As Norn was busily arranging the move, he was summoned to the study by Sasan under the pretext of urgent matters. Seeing Sasan's solemn expression, Norn tried to lighten the mood with a joke.
"Judging by your serious look, Saladin can't possibly be at the city gates already, can he?"
Sasan shook his head but spoke gravely, "Saladin, with an army reportedly numbering 50,000, departed from Cairo 15 days ago. Three days ago, he engaged in fierce battle with King Baldwin, who was defeated and has now retreated into Ascalon Fortress."
Norn managed to stay calm upon hearing the initial news, but his eyes widened in shock at the mention of Ascalon Fortress. He remembered vividly that just ten days ago, Otto had come to Norn's manor for a meal as usual, and then informed Norn that he was about to head to Ascalon Fortress with the Grand Master.
"Is there any other news?" Norn asked, struggling to maintain his composure.
"The garrison at Gaza attempted a rescue but has been besieged at the gates of Gaza City."
After a long while, Norn waved his hand, signaling for Sasan to leave. Sasan hesitated, as if wanting to say more, but ultimately left respectfully, closing the door behind him.
Once Sasan was gone, Norn's clenched fists slammed down on the wooden table. Although he had anticipated this day, he hadn't expected it to come so soon. Feeling utterly powerless, Norn lay back on the couch, as if all the energy had been drained from him. Despite having witnessed much death and darkness in the three years since he arrived in this world, Norn's soul was still that of someone raised in a peaceful era; everything before him now seemed like a nightmare.
But now, as if waking from a dream, Norn faced a monumental choice: on one side were his tenants, who deeply believed that he could lead them out of this predicament, and on the other side was his uncle, who had treated him like his own child and was now trapped in a besieged city.
Norn was torn, struggling with an internal battle.
"Is there really no way to have it all?" Norn muttered to himself.
In truth, Norn knew there was a way, but it was exceedingly remote. The memories that flashed through his mind—of ravenous wolves with gaping jaws and ferocious bandits—reminded him with bloody facts that in this dark age, one could lose their life in the blink of an eye if they weren't careful.
Yet the care from Otto, Anna, and others also made Norn realize that this era was not entirely devoid of good; at least he still had friends and family.
Scenes of his interactions with Otto flickered through Norn's mind like a lantern show: teaching him how to use a sword, handing him the family signet ring, shielding him from a bandit's blade, and finally, the last night they parted ten days ago.
"If I hurry, I might still be able to see you off at the Port of Saint-Acre," Otto had said with a smile.
Norn's eyes snapped open, and he slowly but resolutely stood up. Kicking open the door to his study, he found William, Patrick, DeMol, HanMo, Anna, and Sasan all waiting outside.
"Ladies and gentlemen," Norn said with a smile, "I might have to be a bit selfish this time."
A dark shadow flew from Norn's hand, and DeMol caught it to find that it was the signet ring symbolizing the baron's status.
"I'm going to rescue Uncle Otto. I'll leave the manor in your hands, Uncle DeMol."
DeMol was about to say something, but all he saw was Norn's retreating figure.
"Take care of Anna for me," Norn waved casually, "Let's move together once I bring Uncle back."
Patrick clapped DeMol on the shoulder with a smile and followed Norn. William grumbled under his breath but didn't slow down. HanMo also followed silently.
Sasan watched as Norn and his group gradually moved away. A flicker of hesitation crossed his eyes, but he eventually strode forward to catch up.
"Bang!"
The tavern's dilapidated wooden door was slammed against the wall. The once noisy tavern fell silent in an instant. Both the bartenders and mercenaries glared at the newcomers, but seeing their splendid attire and the dozen or so heavily armed followers, they reluctantly reined in their hostile gazes.
"You scum, cowards! Worthless dogs without honor!" Norn loudly taunted everyone, "Cowards who can't even fart at the mere mention of Saladin's name."
A few hot-headed mercenaries were about to make a move but were restrained by their companions, leaving them to glare at Norn's group.
"What? Is there not a single man among you?" Norn's provocative gaze swept across the room, "Or have you already prepared yourselves? Planning to use your pale bodies to ingratiate yourselves with Saladin when he arrives?"
