Medieval Gacha Lord
Chapter 99: Fringilla’s Melancholy

Chapter 99: Fringilla’s Melancholy

Chapter 99: Fringilla’s Melancholy

Outside Kerak Castle, within the centermost Saracen encampment, a falcon swooped down with a cry. Saladin unfolded the letter taken from the falcon and, after a brief glance, his brow furrowed. "Baron Lothar of the Royal Knights..." Saladin murmured softly, "Who is this? Why have I never heard this name before?"

Al-Adil thought for a moment, then provided an answer: "He is said to be the son of Werner of the Habsburg family, Jerusalem’s newest prominent figure, regarded as a confidant by that Leper King."

"So, it’s ’that’ fellow’s son." Mentioning Werner, Saladin immediately recalled that fierce knight from the Battle of Montgisard, mounted on a white horse, lance in hand, like a god descended to earth.

"It seems Zahir was quite lucky to have preserved his life at the hands of that paranoid man’s son." Saladin coughed lightly; his health was not good. Though not as gravely ill as Baldwin IV, even with a large contingent of imperial court physicians, he was often in a sickly state.

A black eunuch presented goblets filled with iced drinks to the two. Saladin drained his in one gulp and tossed the goblet onto the tray held by the black eunuch. His voice held suppressed anger: "That boy...! I once advised him to stay away from killing, not to indulge in it and develop an incurable obsession, because blood only begets more killing. But he did not take my words to heart. I granted him my most trusted chamberlain, yet even he could not persuade him to return to the right path. He has greatly disappointed me."

Al-Adil said in a low voice, "My King, shall I lead an army into enemy territory to rescue Zahir?"

Saladin shook his head. "No, unnecessary. Paying the ransom will suffice. Though Werner was a paranoid madman, he was a man of his word. His son is surely the same. As long as the money is paid, Zahir will be released. Even if he isn’t returned, avenging him later will do."

He fell silent for a moment, then inquired, "How is Al-Afdal faring in the north? Has he disobeyed the plans we laid out and advanced rashly?"

"No, the Eldest Prince is secretly overseeing northern military affairs under my identity. My old rival, Count Raymond, surely cannot imagine that the one he is engaging is not me at all." A hint of approval showed on al-Adil’s face. "By this virtue, the Eldest Prince has already gained many advantages. If not for your orders restraining him, he might have already taken Tripoli."

"Heh, don’t flatter him unduly. Tripoli isn’t so easily taken." Saladin nodded. "Is Taqi al-Din still the same old way in Egypt?" Taqi al-Din was Saladin’s nephew, enfeoffed as Governor of Egypt, and also a genius general—though, perhaps the word "former" should be added before that title now.

"Yes. He scours Cairo for prostitutes to indulge himself. When I last saw him, his eye sockets were sunken, and his belly was full of fat. I greatly doubt if he can even lift a sword anymore." A trace of helpless frustration for his lack of improvement showed in al-Adil’s eyes. "I have berated him and even beaten him, but as soon as I leave, he immediately reverts to his old ways."

"Al-Adil, after this war is over, you go back and be the Governor of Egypt. Have Taqi al-Din report for duty under my command. He truly is too outrageous." For Saladin, although Damascus was his most valued base of operations, wealthy Egypt was an equally inseparable part of his domain.

***

In Montreal, all the public bathhouses today were overflowing with people. "Lothar the Generous" had paid a large sum for his soldiers; all knights, sergeants, and logistics personnel could enjoy a full day of bathing, food, and wine services here. While people were grateful for the Grand Master’s generosity, they also secretly lamented that though there was wine, meat, and baths, the most crucial thing was missing—that which they, warriors fresh from the slaughter of battle, needed most.

Lothar himself, however, along with his confidants, was enjoying a private bath in the innermost chamber. Steam rose hazily in the bath. Lothar soaked his body in the hot water, his eyes slightly narrowed, savoring this rare moment of leisure.

Hans, soaking in the water, said with some emotion, "Heh, this Sir Humphrey is truly pragmatic. When he heard we needed to rest and regroup in Montreal and couldn’t immediately march out to engage Saladin, he came up with all sorts of excuses to brush us off, completely unwilling to specially allocate a district for us to rest.

Surely he knows that the Saracen cavalry we defeated were plundering ’his’ lands? If these Saracens are allowed to plunder freely, who knows how many more villages will suffer."

