I Became The King Of Crusaders [EN]: Chapter 210

The War to End All (5)

Jerusalem was burning.

Black smoke billowed from every corner, obscuring the view.

Marshall leaned on his sword. The holy sword, Caliburnus [a legendary sword, often associated with King Arthur], bestowed upon him by young Henry, supported him.

His body was exhausted from over two days of continuous fighting.

There were no more troops to relieve them. All available forces had been deployed to the walls to repel the enemy’s offensive.

“They’re coming again!”

“Those who are not injured, take up your weapons again! Prepare for battle!”

Marshall caught his breath and steadied himself. Every soldier on the wall felt the same.

‘We can’t hold out much longer.’

The relentless waves of enemies.

Hospitals and shelters overflowing with the wounded and the dead.

Yet, no one showed fear. They simply stood their ground, facing the enemy.

“If I had known this would happen, I should have gotten married beforehand.”

Marshall chuckled to himself.

Not fear, but regret.

He wasn’t afraid of dying anyway.

Wasn’t he already placed on a catapult as an infant?

When the enemies threatened to kill Marshall with a catapult, his father replied:

‘Kill as many as you want! I still have the hammer and anvil to make better sons!’

From then on, Marshall’s life was merely a lucky bonus.

Without any inheritance, he became a knight, and the best among them.

Eleanor, Henry II, and young Henry. Hadn’t he served the English royal family for decades?

It was only natural for a subject to follow his king. He looked at the English knights and shouted:

“Remember! Every knight fights without shame until their last breath!”

“Remember chivalry!”

They answered with a roar. Feeling the ground shake again, they all raised their weapons.

The Saracens [a general term for Muslims during the Crusades] were approaching.

The largest force he had ever seen.

A wave of tens of thousands surged towards the walls.

“Deus Vult!” [God wills it – a Crusader battle cry]

Someone’s cry echoed across the walls.

“There! Reinforcements! Reinforcements are coming to save us!”

A murmur spread, and everyone on the wall turned their heads. Marshall did the same.

He saw a familiar banner. A yellow lion on a red background. Beside it, a red cross fluttered.

Only one person in the world could use that banner.

“His Majesty Henry…?”

Soon after, a massive horn sounded. The Saracen soldiers, who had been rushing in like a tide, all stopped and looked towards the sound.

At first, only dust was visible.

Then, the ground began to tremble.

A violent shaking as if an earthquake had struck.

The knights who would save them appeared.

* * *

“They’ve put the pike formations in front.”

“They’re copying Takiyettin’s tactics exactly.”

Through the telescope, I could see the faces of the nervous enemy soldiers. Emotions swirling like a whirlwind.

“It will be difficult to break through that head-on. Even Emperor Frederick eventually failed, didn’t he?”

“Not necessarily, Aig.”

I said.

A pike formation wasn’t that strong without proper fire support.

I was able to win in Italy thanks to the favorable terrain and luring tactics.

Kang’s camel corps could rain down attacks from further away than the archers.

“Send orders to Kang to attack. Send the horse archers to the front for cover.”

“Understood.”

The flags fluttered, and the camels and horse archers dashed forward.

“They’ve sent out their horse archers too!”

The enemy also sent out horse archers, and the battle began. They had more numbers.

As the camel soldiers set up the catapults, arrows fell nearby.

Some camels, hit by arrows, went berserk and ran in all directions.

‘I have no choice but to trust Kang.’

Even as arrows rained down, Kang and his men set up the catapults without wavering.

Soon after, jars filled with Greek fire [an incendiary weapon used in ancient and medieval times] soared into the sky.

Flames erupted among the pikemen, disrupting their formation.

Panic and fear.

Finally, a crack appeared in the enemy lines.

But Saladin’s forces were still enormous. It was hard to even estimate the numbers with my senses.

Aig said.

“Your Majesty.”

“We’ve done all we can. Now it’s time to charge.”

Saying that, I turned around.

Young Henry, Richard, Lalibela, Alexios, Ruark, Joscelin, Garnier, and more.

All of them were looking at me.

Turning my head forward, I felt familiar emotions as well.

Balian, Raymond, Philip, Marshall, Sibylla. And Theodora.

Next to her, I felt an unfamiliar sensation.

A small, throbbing heartbeat.

The sound I felt from Theodora’s womb. Everything depended on this battle.

I drew my sword and charged ahead of the knights.

At this moment, there was no need for elaborate tactics.

Only courage.

Only courage could save Jerusalem. The greatest strength of the Frankish [referring to Western European] knights.

“Blow the charge! Jerusalem calls us!”

“For the Holy City!”

* * *

“Reorganize the formation! Quickly! We must stop the Frankish dogs!”

Shouts echoed from all directions.

Al-Mulk bit his lip and tightened his grip on his spear.

He was the oldest of the volunteers from Damascus. Whenever he was asked why he volunteered at his age, Al-Mulk would laugh it off.

He had married late, at the age of forty, and cherished his only son, whom he had struggled to conceive.

The son, who would forever remain a child in his eyes, had grown into a fine man and followed his father to become a merchant.

One day, his son passed information about pilgrims heading to Mecca to Reynald of Châtillon, the lord of Kerak [a Crusader castle], in exchange for ten camels.

Later, the bereaved family brought the traitor to trial, and Al-Mulk’s son fell into hell.

