"Your Majesty! The messenger is an assassin! It's a trap! We cannot fall for it!"
"Even if what she says is true, the reinforcements number fewer than 1,700. They wouldn't stand a chance against Saladin's vast army," a noble from Jerusalem's court advised as he stood atop the walls, his voice filled with concern. Baldwin cast a pointed glance at the noisy noble and then turned to another figure standing nearby: a man with a wild mane of red hair and a face framed by a thick, unruly beard.
"Count Reynard, what do you think?" Baldwin asked calmly, his voice carrying a hint of challenge.
Reynard grinned, revealing yellowed teeth. "I think the reinforcements are real," he said, his tone casual, "Saladin may be a master of deception, but surely, if he wanted to trick us, he'd send a messenger who at least claims to be a servant of our Lord."
The nervous noble, who had been about to protest, stopped abruptly, as if choked. "But... but my lord, you are well aware of your deep enmity with Saladin…" he stammered.
Reynard's eyes darkened, and a bloodthirsty grin spread across his face. "Saladin tortured me for ten years. I swear, I'll make him taste the same agony I endured." His voice dropped to a growl, "And before that, I have no qualms about sending any obstacle to my revenge straight to the Almighty."
"Your Majesty, Count Reynard actually..." The noble who had spoken earlier was cut short by the sharp crack of a horsewhip.
"Silence!" Baldwin snapped, disgusted by the man's cowardice, then turned his gaze back to the battlefield below.
"Reynard, if you were in charge, what would you do?"
"What's there to do?" Reynard shrugged dismissively. "A handful of men, no knights to speak of. Some young fools with a lot of courage, but they'll soon find themselves on the ground with broken teeth."
"You think so?" a deep voice interrupted. It was Odo, the Grand Master of the Knights Templar, speaking up. "Mike Bai Adler may be young, but his actions are often unpredictable. And the Lord seems to favor him—he always seems to find success against impossible odds."
"Unpredictable?" Reynard sneered. "I had no idea he'd managed to get mixed up with remnants of the Assassins."
"Enough!" Baldwin raised a hand to silence them before things escalated further. "Anyone who can strike down my enemies is welcome in the Lord's eyes."
Baldwin cast one more dubious look at the thin line of troops outside the walls. The contrast between Mike Bai's fragile formation and the enemy's triple-layered defense was stark.
"Ha! Another fool brainwashed by the tales of knights!" Reynard mocked, his eyes glinting with disdain. "He thinks the infidel forces will just fall back at the sight of his 'army'."
"Perhaps… he has a hidden trick up his sleeve. Perhaps he believes he can break through," Odo said, though his voice trailed off as if even he was losing confidence in his own words.
"Ha! He's not even got 1,700 knights! What will he fight with? His teeth?" Reynard taunted again, spinning his dagger between his fingers.
Boom!!!
A deafening explosion shook the air, cutting off Reynard's mocking tone. Everyone froze, startled by the sudden noise, and turned toward its source.
"Oh, God!"
A massive black cloud rose at the center of the battlefield, crackling with bursts of fire. The enemy's entire formation faltered, their lines momentarily disrupted.
It took a while for the men on the wall to recover from their shock. The chaplain, standing nearby, fervently began praising the Lord in a rapturous chant.
"Your Highness!" Reynard immediately dropped to one knee before Baldwin, urgency in his voice. "The enemy is in disarray! We must strike now!"
"Order the charge, Your Majesty!" Odo urged eagerly. "The Knights Templar will support Mike Bai Adler and crush the enemy's forces."
"Page! Bring me my horse!"
Meanwhile, Mike Bai, unaware of the conversation atop the walls, felt a searing pain in his right side. The powerful impact threw him back in his saddle, and if not for the high cantle of his saddle, he might have been thrown off completely. His grip on the lance slipped, and it fell to the ground.
The enemy was suffering too. Mike Bai's lance had pierced into a rider's abdomen, though the armor had protected him from a fatal blow. The rider was now writhing in pain, clutching his belly as he struggled to stay on his mount.
Mike Bai gritted his teeth, glancing at the wound on his own side. The mail at his ribs had been pierced, but luckily, the tough leather armor he'd bought for forty gold pieces had held up. The leather was torn, exposing a mass of bloody flesh, but Mike Bai could tell it hadn't reached any vital organs.
He looked around at his remaining men—William and Patrick were still fighting by his side, but his original squad of ten had been reduced to only five. Their aggressive charge had left them scattered, and the infantry had not yet caught up.
In front of him was a reformed enemy formation, and behind, the elite cavalry of the enemy's officers—at least thirty riders were closing in.
With a grimace, Mike Bai turned his horse and drew his longsword. His remaining cavalry closed in behind him. He held the sword behind his back, the tip angled downward, and urged his horse forward once more.
The enemy cavalry quickly realized they were trapped between Mike Bai and his infantry, but they discarded their broken lances and charged with their sabers raised high.
It was a fight to the death.
Mike Bai hurled his sword into the air with such force that it pierced through the armor of one of the riders and into his flesh beneath.
A second enemy rider came at him with a saber, but Mike Bai leaned to the right, ducking low against his horse's neck and narrowly dodging the swing.
Breaking through the enemy lines, Mike Bai pulled his sword free from the body of a fallen rider. Wounded, but alive, he gave a disdainful glance to the enemy officer who was now trying to rally his forces, then led his remaining cavalry back to his own lines.
The enemy officer, furious and humiliated, screamed at his men to pursue.
Mike Bai's cavalry quickly closed ranks around him, and for a moment, he could breathe again. Facing the impotent rage of the officer, Mike Bai raised his middle finger—though he didn't know what it meant, the officer clearly recognized it as an insult.
The officer's cavalry arrived, and one of his men approached as if to mediate, but the officer, still shouting curses, refused to retreat.
Then, to Mike Bai's surprise, one of the cavalrymen suddenly leapt from his horse onto the officer's mount. A swift blow to the officer's head knocked him senseless.
Before Mike Bai could process what had happened, the cavalryman had seized the reins and was charging toward Mike Bai's lines. The rest of the cavalry followed, riding hard in pursuit.
In an instant, Mike Bai understood the danger. "Clear the way! Make room!" he shouted.
But in the chaos of the tightly packed formation, it was impossible to make way.
Seeing the rider closing in fast, and the enemy still hot on his heels, Mike Bai's mind raced. Then, suddenly, he shouted: "Lower the lances! Lower the lances!"
His soldiers reacted quickly, raising their long spears in unison.
The charging rider, propelled by his own momentum, leapt from his horse, tumbling into the enemy ranks—his landing softened by a roll.
With a surge of adrenaline, Mike Bai charged forward, reaching out to grab the rider.
"You okay, Sassan?"
"Yeah!"