"He knows, but he may not necessarily care. If he did care, this Sir Humphrey would have led his own knights out of the city to engage Prince Zahir’s army." Beside him, Moder snorted coldly. "Sir Hans, not everyone values their ’subjects’ like our Lord does."

Lothar frowned and said, "Forget it. At least he’s willing to provide us with free supplies. That already counts as him fulfilling his due obligations."

Lothar suddenly remembered something and reminded them, "By the way, do not inform Humphrey that we captured Prince Zahir. If he finds out, I’m afraid it will create unnecessary complications."

Lothar didn’t know how deeply this Sir Humphrey was influenced by his stepfather (Raynald), but he dared not gamble. After all, the ransom offered for Prince Zahir was a full two thousand Solidus gold coins. Moreover, Lothar was unwilling to forge a blood feud with Saladin. This way, one day, even if he were defeated on the battlefield, there was a high probability he could ransom back his own life and those of some of his subordinates by paying a ransom.

***

In another bathing pool, mist swirled. Banu’s long black hair cascaded down her white back. The days of travel and battlefield slaughter had left few marks of grime on her. She merely soaked quietly in the water, and the temperature of the pool around her began to drop rapidly.

Fringilla drew her legs up, sitting naked on the marble tiles. She had tied her flowing white hair with a hemp rope; a few mischievous strands clung damply to her cheeks, making her appear all the more alluring and enchanting.

"Banu, I think we need to talk." Fringilla’s tone, for once, lacked its usual aggression.

"What?" Banu was somewhat surprised. This was the first time Fringilla had called her by her name.

Fringilla sniffled, then said with some aggrievement, "I feel like we’ve lost favor. Milord hasn’t told us stories for so long. He often comes back very late at night, and when he does, he just collapses onto the bed and even speaks less to us."

Banu said calmly, "Milord is a general, a lord, a future king. How could he possibly delay all his affairs to accompany you in such daily trifles?"

"Heh, what ’accompany ’me’’? It includes accompanying ’you’ too!" Fringilla sneered. "Stop pretending you don’t care. The more you do, the less Milord will care about you, forgetting you completely. Later, if new people come along, he’ll care about you even less. After all, what can you do? Besides protecting Milord’s safety, following him around like a shadow? You used to be a general, but you can neither command troops for Milord nor manage affairs as efficiently as Hans, who used to be just a one-star!"

"These days, Milord spends more time with Hans than with us!"

Banu was silent for a moment, then said in a low voice, "If Milord needs me, I will be behind him. If he doesn’t need me, I will stay far away. All I can do is not cause Milord trouble."

Fringilla raised her voice. "I can’t do that! I ’will’ cause Milord trouble! I ’will’ have Milord accompany me, tell me bedtime stories! I ’will’ have Milord think of me in everything, use his money to restore my strength first! Later on, even if new seductive little bitches come along, he will always hold me dearest in his heart!"

Banu opened her mouth but said nothing. Fringilla dipped her fingers into the pool water; it was already ice-cold. The steam in the bathroom also gradually dissipated. Fringilla said with some smugness, "See! You’re not as magnanimous as you claim!"

Banu stood up, revealing her graceful figure before Fringilla—her tall, 1.8-meter frame and the majesty of her bosom loomed like a shadow before Fringilla.

Fringilla’s tone weakened. "Y-you, what do you want? Angry from embarrassment? You want to hit me now?"

Banu shook her head. She hesitated for a moment, then finally asked, "Is it beautiful? My body?"

Fringilla immediately showed a disdainful expression. "Tsk, just this?"

Banu’s tone hardened. "I’m serious. If we want to deepen our relationship with Milord, we should take further steps. As you said, we can’t always wait for Milord to come to us."

"Ah? You mean..." A blush instantly rose on Fringilla’s pale face. She stammered, "N-no, no, this is too fast! It can’t be like this! You’re too cunning!"

A slight smile touched the corners of Banu’s lips. She reached out and gently touched Fringilla’s chin. "So, you were just all talk, weren’t you?"

She no longer paid Fringilla any mind, draped a bathrobe over herself, and walked out.

"W-wait a minute!" Fringilla cried out hastily. "You’re not allowed! You absolutely cannot do that shameless thing! It’s too much! It’s against the rules, you know!"

All that was left for her was Banu’s graceful, retreating back. Of course, Banu hadn’t intended to do ’that’. It was just that Fringilla’s words had struck a chord, arousing a rare spark of competitiveness within her.

’If I were to truly contend, none of you would stand a chance! Newcomers included!’ Banu’s indifferent eyes were filled with confidence.