He had embarked on jihad [a holy war or struggle] as a last-ditch effort to reduce his son’s sins, even by a little.

Wasn’t that what fathers did?

Sacrificing their lives for their deficient children.

“They’re coming!”

“Die! Just die!”

The horses impaled on spears reared up and collapsed.

Each time, the spears snapped or shattered with a loud noise.

“Hold on! Be prepared to die and hold on!”

Al-Mulk also thrust his spear into a charging horse. His left hand was broken with a crack, but he didn’t notice.

The comrades standing next to him hesitated and stepped back.

“Maintain the formation! If we scatter, we’ll be vulnerable to their attacks…”

Al-Mulk’s voice stopped there. A spear that pierced his body was stuck in the ground on the other side.

In his last moment, he grabbed the spear that was stuck in his body.

The spear that pierced his chest didn’t hurt as much as when he heard that his son had died.

“Charge! Keep charging!”

Gilbert gave up pulling out his spear. The spear that pierced the old enemy soldier remained stuck in the ground.

He got off the staggering horse and drew his sword.

Gilbert had been sold to the church for money as a child. Strictly speaking, he wasn’t a slave.

A Christian could not serve a Christian master.

But aristocratic clerics needed young attendants, and some parents sold their children to the church for money.

Even within the church, commoners had to serve nobles.

Ironically, Gilbert’s father had sold him to go on a pilgrimage to the Holy Land.

After escaping from the church, Gilbert lived as a wandering mercenary until he came to Jerusalem.

The land his father had wanted to come to, even selling him.

Here, he gained a new life. A wife, a daughter, and peaceful days.

But when the plague struck, all of that disappeared before his eyes.

After losing his family and contracting leprosy himself, he joined the Order of Saint Lazarus [a military order for lepers]. No one in the Order talked about their past lives.

But Gilbert still woke up from nightmares, thinking of his wife and daughter.

The sorrow did not disappear.

“The Holy City of Jerusalem is right in front of us! Don’t stop!”

He swung his sword and moved forward. Even as his helmet flew off and his cloak was torn to shreds, Gilbert did not stop.

His body had become insensitive to pain after contracting leprosy.

The Saracens all retreated in droves when they saw him running. No one wanted to fight a rotting corpse.

The Saracens who saw his bare face screamed.

“Shoot arrows! Bring down that monster!”

Gilbert didn’t feel the arrow piercing his neck.

He just couldn’t breathe well.

Only after his armor was soaked with blood did he realize he was dying. Coughing up blood, he muttered.

“If God wills it…”

He planted the sword he was holding in the ground and leaned against it. If he fell like this, he would only become a corpse.

If he died standing, the enemy archers would continue to attack. He had to reduce the number of arrows flying towards his comrades, even by one.

With his last remaining strength, he muttered his daughter’s name.

“Vivian…”

Even after he died, arrows fell around him, making thudding sounds. Angry camels dashed through them.

Another corpse falling on top of the corpse.

Jerusalem embraced them all in her bosom like a benevolent mother.

***

“A little more…if we just hold on a little longer…”

Al-Adil muttered, biting his lip. The walls of Jerusalem were right in front of him.

Just a little more! If they had pushed just a little harder, they would have crossed over.

The all-out offensive had become a mess due to the Franks’ interference.

But even in this situation, he felt no excitement at all.

The Muslim soldiers calmly resisted the waves rushing towards them. The Crusader knights were the same.

It was more like they were performing a set dance than fighting.

Only Al-Adil and the other Muslim commanders were pale and waving their arms and legs.

“Tell them to deploy all the remaining cavalry! If we are pushed back like this, we will all die!”

“Y-yes, sir!”

The messengers hurriedly ran to the battlefield. Even amidst all this, the noise continued incessantly.

Al-Adil turned and ran up the hill.

Only Saladin was standing on the hill.

“Brother! We must deploy all the reserves right now!”

When Saladin didn’t answer, Al-Adil shouted.

“Brother!!!”

“Blow the retreat. It’s all over now.”

“Retreat?! The battle is not over yet. Haven’t the Franks suffered heavy losses trying to get through the pike formations?!”

“No, the battle is already over. We had to cross the walls of Jerusalem before they arrived.”

Saladin shook his head.

His expression was a mixture of sadness and resignation.

“We must save the remaining soldiers, at least. Fighting any further will only increase the bloodshed.”

“If we had pushed just a little harder, we could have crossed the walls…”

“But we couldn’t, could we? In the meantime, they occupied Medina and Mecca and returned here. It’s our defeat.”

He gave a bitter smile.

“Before Baldwin became king, he sent me a letter like this. He told me to meet him in Jerusalem. I didn’t know it would come true like this.”

Saying that, Saladin trudged down the hill. Commanders with hardened expressions gathered around him.

“Nasir, you will lead the cavalry and strike the enemy’s left flank. You must hold them back as much as possible while the rest of the forces retreat.”

Saladin said.

An order that was virtually a suicide charge.

“Or will you run away too?”

“…I will follow the Sultan’s command.”

The man called Nasir bowed his head.

“It has been an honor to follow Commander Saladin all this time.”

“It has been an honor to fight alongside you, Nasir.”

Saladin staggered, and the commanders supported him.

“Go and save the Muslims.”

Saladin spat out the words.

The noise of the battlefield gradually grew louder, covering the hill.

“Now, I alone must take responsibility.”