.

”Hah.” Taglan chuckled and shook his head again. He then clapped his hands, and an Attendant entered with a tray bearing two steaming cups.

Taglan picked up a cup and offered it to Vardan.

”This is a drink of the Arabs, quite popular among the Heretics recently. It’s from a strange fruit, but it has an alluring taste.” As he spoke, Taglan took a sip first, then raised his cup to Vardan in a gesture.

Vardan also took a sip, but he did not much care for the taste.

”Because of his age, Ruben is forced to think about what comes after death. That’s why he has become so ’devout’—because the afterlife belongs to God. And yet, this sense of impending death also drives him to be more cruel, because he’s afraid his son won’t be able to control this Duchy after he’s gone.

”It sounds strange and contradictory, doesn’t it?” Taglan explained with a smile. ”But sometimes, people are just...”

Suddenly, Taglan’s voice began to tremble. His body swayed slightly, and his eyes filled with confusion and terror.

Taglan seemed to realize something, but it was already too late.

The poison was spreading rapidly, eating away at his life.

Vardan was startled and rushed to support him, but the man’s breathing stopped almost immediately.

Just then, Salvar walked in from outside the room. He stood to the side, silently watching the struggle with no trace of surprise or pity in his eyes.

Salvar moved closer to Vardan and said softly, ”He intended to poison you, so I made some minor arrangements for you beforehand.”

His tone was faintly cool, as if everything was under his control.

”You could have let him live. His death does me no good...” Vardan said, deeply displeased.

”You’ve seen it now. This is Ruben’s world. This is the Nobility we pledge our loyalty to—full of schemes, devoid of faithfulness. Taglan was merely a microcosm; he represented all the corruption and darkness in Cilicia.

”General, you have bled and fought for Cilicia, protecting this Duchy. But look at what it has become! Did you not see it clearly just a week ago? How much the Armenians here despise us—no, despise *Ruben*!

”Ruben and his son will only drag this Duchy into the abyss. Their paranoia and incompetence will only put you in greater danger.”

”That is betrayal, Salvar!” Vardan said, struggling to keep his voice down.

”General, this is not betrayal. It is Ruben who betrayed—he betrayed your loyalty, he betrayed your trust. What you need is to find a new path for yourself. A path that won’t be swallowed by the schemes of these rotten nobles.

”The Normans, they are the truly strong ones. Count Eric respects you. He released you because he saw your worth.

”Besides, the Normans have no roots in Cilicia. They must rely on you, a truly esteemed Armenian noble, a descendant of the Arutunian family.

”And Ruben? He will only continue to suspect you, treating your great achievements as worthless straw, while hanging on every word of that fool Shahak, simply because the man wears the robes of a Priest.”

Just as Vardan was about to say something more, Taglan’s Attendant outside the room, apparently having heard the thud of Taglan falling, began to softly call his master’s name.

Salvar walked out. A moment later, he returned, his fingers stained with fresh, red blood.

”General,” he said, ”we have no path of retreat.”