After a few days of rest, Norn and his group set off towards the Holy Land with a caravan. Nearly a hundred people, over 30 camels, and 10 wagons formed a long procession.
Once they left Port Acre, the caravan entered a desolate wasteland. As far as the eye could see, there was nothing but yellow sand. The scorching sun mercilessly baked the earth, and the swirling sands made it almost impossible to keep one's eyes open.
At night, even the roaring bonfires couldn't dispel the chill, forcing travelers to burrow into thick blankets for a hint of warmth. In such conditions, the only thing that could truly lift everyone's spirits was the sight of an oasis.
At dusk, the coolest part of the desert day, Norn and his group were once again contentedly enjoying Norn's carefully prepared dinner. Only this time, there was an additional white-clad figure.
"This is delicious. I feel like everything I've eaten before in my life was pig slop," the accompanying Templar Knight said, managing to speak clearly despite shoveling food into his mouth.
"Sir Everard, if you don't mind, there's more here," Norn said, ignoring William's pitiful look and ladling the last spoonful of stew into Everard's bowl.
"Protecting pilgrims from the heathens is our duty. Showing up uninvited for a meal is already against the Order's rules. How can I have the nerve to eat more?" he said, though his body was very honest, clutching the bowl and gobbling down the food.
"This isn't a gift from the pilgrims to the Order. It's mutual aid among fellow believers," Norn said, pointing to his uncle.
"My uncle, Baron Otto Adler from the Duchy of Mecklenburg, is also about to become a member of the Order."
"My apologies!" Everard nodded briefly, then buried his head in his work again.
Norn's brow twitched as he looked at the knight who seemed like he hadn't eaten in three days, inexplicably reminded of the round and portly Second Master.
Finally, after cleaning his plate, Everard let out a contented groan, then made the sign of the cross, praising the Lord's bounty.
"Sir Everard, we've just set foot on this land and don't know much about the current situation in the Holy Land. Could you brief us?" Norn asked.
"The situation in the Crusader Kingdoms is not good," Everard said, putting his plate aside and looking worried. "Though it's hard to admit, Saladin, that brilliant general, is indeed a formidable foe for us Crusaders."
"Three years ago, he successfully took control of Egypt, and then he launched military campaigns to the east and west, completely integrating the local forces.
And this year, he easily defeated his overlord and declared independence. It seems like nothing can stop him from establishing a unified and powerful nation now."
"Saladin," Norn silently noted the name.
"While our enemies grow stronger, the royal court is still locked in a power struggle," Everard sighed and continued, "Our Grand Master Odod has always had a bad relationship with the late King Almaric, and he's constantly in conflict with the nobles who support the king."
"This past spring, King Almaric was unfortunately called by the Lord, and the 13-year-old Baldwin ascended to the throne. But Baldwin has been suffering from leprosy, and no one knows when he'll be called by the Lord."
"Fortunately, Saladin has been busy attacking Damascus these past two years and hasn't had time to bother the kingdom, so there's been some peace."
Norn summed it up: internal strife, external threats, and a calm before the storm.
After dinner, everyone dispersed to rest, but Otto found Norn. "Son, you've worked hard on this journey!"
Norn looked at Otto curiously, wondering why he was saying this.
"When you're a bit older, you should head back to the fief first."
"What about you, Uncle?"
"I'll return once my service is over," Otto said.
"Why can't we go back together?"
Otto didn't speak this time, just quietly covered Norn with a blanket.
"I need to find a way to get Uncle's service over with sooner," Norn resolved to himself.
The next morning, the caravan took advantage of the early coolness and set off quickly for the next oasis.
The fierce sun made the earth groan in pain, and the endless sands seemed to stretch on forever.
In the wagon, Norn handed the water skin to Anna.
After taking a small sip, Anna passed the water skin back to Norn. Norn moistened his cracked lips and took a big gulp.
"When will we get out of this damned desert?"
"Bandits!!!" A scout rider raced back to the caravan, with a cloud of dust trailing behind him. Dozens of black-clad horse bandits, brandishing sabers and spears, circled around the side of the caravan, waiting for an opportunity, while a group of ragged bandits with short knives and clubs screamed as they charged over.
"Norn!" Otto and the others rode up and surrounded Norn's wagon. DeMol took out a set of oversized helmet and chainmail from the wagon and put it on Norn's head.
"If anything happens, you stay hidden in the wagon, understand?" Baron Otto sternly instructed. "And watch closely. This is what a real battlefield looks like."
Norn nodded, grabbed his crossbow, and hid in the wagon with Anna.
At that moment, the caravan's guards also charged forward to fight the bandits. In an instant, there were flashes of blades, severed limbs, screams and moans, roars and maniacal laughter, and even Otto and the others began to engage in close combat with the bandits.
Norn's eyes widened as he looked out the wagon window, and suddenly he remembered the training Otto had given him not long ago.
"Uncle Otto, is there anything to remember on the battlefield?"
"Yeah!"
"First, learning to defend is more important than learning to attack."
Otto used his shield to knock aside the bandit's slashing blade, and then, taking advantage of the bandit's exposed opening, he slashed back and cut off the bandit's right hand.
"Second, conserve your energy."
Patrick climbed onto the top of the wagon, and every time he drew his bow, an enemy would fall from his horse.
"Third, don't believe the priests' nonsense. Use whatever works."
A crossbow bolt whistled through the air and took a life in an instant.
"Fourth, don't get surrounded. At least make sure you don't have enemies behind you."
DeMol leaned against the wagon, hunched over, using his shield to block blades and swords from three directions at once, and his longsword fiercely pierced an enemy's chest.
"Fifth, take good care of your equipment."
William roared as he lifted his battle-axe. The bandit hastily raised his worn-out long knife to block, but he and his knife were split in two.
"Sixth, bravery is not recklessness."
A black-clad horse bandit screamed as he charged at Otto, but Otto picked up a spear and impaled him right through the chest, knocking him off his horse.
"Seventh, know how to run away."
Everard crawled under the wagon, and he took advantage of the chaos to fend off the bandits one by one.
"Eighth, make yourself seem unimportant."
Patrick took out his last arrow and sent the loudest-screaming horse bandit straight to hell.
"Ninth, never give up until the very end."
Finally, the bandits couldn't withstand the heavy casualties and fled as if they had grown two extra legs.
"Tenth, a dead enemy is a good enemy."
The remaining bandits struggled to escape, but a sword through the throat ended their last hope of survival.
After the battle, blood soaked the sands, vultures circled in the sky waiting for their feast, and the ground was littered with the limbs of the dead. The few who were still alive were confirming the deaths of those who should be dead.
Looking at the gory battlefield, Norn suppressed the urge to vomit and, along with Anna, took out bandages from the wagon to dress the wounds of the others.
"Uncle Otto, is this kind of thing common?"
Otto nodded.
"Maybe only the Lord understands why people have to endure so much suffering."