“Beat the pagan’s neck! The heavens are watching!”
Someone in the Crusades shouted loudly. In response, the commander of the Moorish Empire army also encouraged his men.
“Limaj dallah! Dall yuraqubuna!!”
It probably sounds similar: Glory to their God.
But unfortunately, the pagan God seemed to have closed his eyes for a moment today.
“Advance! Advance! The enemy’s ranks are collapsing! Don’t miss the opening!”
A series of urgent cries followed.
As Alfonso had seen, the enemy's attack was sharp, but not all of its members were outstanding.
There was a difference in training between the elite soldiers at the front and the common soldiers in the rear, and there was a problem of chemical bonding where they did not trust each other.
“Wow!”
And the momentum of the black helmet unit that entered through that gap was fierce.
The enemy's vanguard was split in two, like splitting wood along the grain when chopping it.
Alfonso didn't miss the opportunity.
“Come on! Let’s end it like this!”
Alfonso, wearing a black helmet, did not just give verbal encouragement but also rode into the front lines himself on his sturdy white horse.
Kang!
There was a sound of metal clashing with metal, and with a single stroke of the sword, the enemy's head was blown off. It was one of the lower-ranking commanders.
Those without a leader immediately lost their balance and fell to the oncoming assault of Alfonso's knights.
Alfonso scanned the area from his horse, looking for his next target. Not far away was the commander of the enemy vanguard.
'If I just bring down the author, this place will all fall down. Then I'll finish the work I've been given today.'
He spurred his horse, his cerulean eyes shining.
“Hey!”
“Alfonso Casco Nero!”
“Alfonso Casco Nero! Alfonso Casco Nero! Long live our brigade commander!”
Alfonso's troops cheered on the roughly organized battlefield.
The vanguard of the Third Crusade, led by Alfonso and the Black Helmets, quickly destroyed the vanguard of the Moorish Empire's army and even destroyed its center.
Although the right wing was late in responding and the left wing could barely do its part, the vanguard's actions were able to crush the enemy's attack in a timely manner.
“Commander, how are you going to enter the Granata Monastery?”
A subordinate acting as a messenger between the main force asked. Alfonso answered as if he was surprised.
“Hmm? Isn’t that where the Commander-in-Chief would go?”
The goal for today was not only victory in battle but also the recovery of the Granata Monastery, a holy site.
Usually, the commander-in-chief was the first to reap the rewards of capturing or pillaging a city.
The Grand Duke of Yuldenburg, a devout Catholic, easily gave up opportunities for plundering to his subordinate generals, but he always took it upon himself to retrieve sacred relics and restore holy sites.
Entry into the Granata Monastery was a goal for which the Grand Duke of Yuldenburg was obliged to open the first gate himself.
“That is... It seems the Commander-in-Chief is injured.”
"What?"
Alfonso asked the messenger.
"How much?"
“He fell off his horse late in the battle, but I don’t know the details. He told me not to reveal his injury during the battle.”
The former Grand Duke of Yuldenburg was originally shot by a crossbow in this battle and died six months later from an infection.
Today, he suffered a simple fall from a horse, not a penetrating injury, but those who did not know that this was a life-threatening accident could not help but worry.
“Oh. We should hurry up and finish this and return to the main office. If you’re badly injured, it’s a big problem.”
Alfonso took off his helmet and ran his hand through his hair. It was a mess of enemy blood and his own sweat.
“Someone else might be better suited to enter the monastery. Perhaps Count Achenbach, the commander of the right-wing, or Count Sharpei, the commander of the left wing?”
They were of higher rank than Alfonso himself, who was only a vanguard.
“Count Achenbach assisted the wounded Commander-in-Chief and returned to the main camp, while Count Sharpei seems to have difficulty advancing further due to the heavy damage in his unit.”
Alfonso sighed. There was no one else to go.
“The wounded will return to the main camp, and only about 300 people will come with me.”
“I will follow you.”
Sir Manfredi, who was to command a battalion (a unit of about 300 to 1,000 men) under Alfonso, volunteered.
“Except for the injured, our number is just right.”
Alfonso nodded.
"Let's go."
As the Black Helmet Unit climbed the narrow path between the rocky mountains, the dark-skinned locals watched Alfonso and his party with wary eyes.
From their perspective, it was the holy land of their religion, so it would be natural for them to be afraid of what the white-skinned pagans from the Central Continent would do if they came.
“These staring eyes make me feel bad.”
“Leave it.”
Alfonso stopped the grumbling Sir Manfredi.
“We’re not a group that can do anything, and if they had stormed into the San Ercole Cathedral, we would have glared at them with the same expression.”
“...Yes, I understand.”
On top of the rocky mountain stood a tall building.
Unfortunately, the monastery did not follow the architectural style of the Yesak Monastery.
“It is a religious facility for local people. They call it ‘Al Rummani’ here. They gather and pray.”
“It’s a place like a church. The remains of the Lion King are said to be enshrined in the basement here.”
“Yes.”
The Moorish-style stone buildings had a door leading down to the basement, which was a bit different in architectural style.
It seemed to have happened because a new building was built over the crypt used by the old monastery.
“Bring the facility manager here. We’ll need a key to get in. I don’t want to break anything.”
"Yes."
Sir Manfredi took a dozen knights and entered the Moorish religious facility, informed them of their plight, and demanded entry into the crypt, while Alfonso selected the men who would go down with him.
As Alfonso prepared to advance, his troops split in two directions and stood guard over the perimeter.
“Your Highness, this man says he will guide you.”
Sir Manfredi brought in an old man wearing a turban. He looked like a desk-bound scholar.
“Because I’m the only one here who can speak Latin.”
Alfonso glanced at the old man and nodded. The old man alone could not harm them.
"Ah."
The group standing in front of the basement waited for the old scholar to take out an old key and open the basement door.
Kkiriririririk!
The old hinges opened with a creepy sound, and red-hot rust dripped down.
Sir Manfredi frowned and took the lead, bringing a torch.
The basement was a structure that led down to the ground floor via narrow, high stairs. The group quietly followed the old man's directions.
“Your High Priest. It seems they have all arrived.”
Sir Manfredi, who had been walking in front following the old man's instructions, stopped under the stone arch and called out to Alfonso.
The honor of the first entry goes to the commander.
Alfonso took the torch from Sir Manfredi and stepped into the old cellar.
And immediately his eyes caught sight of a coffin made of stone.
“Is that it...?”
Next to him, an old Moorish man spoke in broken Latin.
“This is the tomb of the King who conquered the barbarians.”
Prince Alfonso and Sir Manfredi looked at the old Moor.
“There is a story that whoever can open that coffin will become the Emperor of the barbarians.”
Sir Manfredi grumbled.
“A barbarian Emperor. No matter what you say.”
But Alfonso's interests lay elsewhere.
“Is there really such a story?”
Sir Manfredi nodded.
“It’s probably the story of the Lion King’s Holy Sword. Why...”
“Are you talking about the Holy Sword ‘Khaledbull’?”
“Yes, that.”
The Holy Sword Khaledbull is said to have been used by William the Lionheart, who won the First Crusade and briefly established the Kingdom of Yesak.
According to legend, it was a sword that no one could lift, but when an angel came down from heaven and allowed William the Lionheart to use it, it became as light as a feather for him to wield. It was also said that it had the power to control lightning, and when William used Khaledbull, it blew up a mountain during battle.
It was a story too absurd to be taken literally.
The knights next to him intervened.
“How could such a children’s fairy tale be true?”
“It’s a sword that’s over 200 years old, so its ironmaking technology must be inferior to that of today’s swords.”
“What else could it have other value than as an antique?”
Alfonso made an important point.
“It’s not really a holy relic, so I don’t think the Holy Nation will be interested in it.”
“I guess so?”
Sir Manfredi asked back.
“Could it still be in that coffin? It must have been emptied out.”
In reality, all of the burial belongings of King William the Lion were missing.
It was difficult to find even a trace of the golden cross that should have originally decorated the top of the coffin or the wine jug that was supposed to see the deceased off on the path to reincarnation.
“The coffin itself must have been plated with silver. It was all stripped cleanly away.”
Sir Manfredi swept the coffin with his hand.
“Don’t touch! You’ll be cursed!”
The old Moorish man cried out urgently.
“What? What do you mean?”
Sir Manfredi asked in bewilderment.
“If anyone who is not born with the destiny of the Emperor dares to open that coffin, he will be cursed! All kinds of misfortune will plague you until the day you die!”
“Does that make sense!”
Sir Manfredi seemed to be very uncomfortable, even though he was angry on the lips.
“Hey, I’m so unlucky!”
“Yes, Antonio.”
Alfonso called out Manfredi's name to dissuade him.
“I will open it.”
“...!”
Prince Alfonso strode over to the sarcophagus and began to open its lid. It was impossibly thick for its size.
“Ugh!”
Alfonso's face turned red and he became tense.
Kwarararararara.
The lid of the sarcophagus was pushed up very slowly, and the heavy sound of stone rubbing against stone echoed through the basement.
Alfonso's knights surprised no one.
Because it was a well-known fact that their brigade commander was strong.
But the old Moor was pale and trembling.
“Oh my God!”
His hands were shaking, causing the torch the old man was holding to shake. The knight next to him could no longer stand to watch and took the torch for him.
“It’s open!”
As the lid of the sarcophagus was opened enough to allow a glimpse into its interior, the knights swarmed in, eager to see the remains of the Lion King for themselves.
Although he was not canonized as a Saint, he is by far the most respected figure among knights.
And they were all surprised.
“...!”
“Brigadier General, that’s...!”
“Really...?”
A two-handed sword was placed on top of the neatly salted remains of a man lying upright.
To be precise, the dead man was buried in the grave, carefully embracing a huge two-handed sword.
It was so shiny that it made the 200 years of black history seem insignificant, and it was so well-polished that it was blinding to the eyes.
“Khaledbull... Does that seem right?”
A huge red jewel embedded in the center of the crossguard glowed brightly.
“...It’s exactly like what I heard in the story.”
“Was this a real sword?”
There was a commotion among the knights.
“According to the legend, wasn’t it something that no one could lift?”
“Should I carry the whole coffin? The sword is inside the coffin, so can I lift the coffin?”
“They say that if you lift that, you will become the Emperor of the continent. Are you really the Emperor?”
“Where do you get the land?”
“Will it be possible to claim inheritance rights to the Ratan Empire?”
Amid all the commotion, curiosity and greed also entered the picture.
“Can I hear it for a moment?”
Lord Rothschild, the most stern of the Black Helmets, took a step forward.
Before Alfonso could stop him, he reached out with his gloved hand to pick up the sword the dead man was holding so carefully.
"Ugh-!"
But the sword didn't budge at all.
Sir Rothschild, who had lost face in an instant, used his strength again to the point where his face turned red.
“Rothschild, stop! You’re going to ruin the remains!”
People around him tried to dissuade him, but it was just groundless fear.
The sword did not move, and the remaining arm, which was naturally holding the sword, did not move either.
“Hoo-ha—!”
Lord Rothschild finally gave up and threw away his hand.
“Isn’t this something that was stuck together with mortar or something? Is it because it’s been around for so long that it’s been pressed down with remains? It doesn’t budge at all!”
“Didn’t you decide that you weren’t fit to be an Emperor?”
People around him threw out jokes, half jokingly and half intellectually.
Lord Rothschild was not so foolish as to gladly accept the retreat.
“Hahaha, that’s right, I’m not the type to be an Emperor!”
“You’re the youngest son who was kicked out of the house? How can a nobleman who isn’t even a Count be the Emperor?”
“Be quiet!”
Amidst the chattering of the knights, Alfonso approached the sword in a daze. The red gem seemed to speak to him.
The Prince reached out, grabbed the guard of the sword, and lifted it gently.
“...!”
The knights who had been chattering amongst themselves for a while suddenly became quiet.
The mummified remains of the Lion King opened their arms gently as if he were still alive, and handed over the sword he had been holding so dear to Prince Alfonso.
In the hands of Alfonso Casco Nero held the legendary holy sword Khaledbull.
Someone in the Crusades shouted loudly. In response, the commander of the Moorish Empire army also encouraged his men.
“Limaj dallah! Dall yuraqubuna!!”
It probably sounds similar: Glory to their God.
But unfortunately, the pagan God seemed to have closed his eyes for a moment today.
“Advance! Advance! The enemy’s ranks are collapsing! Don’t miss the opening!”
A series of urgent cries followed.
As Alfonso had seen, the enemy's attack was sharp, but not all of its members were outstanding.
There was a difference in training between the elite soldiers at the front and the common soldiers in the rear, and there was a problem of chemical bonding where they did not trust each other.
“Wow!”
And the momentum of the black helmet unit that entered through that gap was fierce.
The enemy's vanguard was split in two, like splitting wood along the grain when chopping it.
Alfonso didn't miss the opportunity.
“Come on! Let’s end it like this!”
Alfonso, wearing a black helmet, did not just give verbal encouragement but also rode into the front lines himself on his sturdy white horse.
Kang!
There was a sound of metal clashing with metal, and with a single stroke of the sword, the enemy's head was blown off. It was one of the lower-ranking commanders.
Those without a leader immediately lost their balance and fell to the oncoming assault of Alfonso's knights.
Alfonso scanned the area from his horse, looking for his next target. Not far away was the commander of the enemy vanguard.
'If I just bring down the author, this place will all fall down. Then I'll finish the work I've been given today.'
He spurred his horse, his cerulean eyes shining.
“Hey!”
***
“Alfonso Casco Nero!”
“Alfonso Casco Nero! Alfonso Casco Nero! Long live our brigade commander!”
Alfonso's troops cheered on the roughly organized battlefield.
The vanguard of the Third Crusade, led by Alfonso and the Black Helmets, quickly destroyed the vanguard of the Moorish Empire's army and even destroyed its center.
Although the right wing was late in responding and the left wing could barely do its part, the vanguard's actions were able to crush the enemy's attack in a timely manner.
“Commander, how are you going to enter the Granata Monastery?”
A subordinate acting as a messenger between the main force asked. Alfonso answered as if he was surprised.
“Hmm? Isn’t that where the Commander-in-Chief would go?”
The goal for today was not only victory in battle but also the recovery of the Granata Monastery, a holy site.
Usually, the commander-in-chief was the first to reap the rewards of capturing or pillaging a city.
The Grand Duke of Yuldenburg, a devout Catholic, easily gave up opportunities for plundering to his subordinate generals, but he always took it upon himself to retrieve sacred relics and restore holy sites.
Entry into the Granata Monastery was a goal for which the Grand Duke of Yuldenburg was obliged to open the first gate himself.
“That is... It seems the Commander-in-Chief is injured.”
"What?"
Alfonso asked the messenger.
"How much?"
“He fell off his horse late in the battle, but I don’t know the details. He told me not to reveal his injury during the battle.”
The former Grand Duke of Yuldenburg was originally shot by a crossbow in this battle and died six months later from an infection.
Today, he suffered a simple fall from a horse, not a penetrating injury, but those who did not know that this was a life-threatening accident could not help but worry.
“Oh. We should hurry up and finish this and return to the main office. If you’re badly injured, it’s a big problem.”
Alfonso took off his helmet and ran his hand through his hair. It was a mess of enemy blood and his own sweat.
“Someone else might be better suited to enter the monastery. Perhaps Count Achenbach, the commander of the right-wing, or Count Sharpei, the commander of the left wing?”
They were of higher rank than Alfonso himself, who was only a vanguard.
“Count Achenbach assisted the wounded Commander-in-Chief and returned to the main camp, while Count Sharpei seems to have difficulty advancing further due to the heavy damage in his unit.”
Alfonso sighed. There was no one else to go.
“The wounded will return to the main camp, and only about 300 people will come with me.”
“I will follow you.”
Sir Manfredi, who was to command a battalion (a unit of about 300 to 1,000 men) under Alfonso, volunteered.
“Except for the injured, our number is just right.”
Alfonso nodded.
"Let's go."
