Everard watched as Taj al-Din devoured his meal, even pouring a glass of wine for him when he nearly choked. Only after Taj al-Din had eaten and drunk his fill did he have the mess of a table cleared away, and then he spoke gently, "Should our side be defeated, we would ask you to mediate and recommend your brother, Emir, to us."
Taj al-Din, who had relaxed a bit, immediately became hostile upon hearing the name Emir. However, Everard continued unperturbed, "Please do not fault us for being opportunistic. After all, we are merely trying to preserve our lives."
Taj al-Din's anger boiled over, his veins bulging as he roared like a lion, "What's so great about Emir? Can't I protect your lives just as well?"
"Must I spell it out for you?" Everard still wore that fawning smile as he looked at the furious Taj al-Din and slowly continued, "Though we have won this battle, Saladin still has 20,000 troops at his command, while we have barely managed to gather 5,000, and we have suffered significant losses today. In my view, Saladin is bound to win this war."
"Need you even say that? My uncle Saladin has been biding his time for over a decade, all to reclaim the Holy City stolen by you infidels in one fell swoop," Taj al-Din said with pride, completely forgetting that he was still a prisoner.
"Naturally, we, these opportunistic souls, must also curry favor with a new master as soon as possible," Everard sighed regretfully, "It was truly a rare opportunity to meet you today, but..."
Taj al-Din stared at Everard, who had suddenly fallen silent, and blurted out, "But what? Tell me!"
A gust of wind blew through the cell, causing the torches to flicker and the shadows to dance. "To protect your dignity, I shouldn't be saying this, but for my own life..." Everard seemed to steel himself before continuing, "But you are a defeated general!"
These words struck Taj al-Din like a bolt of lightning, and his anger vanished in an instant. Until then, Taj al-Din had believed that his uncle Saladin would surely slaughter these infidels, reclaim the Holy City, and erase his own humiliation, so that no one would ever mention this crushing defeat again. But Everard's words had ripped open this painful wound.
Seeing the effect he had achieved, Everard continued to seduce, "Have you ever considered, once Saladin reclaims the Holy City, his prestige will soar! Then, all the Saracens along the eastern coast of the Mediterranean will hail him as their king! He will surely establish a dynasty far greater than the one we have now."
"But what does all this have to do with you?" Everard's words hit Taj al-Din like a hammer again, as feelings of regret over the defeat, desire for survival, and jealousy towards his brother flickered across his face.
"As the sole and greatest loser in this battle, even as Saladin's nephew, you will never regain his trust, even if you are not executed or exiled."
"Moreover, before Saladin dies, he will surely distribute his lands generously among his sons and nephews. One can imagine that the fertile land of Egypt..." Everard paused deliberately, noting the fleeting glimmer of ambition on Taj al-Din's face, before continuing, "will surely be given to his own sons."
Everard, who had observed Taj al-Din's dejection, went on, "While your brother Emir, as Saladin's nephew and the one who has distinguished himself in this battle, will surely be granted the most important and militarily powerful region of Damascus. And you?"
"Even if you are granted a fief, it will likely be in a barren place like Aleppo." This statement shattered the last of Taj al-Din's illusions.
Taj al-Din, dispirited and despondent, seemed to age ten years in an instant. His once strong body slumped, and he muttered prayers under his breath, his eyes now devoid of any luster.
Everard, seeing this, felt a surge of pleasure. As the Templar Knight in charge of intelligence, he thoroughly enjoyed the process of manipulating others' emotions!
However, Everard still put on a face of regret and shame, as if ashamed of having spoken such words, and took a clay jug to pour a glass of wine for Taj al-Din.
"That I have caused you such sorrow is something I truly did not wish to see, but the situation has come to this," Everard feigned deep distress, "Unless..."
"Unless what?" Taj al-Din, clutching at the last straw, jumped up, grabbing Everard's hand so forcefully that it drew the attention of the guards.
"Unless what? Tell me!" Taj al-Din asked again, shaking Everard's hand excitedly.
"Why ask when you already know the answer?" Seeing that the other party's emotions were just right, Everard finally revealed his true intentions.
"Unless Uncle Saladin is defeated!" Taj al-Din's pupils dilated; he should have thought of this answer long ago. Only if Saladin was defeated would he not be too embarrassed, and only then would he have the opportunity to seize greater power.
"It's impossible. My uncle has an army of 20,000. You can't do it," Taj al-Din's last ounce of reason posed a final question to Everard.
Faced with Taj al-Din's question, Everard shrugged indifferently, "How can you know unless you try? After all, you can't be in a worse situation than you are now, can you?"
These words once again tore at Taj al-Din's sanity. Everard before him seemed to split into dozens of flickering images, all whispering tempting words: You've already suffered a crushing defeat, are imprisoned, and have lost your uncle's trust. What else do you have to lose?
Everard, watching Taj al-Din's internal struggle, took a sip of wine by himself and mumbled, "Moreover, don't you want to go further?"
The originally indistinct words were as loud as a bell in Taj al-Din's ears. He said in disbelief, "You mean...!"
"Suppose, I'm just saying suppose," Everard spoke with a tone as sweet as honeyed poison, "Saladin and his sons and nephews all die in this war, and the only one who survives is you. Wouldn't you then be able to smoothly inherit all the territories?"
Taj al-Din was almost driven mad. He panted heavily, his eyes, already bloodshot, turning even redder. He had been in hell, and now he suddenly saw a possibility of ascending to heaven. In an instant, a seed of ambition grew into a towering tree, its intricate roots tightly binding his heart.
"It's impossible. You can't do it," Taj al-Din's voice was so weak that he could feel it himself.
Everard smiled and took out a scroll from his bosom, slowly unrolling it in front of Taj al-Din.
"This is a contract signed by King Baldwin, stating that the Kingdom of Jerusalem recognizes only Sultan Taj al-Din of Egypt, that is, you, as the sole heir to Saladin's legacy, and is willing to ally with you and help you subdue any who do not submit."
After Taj al-Din finished reading, Everard rolled up the scroll and handed it to him. At this moment, his tone was so persuasive that even the most skilled seducer would have to admit defeat. "What do you say, my lord? Would you like to give it a try?"
After a long while, Taj al-Din's face no longer showed any struggle; all expressions disappeared from his face—except for ambition.
"What do you want?"