At this, the mercenaries' anger was almost palpable. Everyone glared at Norn's group, and had it not been for his noble status, someone would have already rushed forward to beat them up.
"If you want to prove you're still men, then go and chop down Saladin's cowardly followers."
At the mention of Saladin's name, the mercenaries visibly calmed down, but Norn grabbed a handful of silver coins and threw them into the air.
"I, Baron Norn Adler, am now hiring you. Report to my manor and you'll get one gold nomisma. Another gold nomisma when you reach Ascalon."
"After that, one gold nomisma for each infidel warrior's head, five gold nomismata for a decurion, and fifty for a centurion."
Hearing this reward, the mercenaries' enthusiasm surged again. Norn looked at the mercenaries, whose eyes were filled with greed, and despite his disdain, he still shouted loudly, "Saladin's head, ten thousand gold nomismata."
Ten thousand gold nomismata! All the mercenaries were stunned by such a generous bounty. After all, a typical manor was worth only five hundred gold nomismata, and ten thousand gold nomismata could buy a baronial estate.
And just as everyone was still in shock, Norn kicked open the lid of a chest, revealing neatly stacked gold coins inside. In an instant, all the mercenaries' eyes were filled with dazzling golden light. The previously murmuring tavern now only echoed with increasingly heavy breathing.
"Want it? If you do, go and take Saladin's head!"
After an unknown amount of time, someone finally snapped out of their reverie, only to find that Norn's group had already vanished. If it weren't for the scattered silver coins on the ground, they would have thought it was all a dream.
But now, the mercenaries' eyes, previously filled with a golden gleam, were now alight with avaricious green. Without anyone knowing who started it, dozens of mercenaries in the tavern grabbed their weapons and rushed out, leaving the tavern owner bewildered in the wind.
Thanks to the endless wars around the Holy Land, a large number of mercenaries came here to make a living. Within five days, after Norn's generous investment, he had managed to recruit a force of 1,500 men. Among them were several quite formidable mercenary companies.
One was a battle-hardened infantry company from southern Frankish Kingdom, capable of ensuring that each man had a spear, shield, helmet, and some form of armor—though most were leather with iron studs, a few captains wore chainmail. The entire mercenary company of 400 men was positioned in the middle of Norn's column.
Another was a group of Turkoman mercenaries from Antioch. Although they were infidels, they would tear into Norn's enemies like a pack of wolves as long as the pay was sufficient. Their equipment was rather rudimentary, with only animal skins for clothing, but they were all mounted and had excellent horse-archery skills. The 200 of them were assigned to scout ahead of the column.
To Norn's pleasant surprise, there was also a group of elite mercenaries.
Norn remembered sitting at the recruitment table when suddenly a group of dark shadows blocked the sunlight in front of him. A group of burly men, each over 1.8 meters tall, walked up to Norn's table and picked up the large jug of wine he had been using to quench his thirst, drinking heartily.
Ignoring Norn's astonished gaze, the mercenaries continued to drink to their heart's content. Norn restrained William, who wanted to teach them a lesson, and patiently waited for the mercenary leader to finish the last drop of wine.
The mercenary leader licked his lips contentedly and then laughed heartily as he introduced himself. It turned out that this mercenary group was from the Kingdom of Denmark. They had originally been hired by a viscount to go on a pilgrimage. However, when they were close to the Holy Land, the viscount fell ill and died unexpectedly, leaving them without means of livelihood.
Stuck here, they had no choice but to look for work to earn some travel money to get back home.
Although this group only had 80 men, they were all equipped with double-layered chainmail and helmets. In terms of weapons, in addition to daggers, shields, and spears, many of them wielded two-handed battle-axes and flails that ordinary people would find difficult to swing.
For this reason, Norn agreed to provide them with an additional two barrels of ale per day on top of the original commission.
Five days later, unable to wait any longer, Norn set off for Ascalon Fortress with his hastily assembled force of 1,500 mercenaries and 150 manor guards.
"Saladin, I've got my sights on you. Not even Jesus can save you now, I say!"