[{"data":1,"prerenderedAt":-1},["ShallowReactive",2],{"origin-the-nation-of-ten-thousand-nations":3,"chapter-the-nation-of-ten-thousand-nations-the-nation-of-ten-thousand-nations-chapter-122":6},{"origin":4,"title":5},"chinese","The Nation of Ten Thousand Nations",{"chapter":7,"nextChapterSlug":19,"prevChapterSlug":20,"totalChapters":21,"novelImage":22},{"id":8,"novel_id":9,"title":10,"slug":11,"index":12,"content":13,"wordcount":14,"created_at":15,"updated_at":15,"volume":16,"translator":17,"content_hash":18},2333090,4562,"Chapter 122: First Battle (3)","the-nation-of-ten-thousand-nations-chapter-122",122,"\u003Cp>“This is the breath of Allah, the word of Allah, the seal of Allah.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>When the chief eunuch beside the Sultan suddenly heard his master speak thus, he silently placed his hands upon his chest, offering no agreement or praise, for he knew his master, the great Nur ad-Din, needed none—he was a simple and devout man who, each night, prayed alone in silence, constantly examining the sins he had committed during the day.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Since leaving Aleppo, such prayers had grown even more frequent; from his understanding of his master, the eunuch could guess that this campaign might be Nur ad-Din’s one and only act done purely for himself.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He longed to offer his final wisdom and strength to Allah, yet feared he would become a sinner among the Saracens for this very desire—even as his ministers and generals all insisted this was the perfect moment to reclaim Jerusalem.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“The son of Maryam (the Virgin Mary), Isa (Jesus), once stood here, listening to Allah’s will, summoning his apostles, performing miracles—Allah granted him power to walk upon water, calm storms, and feed thousands with five loaves and two fish.” Nur ad-Din pointed to the surface of Taibaliehu (the Sea of Galilee); tonight the moon was bright, the lake shimmering silver, stretching endlessly, like the Sultan’s army.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“I have sought the Prophet’s revelation, hoping he would appear before me as he did forty years ago, to show the Saracens the path ahead—but he has not answered me. My prayers are pebbles swallowed by water, vanished without trace—I must wonder: have my deeds for Allah truly met His expectations? Have I strayed, doomed to walk into the Fire?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Sultan!” the chief eunuch could no longer remain silent, “Why would you think so? From Mosul to Aleppo, from Aleppo to Damascus, from Damascus to Alexandria, from Alexandria to Cairo—who does not know your justice shines like sunlight across the earth?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>You have never enacted a law contrary to the Sharia, never imposed a single labor duty against the Prophet’s teachings, never collected a single illegal tax. Your reverence for Allah and the Prophet is known to all, whether they be your own son, your most trusted general, an Ishmaelite, or a Christian.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>You are so noble, so pure—every morsel you eat, every garment you wear, every possession, even your dwelling, your horses, and your weapons, come solely from your spoils, just like any soldier in your army. If your wife ever complained, you would rather transfer your own shop to her than take a single coin from the kingdom’s treasury.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>And your courage is unmatched—what battle have you not led from the front? Every time you do so, we kneel to pray for you. Without you, who would lead and protect the Saracens?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Allah was before me, is after me, and is with us now,” Nur ad-Din said solemnly. “Shams, there is no god but Allah. Every man who walks this earth—whether caliph, sultan, or viceroy—is but a chosen vessel, acting and speaking on His behalf.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“I have spoken foolishly, Sultan.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Nur ad-Din gestured for the prostrate chief eunuch to rise; he knew the man spoke from the heart, yet no mortal may overstep—he turned his gaze back to the lake. “We are all dewdrops. Only Allah is eternal, supreme.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>With indescribable emotion, master and servant walked silently along the shore of the Sea of Galilee (Taibaliehu), stepping over jagged boulders, until the moon hung high. The chief eunuch looked up at the stars: “You must rest.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“I know,” Nur ad-Din said. “Strange—I am utterly weary, yet cannot sleep. Ah, Shams, I understand: I am old. I once saw my father unable to sleep through the night, and thought it strange… But I must return. How many eyes watch us?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Nur ad-Din was not wrong: his army included tribal chieftains and soldiers from the Arabian Peninsula, Bedouins, Kurds, Oghuz Turks as mercenaries, and slave soldiers like the Ghulams and Mamluks—all sharing the same faith, yet differing utterly in skin, status, and treatment, each with their own desires.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>They bowed here, obedient, only because of the authority Nur ad-Din had built over three decades, and the bait before them—Jerusalem.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>But no sooner had they taken a few steps than Nur ad-Din frowned—he smelled fresh blood. The chief eunuch saw it too: not far off, a narrow fishing boat lay overturned, its hull upturned, upon it a naked boy, beside him a slightly older girl, yet neither had grown—nor would they ever grow.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>These were fishermen from the shores of the Sea of Galilee; stripped of their clothes, their faith could not be determined—Christian or Saracen—but what did it matter? Though Nur ad-Din was just, his justice was bound by Sharia and his own lands. On enemy soil, anything could happen.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The chief eunuch immediately ordered soldiers behind them to bury the bodies—not out of mercy, but because rotting corpses in the lake would spread plague. They still had to cross this lake, half again as large as Jerusalem, and it would take at least two more white days; before then, countless soldiers would draw water, fish, and swim in it.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>After this, though back in his tent and lying on a soft low bed, Nur ad-Din could not sleep as he wished—not from guilt, but from dread that this might be an ill omen. He knew such thoughts harmed his current situation, yet could not stop them from circling in his mind.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The next day, when the emirs and fatihs came to see him, they found a Sultan more awe-inspiring and fearsome than ever. They bowed in trembling reverence, praying Allah would protect this most venerable elder. Only after a long while did they report events along the march and the movements of the Crusader main force they had been closely watching.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“They are still moving north. The vanguard has reached Alexandretta and boarded ships. They may disembark at Tarsus in Armenia—”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>At this, all in the tent smiled.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“What of Mleh? Has he kept his oath and sent his army? What of Sultan Toghrul II? His envoy told me he would deliver a fatal blow to these arrogant Christian knights—has his army moved into position?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“The Armenian (Mleh) has indeed prepared his forces,” came the reply. Indeed, all others could evade or delay—but Mleh could not. He was now the mortal enemy of Christian kingdoms; if he betrayed his second master, he would be utterly lost among the Saracens. Both sides sought to tear him apart for his blasphemy: “Sultan Toghrul II seems still to be waiting…”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Nur ad-Din nodded without emotion. Had he been in Toghrul’s place, he would have done the same. If Nur ad-Din could encircle Jerusalem before the Crusaders reacted, Toghrul II would not mind seizing the opportunity to bite at the Christians’ heels. But if he failed, