I Became The King Of Crusaders [EN]: Chapter 84

Became the King of Crusaders – Episode 84 (84/215)

The Third Rome (4)

* * *

The ship sliced through the waves, forging ahead.

Bertrand descended below deck.

He checked the dagger he carried.

He felt the cool reassurance of the handle.

His palms were already slick with sweat.

He muttered under his breath.

“There’s nowhere left to run now, is there.”

In the heart of the sea.

There was no escape to be found here.

Bertrand took a steadying breath.

He went below and secured the door leading to the upper deck.

“I’ve instructed them not to come down here for a while. The sailors won’t bother us.”

“Good. Too many ears are listening; we must be cautious. How many traitors remain?”

A man emerged from the shadows.

Toroa.

The former Grand Master of the Knights Templar.

He drew his sword and laid it on the table.

“You’re the only one I can trust, Bertrand.”

“What are your plans for the future? Once we reach Europe, I mean.”

“First, I must return to my family’s lands. Then, I will persuade His Holiness the Pope. That is my plan.”

Toroa declared.

“Duke Baldwin has forcefully suppressed the Knights Templar! Once this becomes known, public sentiment in Europe will ignite.”

He added with conviction.

“His Holiness the Pope does not recognize confessions obtained through torture, does he?”

“That is true, but some of the evidence was irrefutable. Besides, Duke Baldwin did not employ torture, did he?”

Bertrand countered, his gaze unwavering.

He kept his eyes fixed on his superior.

“I heard some of the evidence implicated you, Grand Master. Is there any truth to that?”

“I didn’t expect you to echo the nonsense of those wretches. I will tell you the truth.”

Toroa said, a growl rumbling in his chest.

He waved his hand dismissively.

“The kings and nobles of Europe will never aid the Knights Templar out of pure goodwill. To safeguard the Holy Land, we must sometimes compromise with reality.”

“So, you bribed them?”

Bertrand asked, his fist clenching.

His heart hammered in his chest.

“Then, giving funds and land to your family was….”

“My family has been at the forefront of protecting the Holy Land for decades. This has nothing to do with selfish desires. I simply conducted certain affairs in my family’s name that could not be done openly in the name of the Knights Templar.”

He elaborated.

“Bertrand, you know me better than anyone, don’t you? I have fought the Saracens [Muslims] at the front lines, and I have been imprisoned….”

“I, too, have fought the Saracens at the front lines. Countless other brothers have also sacrificed their lives to protect the Holy Land.”

“…”

Silence descended, heavy and thick.

Toroa spoke again, breaking the quiet.

“Nothing can be achieved without compromising with reality. That applies even to His Holiness the Pope, the representative of Saint Peter.”

He continued, his voice low.

“Isn’t that why he sided with Duke Baldwin in this suppression? There must have been some kind of agreement.”

“…”

“When public sentiment in Europe rises, His Holiness will belatedly change his mind. He will recognize the importance of the Knights Templar.”

He added, a glint of hope in his eyes.

“The Knights Templar must survive at all costs.”

“Of course.”

Bertrand said, rising to his feet.

There was no room for hesitation now.

“The Knights Templar, the Poor Fellow-Soldiers of Christ and of the Temple of Solomon, must survive at all costs.”

He advanced towards Toroa.

There was no chainmail to impede the blade.

He drew his dagger and plunged it into the Grand Master’s neck without a moment’s pause.

Red blood erupted from the wound.

“Kuh-erk!”

Toroa stared at Bertrand, disbelief etched on his face.

His gaze clouded over, then faded into nothingness.

Thick, frothy blood spilled onto the deck.

Bertrand knelt on one knee, watching the scene unfold.

At that moment, the door to the upper deck swung open.

“Is it done?”

“It is done.”

Bertrand replied, standing up.

He wiped the blood from the dagger with his coat.

The white coat, the symbol of the Knights Templar, was stained crimson.

“You have done a great service for Jerusalem. His Majesty the King will be pleased.”

“I volunteered for this repulsive task solely for the sake of the Knights Templar. Not only for His Majesty the King and the kingdom….”

Bertrand said, his voice firm.

He raised his head and fixed his gaze on the man.

“But for the Holy Land.”

* * *

“Move as fast as you can!”

Warhorses encased in steel thundered across the ground.

A massive dust cloud billowed, obscuring everything.

From afar, it resembled a swirling typhoon.

That wasn’t the only impressive aspect.

The pungent smell of the horses.

A blend of various odors created a unique and powerful scent.

“What is the Third Unit doing?! If you’ve completed your charge, clear the path for the brothers in the rear! Do you want to be trampled instead of the enemy?!”

Shouts echoed across the field.

Truly astonishing.

The knights charging at the front and the high-ranking knights commanding them.

Everyone moved with precision and coordination.

“You’re excited too, aren’t you, Bulte?”

I stroked Bulte’s mane and whispered reassuringly.

He kept trying to bolt, so I had to grip him tightly with my arms and thighs.

“Sorry I haven’t been able to visit often. I’ve been busy with this and that.”

I must look ridiculous.

Apologizing to a horse.

But it seemed to calm him, as Bulte ceased his frantic movements.

Wigue approached me on horseback.

He shouted over the din.

“They don’t move this quickly in an actual battlefield!”

He waved his hand emphatically.

I could barely hear him over the shouting.

“There are many instances where they get overexcited and don’t check the flags or simply charge recklessly.”

“Even if it’s just training, it’s still amazing to watch.”

I shouted back, impressed.

I had witnessed small-scale training exercises before, but this was on an entirely different scale.

I could understand why the Muslims were so wary of the Crusaders.

‘An elaborate ballet.’

It was like observing ants or bees.

With effective command, the Frankish knights could breach any formation.

