A Crusader with System in the Middle Ages

"It seems this visit was a bit unnecessary for you," Eric said.

"Of course. I have food and drink, and aside from not being able to leave this place, I can do whatever I wish." Marquis Azo stroked his neat, short beard. "Besides, as I just said, I’m already seventy-eight. Even if there had been no turmoil in Milan, how many more years could I have possibly lived?

My three sons are all grown men. Does it truly matter if I live or die? The rabble controlling Milan now will be easily crushed once the Emperor crosses the Alps.

The young Emperor has a rather good impression of me. Unlike the other lords of the Empire, my record isn’t sullied with misdeeds. I have never once shirked the loyalty and duty I owe him.

I never looked down on him for his age, either. I know that the young are always impetuous, while the older lords love to put on airs. In my eyes, their self-righteous behavior is nothing but foolishness. They have grown old in vain, and their experience is shallow.

Every young man knows his words lack persuasive power when spoken before a group of his elders. It doesn’t even require thought; it’s practically instinct. The moment he ascended to that position, he instinctively knew he desperately needed to establish his authority.

This is to say nothing of the fact that this young man is an Emperor, that his father was a great and powerful ruler, and that they had already overstepped their bounds enough when this Emperor was a child.

At a time like this, is there anything more foolish than flaunting one’s seniority and clamoring about some ’imperial privilege’?

A young man of twenty fears and deeply detests even the slightest hint of opposition. To his ears, even the gentlest persuasion sounds incredibly grating.

At a time like that, the best thing to do is shut one’s mouth and let the young man enjoy, if only for a moment, his supreme authority. Once his anxiety and unease have subsided, everything is negotiable.

Unfortunately, this Empire is simply overflowing with idiots and fools. Oh, perhaps the Teutons are just naturally inept at using their brains. Their heads can’t seem to hold anything useful besides thoughts of hounds and women.

Having such a flock of imbeciles for colleagues is actually a good thing for me. It allows me to be a true centrist, and deservedly so. I don’t need to curry favor with the Emperor; on the contrary, he will come to curry favor with me, even if I do nothing.

Even if I do nothing, he’ll see me as loyal and agreeable. Even if I do nothing, he’ll be willing to forge a friendship with me. Even if I do nothing, he’ll feel he owes me a debt of gratitude.

The Emperor won’t be stingy about granting me a favor. After he destroys this rabble, my son will still inherit the title as a matter of course. Granted, the new Marquis will be subservient to the Emperor, acting as his agent in Northern Italy for a time. And granted, the imbeciles will think he’s become a puppet and will start clamoring about ’the honor of the Nobility’ all over again.

But what does that matter? Our family will endure, while they will enter the Lord’s embrace ahead of schedule." Marquis Azo then sat on the edge of the bed, crossed his legs, and looked at Eric with a smile. "So, is there anything else you have to say to me? Son of Giscard. The Spider. The Deliberate One."

Eric said nothing. Instead, he raised the Viking Longsword in his hand and ran a finger along the blade.

"What’s the matter? Have I angered you into a murderous rage? Are you going to kill me?" Marquis Azo was still smiling.

"The more you speak of death, the more you speak of me killing you, the more I doubt your Courage, Marquis." Eric sheathed his Longsword, walked over to Marquis Azo, and clapped his hands on the marquis’s shoulders. "Since I walked in here, I don’t believe I’ve once mentioned laying a hand on you, have I? You, on the other hand, can’t seem to stop talking about it?

There is a Roman proverb that says a man who feels he is lacking in some way will do his utmost to display what he values most."

"Faithless Normans. Death is a logical conclusion."

"I’ve always believed there are very few people in this world who are truly unafraid of death.

Do you know why Knights always charge at the forefront of battle, while Recruits and Civilian Militia are always the first to rout?

I don’t believe it’s because they have less Courage than the Knights. Rather, it’s because the victory or defeat in that war offers them little to no benefit.

For Knights, however, it is completely different. They have priority rights to the spoils of war. They have better Armor, more experience, and superior Skills. Because of their Identity as Knights, they are more often captured than killed in most wars, as their Lord will pay a handsome ransom for their return.

This is why, to bolster morale before an important battle, some Lords will knight their Attendants on the eve of the fight."

Eric remembered clearly. ’This old coot lived to be ninety-nine, spanning nearly a full century. An age that rare in eleventh-century Europe was practically unheard of in the entire history of human feudalism.’

’Would a man who truly doesn’t fear death, who doesn’t cherish his own life, live to be ninety-nine?’

"If you’re truly not afraid of death, how about I put that to the test? Since you seem so eager for me to make a move." Eric smiled. "Don’t worry. To ensure the precision of our little experiment, and to fully experience Your Lordship’s boldness and Courage, we won’t be using such a simple and crude method."

As he spoke, Eric unhooked the Viking Longsword from his waist and tossed it to the Knight behind him, who caught it securely.

"You..." The color drained from Marquis Azo’s face for an instant.

Eric’s fingers dug directly into the ribs on Marquis Azo’s side.