***
As the Black Helmet Unit climbed the narrow path between the rocky mountains, the dark-skinned locals watched Alfonso and his party with wary eyes.
From their perspective, it was the holy land of their religion, so it would be natural for them to be afraid of what the white-skinned pagans from the Central Continent would do if they came.
“These staring eyes make me feel bad.”
“Leave it.”
Alfonso stopped the grumbling Sir Manfredi.
“We’re not a group that can do anything, and if they had stormed into the San Ercole Cathedral, we would have glared at them with the same expression.”
“...Yes, I understand.”
On top of the rocky mountain stood a tall building.
Unfortunately, the monastery did not follow the architectural style of the Yesak Monastery.
“It is a religious facility for local people. They call it ‘Al Rummani’ here. They gather and pray.”
“It’s a place like a church. The remains of the Lion King are said to be enshrined in the basement here.”
“Yes.”
The Moorish-style stone buildings had a door leading down to the basement, which was a bit different in architectural style.
It seemed to have happened because a new building was built over the crypt used by the old monastery.
“Bring the facility manager here. We’ll need a key to get in. I don’t want to break anything.”
"Yes."
Sir Manfredi took a dozen knights and entered the Moorish religious facility, informed them of their plight, and demanded entry into the crypt, while Alfonso selected the men who would go down with him.
As Alfonso prepared to advance, his troops split in two directions and stood guard over the perimeter.
“Your Highness, this man says he will guide you.”
Sir Manfredi brought in an old man wearing a turban. He looked like a desk-bound scholar.
“Because I’m the only one here who can speak Latin.”
Alfonso glanced at the old man and nodded. The old man alone could not harm them.
"Ah."
The group standing in front of the basement waited for the old scholar to take out an old key and open the basement door.
Kkiriririririk!
The old hinges opened with a creepy sound, and red-hot rust dripped down.
Sir Manfredi frowned and took the lead, bringing a torch.
The basement was a structure that led down to the ground floor via narrow, high stairs. The group quietly followed the old man's directions.
“Your High Priest. It seems they have all arrived.”
Sir Manfredi, who had been walking in front following the old man's instructions, stopped under the stone arch and called out to Alfonso.
The honor of the first entry goes to the commander.
Alfonso took the torch from Sir Manfredi and stepped into the old cellar.
And immediately his eyes caught sight of a coffin made of stone.
“Is that it...?”
Next to him, an old Moorish man spoke in broken Latin.
“This is the tomb of the King who conquered the barbarians.”
Prince Alfonso and Sir Manfredi looked at the old Moor.
“There is a story that whoever can open that coffin will become the Emperor of the barbarians.”
Sir Manfredi grumbled.
“A barbarian Emperor. No matter what you say.”
But Alfonso's interests lay elsewhere.
“Is there really such a story?”
Sir Manfredi nodded.
“It’s probably the story of the Lion King’s Holy Sword. Why...”
“Are you talking about the Holy Sword ‘Khaledbull’?”
“Yes, that.”
The Holy Sword Khaledbull is said to have been used by William the Lionheart, who won the First Crusade and briefly established the Kingdom of Yesak.
According to legend, it was a sword that no one could lift, but when an angel came down from heaven and allowed William the Lionheart to use it, it became as light as a feather for him to wield. It was also said that it had the power to control lightning, and when William used Khaledbull, it blew up a mountain during battle.
It was a story too absurd to be taken literally.
The knights next to him intervened.
“How could such a children’s fairy tale be true?”
“It’s a sword that’s over 200 years old, so its ironmaking technology must be inferior to that of today’s swords.”
“What else could it have other value than as an antique?”
Alfonso made an important point.
“It’s not really a holy relic, so I don’t think the Holy Nation will be interested in it.”
“I guess so?”
Sir Manfredi asked back.
“Could it still be in that coffin? It must have been emptied out.”
In reality, all of the burial belongings of King William the Lion were missing.
It was difficult to find even a trace of the golden cross that should have originally decorated the top of the coffin or the wine jug that was supposed to see the deceased off on the path to reincarnation.
“The coffin itself must have been plated with silver. It was all stripped cleanly away.”
Sir Manfredi swept the coffin with his hand.
“Don’t touch! You’ll be cursed!”
The old Moorish man cried out urgently.
“What? What do you mean?”
Sir Manfredi asked in bewilderment.
“If anyone who is not born with the destiny of the Emperor dares to open that coffin, he will be cursed! All kinds of misfortune will plague you until the day you die!”
“Does that make sense!”
Sir Manfredi seemed to be very uncomfortable, even though he was angry on the lips.
“Hey, I’m so unlucky!”
“Yes, Antonio.”
Alfonso called out Manfredi's name to dissuade him.
“I will open it.”
“...!”
Prince Alfonso strode over to the sarcophagus and began to open its lid. It was impossibly thick for its size.
“Ugh!”
Alfonso's face turned red and he became tense.
Kwarararararara.
The lid of the sarcophagus was pushed up very slowly, and the heavy sound of stone rubbing against stone echoed through the basement.
Alfonso's knights surprised no one.
Because it was a well-known fact that their brigade commander was strong.
But the old Moor was pale and trembling.
“Oh my God!”
His hands were shaking, causing the torch the old man was holding to shake. The knight next to him could no longer stand to watch and took the torch for him.
“It’s open!”
As the lid of the sarcophagus was opened enough to allow a glimpse into its interior, the knights swarmed in, eager to see the remains of the Lion King for themselves.
Although he was not canonized as a Saint, he is by far the most respected figure among knights.
And they were all surprised.
“...!”
“Brigadier General, that’s...!”
“Really...?”
A two-handed sword was placed on top of the neatly salted remains of a man lying upright.
To be precise, the dead man was buried in the grave, carefully embracing a huge two-handed sword.
It was so shiny that it made the 200 years of black history seem insignificant, and it was so well-polished that it was blinding to the eyes.
“Khaledbull... Does that seem right?”
A huge red jewel embedded in the center of the crossguard glowed brightly.
“...It’s exactly like what I heard in the story.”
“Was this a real sword?”
There was a commotion among the knights.
“According to the legend, wasn’t it something that no one could lift?”
“Should I carry the whole coffin? The sword is inside the coffin, so can I lift the coffin?”
“They say that if you lift that, you will become the Emperor of the continent. Are you really the Emperor?”
“Where do you get the land?”
“Will it be possible to claim inheritance rights to the Ratan Empire?”
Amid all the commotion, curiosity and greed also entered the picture.
“Can I hear it for a moment?”
Lord Rothschild, the most stern of the Black Helmets, took a step forward.
Before Alfonso could stop him, he reached out with his gloved hand to pick up the sword the dead man was holding so carefully.
"Ugh-!"
But the sword didn't budge at all.
Sir Rothschild, who had lost face in an instant, used his strength again to the point where his face turned red.
“Rothschild, stop! You’re going to ruin the remains!”
People around him tried to dissuade him, but it was just groundless fear.
The sword did not move, and the remaining arm, which was naturally holding the sword, did not move either.
“Hoo-ha—!”
Lord Rothschild finally gave up and threw away his hand.
“Isn’t this something that was stuck together with mortar or something? Is it because it’s been around for so long that it’s been pressed down with remains? It doesn’t budge at all!”
“Didn’t you decide that you weren’t fit to be an Emperor?”
People around him threw out jokes, half jokingly and half intellectually.
Lord Rothschild was not so foolish as to gladly accept the retreat.
“Hahaha, that’s right, I’m not the type to be an Emperor!”
“You’re the youngest son who was kicked out of the house? How can a nobleman who isn’t even a Count be the Emperor?”
“Be quiet!”
Amidst the chattering of the knights, Alfonso approached the sword in a daze. The red gem seemed to speak to him.
The Prince reached out, grabbed the guard of the sword, and lifted it gently.
“...!”
The knights who had been chattering amongst themselves for a while suddenly became quiet.
The mummified remains of the Lion King opened their arms gently as if he were still alive, and handed over the sword he had been holding so dear to Prince Alfonso.
In the hands of Alfonso Casco Nero held the legendary holy sword Khaledbull.
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