“I didn’t expect you to organize this kind of joint training so soon, Duke.”

Wigue said with a smile.

“I thought you would be occupied with other matters.”

“I’m still learning about tactics and strategy. The quickest way to learn is to command directly.”

It wasn’t much different from the 21st century.

Just as an armored unit commander needs to know the driving range and firing range of a tank, I needed to know how far the horses could run.

The same applied to determining when to charge and when to order the knights to retreat.

Without this basic knowledge, the combatants in the field would suffer.

‘There were plenty of crazy stories like that at the Military Academy.’

It was common for field commanders to be ignorant of the maximum and minimum range of mortars and to establish positions in illogical locations.

Sometimes they would even forget about the existence of the position altogether and abandon it.

“I have relied solely on ambushes in previous battles. I left the field command to other knights.”

I admitted.

I entrusted the actual unit command to Wigue, Balian, or Garnier.

I always limited myself to detecting the enemy and selecting the battlefield.

I couldn’t continue doing that.

“When I go to Europe, I will have to command directly.”

So, for the past few days, I had been receiving tactical and strategic instruction from Wigue and other knights whenever possible.

And in the process, I had come to a realization.

That the strategy of the Crusader knights was surprisingly sophisticated.

‘I assumed the cavalry of this era had a basic tactic of charging head-on.’

Of course, charging was essential.

But there were numerous factors to consider to ensure a successful charge.

Scouting enemy forces.

Calculating the timing of the charge through constant communication with each unit.

Even retreating and reorganizing after the initial charge.

“Warhorses lose their stamina after one charge. They can barely manage a second, but a third is impossible.”

Wigue pointed to the knights with his finger.

Their speed was noticeably slower than at the start.

“If the horses become exhausted and slow, they become easy targets for the Saracen horse archers. The Saracens are aware of this and try to lure us in.”

He continued, his voice serious.

“The most emphasized aspect of Knights Templar training is patience and endurance. Under no circumstances should they charge until the order is given.”

“And placing horse archers and scouts on both flanks of the unit. They probably don’t pay as much attention to this in Europe.”

I nodded in agreement.

It was a tactic developed after being harassed by the Muslims.

“The other knights in Europe charge too readily. Those fellows start running as soon as one or two arrows land nearby.”

Wigue laughed and replied.

I closed my eyes, focusing on the battlefield.

As I heightened my senses, I felt familiar emotions stirring within me.

Excitement, anger.

The emotions of the battlefield.

Tracking each individual was still challenging.

I’ll have to divide them into groups.

I drew a mental line.

This is the 1st unit. The next is the 2nd unit….

Grouping them made it much easier to track their movements.

Enemy and ally.

Even their approximate morale.

It felt like becoming a hawk soaring above the battlefield.

I opened my eyes and saw Wigue watching me intently.

I said to him with confidence.

“The 4th unit will collapse soon. It would be wise to issue the retreat order now.”

“The 4th unit is led by Guillaume. He won’t retreat easily.”

Wigue muttered, raising his telescope to his eye.

“I can’t see clearly from here. But as you said, Duke….”

It didn’t take long for my prediction to come true.

The knights on the right flank couldn’t withstand the counterattack and began to give way.

“It’s true. Guillaume has collapsed. I can’t compete with you, Duke. How did you know?”

“I have my methods.”

I smiled enigmatically, gesturing towards the sky.

Through my intuition, I could sense the location and approximate morale of the units.

The same applied to identifying the strong and weak points in the enemy lines.

All that remained was to deploy the reserves accordingly.

“I will deploy the Holy Sepulchre Knights to the left flank. If they break through the center of the left flank, the opposing forces will crumble.”

“I will give the order.”

Wigue gestured, and the flag was raised.

The Holy Sepulchre Knights surged forward as if they had been waiting for the signal.

The hooves pounded the earth, creating a deafening roar.

White feathers fluttered from the backs of the knights.

“By the way, those fellows have been wearing feathers on their backs like that for some time now. They think they’re angels or something.”

I struggled to suppress my laughter.

I didn’t realize they would do that so quickly.

The Holy Sepulchre Guard were easily identifiable even from a distance.

They truly resembled the Winged Hussars [Polish-Lithuanian cavalry known for their large wings].

“Those fellows bought all the feathers in the market, so now there’s nothing left to write with. Warriors only know how to show off, tsk tsk.”

Wigue clicked his tongue and waved his hand dismissively.

“But they’re quite fast and effective in battle. We need to refine the signals a bit more.”

“It’s understandable since they’re not familiar with the signals here. They’ll improve with time.”

I observed the Holy Sepulchre Guard with satisfaction.

They had been a valuable asset even when fighting against Al-Adil’s Egyptian army.

It was reassuring to have such elite soldiers on our side.

Suddenly, a shout erupted.

“Waaaaah!!!”

The unit tasked with opposing the charge couldn’t withstand the onslaught and retreated.

Thus, another training session concluded.

“I should start offering separate prayers to Archangel Michael before battles from now on.”

Wigue burst into laughter.

“Even a veteran wouldn’t be able to command a unit this skillfully. Not to mention reading the battlefield so accurately.”

I shrugged instead of responding.

It felt rewarding to receive praise from a seasoned warrior like Wigue.

“I’ll take care of checking the injured. You can return now, Duke.”

“Okay. Then I should go see Count Hartmann now.”

“You’ve been meeting with the Germans frequently these days. Are you trying to gather information in advance?”

“Gathering information is one of my objectives.”

I replied with a knowing smile.

But gathering information isn’t everything.

The essence of information warfare.

That was to implant false information in the enemy’s mind.

“Because no one in this world fears a clown.”

Wigue tilted his head, puzzled by my words.