Chapter 11: The Peasant’s Crusade
Even though the giant serpent had long since departed, Lothar still felt his heart pounding fiercely. In all his experiences, spanning two lifetis, he had never witnessed such a terrifying behemoth. "How can a monster of this magnitude exist in this world?"
"It’s not rely a matter of its size," Banu said gravely. "The most terrifying aspect is the imnsely powerful magical energy it contains, a force sowhat similar to that of so of my warlock colleagues." In the darkness, a flicker of excitent crossed her eyes. "Could it be a witch?"
"A witch..." Lothar mused. "Shapeshifting magic, perhaps?" Although he had never truly encountered a witch, he had gleaned so knowledge of such witchcraft from epic tales and common rumors.
Banu inquired, "What is that?"
"It’s said that witches can consu potions containing the blood of specific monsters, allowing them to transform into various terrifying beasts to borrow their power. However, they also risk being gradually consud by bestial natures due to these transformations. Every so often, they involuntarily change into a monster. In fairy tales, the reason Cinderella swiftly left the prince’s sight as midnight approached was because she was a witch skilled in shapeshifting, on the verge of turning into a monstrous creature."
Lothar frowned. "Of course, this is rely my speculation. This world is as unfamiliar to as it is to you." The original owner of this body had been nothing more than a wealthy country squire.
Banu said softly, "The unknown is what makes things interesting. This could be considered a good thing."
Lothar sighed lightly. "I’d much prefer this world to be of a low-magic level, where you and I could easily dominate and conquer everything. Instead, I have to constantly worry about being silently cursed to death by a witch soday."
Banu pressed her lips together and offered a suggestion: "Then you’ll have to work hard to summon a healer type retainer. I can shield you from physical harm, but not from intangible curses."
Lothar said helplessly, "That’s not sothing I can decide. Although I created the system, its rules are fixed. I don’t even have the authority to create a backdoor for myself."
He looked out the window. The giant serpent’s form had long vanished, but the muddy tracks it left on the ground were still starkly clear.
’Plink. Plonk.’
Water droplets began to fall. The air grew moist, and soon a drizzle descended.
Lothar exclaid in surprise, "It’s raining? Don’t tell that serpent conjured this rain with witchcraft to cover its tracks?"
Banu shook her head. "I don’t know, but it’s certainly a possibility."
The next day, the dreary rain continued, casting the entire world in a grey, hazy light. After a full night of downpour, the tracks left by the giant serpent in the town’s streets had long since been washed away.
A group of people, with six horses, left the inn early, treading the muddy paths of the countryside. Their cloaks and clothes were damp and uncomfortable due to the wretched weather.
The Countess’s knights were generous individuals. The two warhorses she had promised were carefully selected by the knights from those left behind by the Hungarians, said to be bred from local mares and Arabian stallions. Although considerably shorter than Lothar’s warhorse, they were still fine mounts. Lothar imdiately assigned them to Banu and Hans.
Ryan and Moder harbored no resentnt that the newcors had been favored. After all, neither of them was skilled in mounted combat, so a warhorse would be of little use. Furthermore, one of the recipients was a suspected witch with a close relationship to their lord, and the other was an elite knight who ca with his own equipnt; they wouldn’t dare feel resentful.
When Hans had been summoned, he hadn’t brought a lance or a warhorse, but that was rely because his character portrait didn’t depict them, not because he, as a knight’s squire, lacked equestrian or jousting skills.
Just then, they saw a dense crowd of people moving steadily ahead. Their clothes were tattered, and they traveled with their families. Among them were ruffian-like figures as well as n in chainmail who looked like rcenaries. It was a motley assembly, people from all walks of life.
Lothar casually stopped a man and inquired, "Where are you from, and where are you headed?"
The man replied with trepidation, "Milord, we are peasants on a pilgrimage to the Holy Land. My companions and I are all from the Margraviate of Brandenburg."
"I see."
So this was the peasant’s Crusade?
Lothar led his party forward, squeezing through the throng. The commoners, dressed in worn, dirty, travel-stained clothes, consciously made way. Muddy water splashed by hooves spattered the faces of peasants by the roadside, but they dared not voice their anger. However, Lothar imdiately put a stop to this, signaling his companions to dismount and proceed on foot.
In such congested conditions, they couldn’t move quickly even on horseback, and the common folk, seeing their group, didn’t dare obstruct them, readily stepping aside.
From a large, covered wagon up ahead, the sounds of n and won grunting and moaning could be heard intermittently. Shortly after, a rcenary, looking drained yet satisfied, erged, hitching up his trousers.
Ryan chuckled. "Those are prostitutes accompanying the column, ’wandering orioles’ would be the most fitting description. They follow the pilgrims, earning their passage. They might eventually settle in a city along the way, or perhaps they’ll follow all the way to the Holy Land to wash away their sins."
Lothar asked instinctively, "Aren’t they afraid of disease?"
Ryan chortled. "Heh, you think they wouldn’t catch anything plying their trade in the big cities? By following the pilgrims, these wandering orioles can at least avoid so of the taxes levied by those lords."
Lothar fell silent for a mont. "They even have to pay taxes on money earned by selling their bodies?"
"Of course, and it’s not a small amount either. Then add the tithe, corvée labor, military taxes, and any new taxes the lords invent for their own selfish desires..." Ryan paused, then his tone shifted slightly. "Milord, your father was a kind lord, but the vast majority of lords don’t treat commoners as human beings."
Lothar nodded. He glanced at Banu, rembering their conversation that night. As transmigrators, they had to do sothing about the state of this world. Even if he couldn’t change the entire world, he could at least strive to make his own subjects happier in the future.
Along the roadside, people who were sick or too starved to walk would occasionally collapse into the mud.
One man, holding a broken bowl, approached Lothar to beg: "Noble lord, please have rcy. My wife is about to starve to death. Please, grant so grain."
Another, holding a self-made crusader banner, cried out, "Noble knights, we are also crusaders! Please let us follow you. We can be your attendants, your servants, feed your livestock, and till your fields."
An old woman, tears streaming down her face, clutched her daughter, who was as thin as a rake, and pleaded, "Please take my daughter in, she’s about to starve to death."
Lothar was sowhat moved.
But Moder quickly whispered a reminder, "Milord, you cannot help everyone."
Lothar nodded. "Indeed. Even if I can help them for a mont, I can’t help them for a lifeti. A few silver coins or a few loaves of bread won’t save their lives." This Peasant’s Crusade, led by impoverished clergyn, would likely see less than a third of its participants ever reach the Holy Land.
"But I must do sothing," Lothar murmured. He then instructed in a low voice, "Moder, later, give that woman so grain. Help the others if you can. Let’s give out half of the rations we’re carrying." He added a warning, "Rember, don’t draw too much attention. If it incites others to fight over it, we’ll be harming them instead of helping."
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