A Crusader with System in the Middle Ages

However, Eric reacted faster than his two soldiers, who were still stunned by the sudden sound.

One of them held a Long Spear, the other was drawing his Sword. But before the blade was even halfway out of its sheath, Eric had already gripped ‘Thrusting Sword’.

Eric lunged at one of the soldiers, grabbing his arm and viciously flinging him aside. Before the soldier could react, Eric had drawn the Sword from his waist and slashed it across his chest, leaving a deep gash. The man collapsed in agony, clutching the wound as blood gushed out.

Seeing his companion fall, the other soldier swung his Sword at Eric, but Eric remained calm. He sidestepped the attack, then parried the man’s blade with a swift, low sweep of his own Sword. Seizing the opening, he slammed the hilt into the soldier’s ribs. The man grunted, staggered backward, and fell to the ground, unable to rise.

In the blink of an eye, Eric had easily dispatched both of Balha’s guards. Balha was stunned, watching helplessly as his soldiers fell without even a chance to counterattack.

Just as he reached for his Sword to fight back, Eric lunged at him without a moment’s hesitation. Balha tried to draw his weapon, but Eric was faster. He seized the hilt, gave it a sharp twist that sent the Sword flying from Balha’s grasp, then sidestepped and slammed him to the ground.

Balha struggled to climb to his feet, but Eric was already standing over him. He unceremoniously planted a foot on Balha’s chest, pinning him to the floor.

“I gave you a chance, and you were useless,” Eric said with a smile, patting Balha’s face with the flat of his Sword.

“Amid!” Balha yelled to one of his men. But the soldier didn’t dare attack while the tip of Eric’s Sword was pressed against his lord’s throat.

Joseph was whimpering, having pissed himself in fear. Eric could smell the urine and hear it dripping onto the floor. The Kurdish slave trader stood ramrod straight, watching Eric expressionlessly. Joseph’s daughter, however, was smiling.

Balha’s six remaining soldiers stared at Eric, but none dared to move. The tip of ‘Thrusting Sword’ was pressed against Balha’s throat.

Balha glared at Eric, his eyes a mixture of hatred and fear. Suddenly, Eric lifted his foot from the man’s chest.

“Kneel!” Eric ordered.

“Amid!” Balha shouted again, calling his man’s name.

Amid, a Persian, was one of only two men in the squad wearing Chain Armor, the other being Balha. Nicknamed “Blackbeard,” the tip of Amid’s nose had been sliced off in some long-forgotten battle. His eyes went wide as he raised his Long Spear.

“Attack, and your lord dies,” Eric told Amid, lightly prodding Balha with the tip of his Sword. Then, Eric suddenly pressed harder, and Balha let out a half-choked, terrified groan.

Amid wisely took a step back. Eric swept ‘Thrusting Sword’ across Balha’s face, drawing a line of blood. “Kneel!” Eric repeated. Once Balha was on his knees, Eric leaned down, pulled the man’s two Swords from their sheaths, and tossed them to Joseph.

“Joseph,” Eric said, looking at the man, “kill that Kurd. The slave trader who was going to sell your wife and daughter.”

Eric didn’t want the Kurd at his back.

Joseph didn’t move. He was too terrified to obey Eric’s command. But to Eric’s surprise, his wife and daughter stepped forward and took the Swords.

The Kurd tried to flee but was blocked by a table. The girl swung the Sword and split his skull, and he toppled sideways. Then, they began to butcher him.

Eric didn’t watch. He kept his eyes on Balha and the other soldiers. But he heard the slave trader’s screams and Joseph’s cry of alarm, and he could see the shock written on the faces of the men in front of him. The mother and daughter were emitting low grunts as they continued to hack away.

The Kurdish slave trader died slowly, but not one of Balha’s soldiers moved to save him. No one even tried to help.

Eric had dispatched two men in an instant. Any one of them with a brain knew he was a terrifying opponent. Even with six of them, they might be able to swarm and overwhelm him, but he would definitely take two or three of them down with him.

And none of them wanted to be one of those two or three.

Eric glanced over. The Kurd was finally dead. Joseph’s wife and daughter, covered in blood, were smiling brightly.

“They are emissaries from Fire Hell,” Eric said to the surrounding men.

Eric was amused by his own improvisation. In the Quran, Fire Hell is the final destination for those who turn away from Allah.

The flames of Fire Hell are eternal, reserved for those who reject the revelations of Allah.

“My name is Farhad Zahir!” Eric announced. He deftly struck the back of Balha’s neck with his Sword hilt. Balha collapsed as if falling asleep. “I have filled the abyss of Fire Hell with the souls of the dead.”

Balha’s men seemed to hold their breath. Eric’s words suddenly carried a new weight. He deliberately lowered his voice, making it as imposing as possible. “I am the leper, Farhad Zahir,” he declared. “I have long been dead, but Allah has sent me from Al-Balzak to reap the souls of the apostates of Hama.”

Balha’s men exchanged silent glances. The same question was on all their minds: ‘If he’s already dead, is he truly fearless? A being like death itself?’

One of the younger soldiers couldn’t help but break the silence, his voice trembling. “What… what are you? Are you really dead? Are you really—”

“The dead do not speak of life or death,” Eric cut him off, his cold gaze fixed on the young soldier. “My soul has long transcended this mortal world, but Allah sent me back, bearing the Power and fate of the dead. I am your judge.”

He suddenly lunged forward, pouncing on the two nearest soldiers like a wild beast. They didn’t even have time to react before Eric’s Sword clove them in two. Their bodies went stiff and they collapsed, blood fountaining into the air. The remaining four soldiers were terrified, all their earlier confidence gone.

Eric turned to the remaining four, his gaze as sharp as a blade. Unable to stand the pressure, one soldier threw down his weapon and fell to his knees. “I surrender! Please, spare me!” he begged.

Eric sneered. “Surrender? Do you think you can escape the judgment of Fire Hell?”

As he spoke, another soldier tried to dash for a weapon on a nearby table. But in that same instant, Eric was on him, his Sword plunging through the man’s stomach.

The soldier let out a terrified shriek as he fell, his limbs convulsing. Blood sprayed through the air, instantly staining the ground red.

“You chose the wrong time and the wrong enemy,” Eric said softly, his eyes as cold as a wolf’s. “You do not deserve to live in my presence.”

Seeing their comrades fall one by one, the last two soldiers completely broke down. One hastily pointed his blade at Eric. “Wait! We’re not traitors, we’re willing to—”

Eric gave them no chance. He lunged forward, thrusting his Sword through both their chests. Blood gushed like a fountain. Their mouths opened as if to speak, but their lives were already gone.

Turning to the kneeling soldier, Eric bent down and pointed the tip of his Sword at the man’s throat. “And you think you can escape?”

The soldier trembled, his eyes filled with terror. “I… I’ll do anything you say…”

“Tell it to Allah.”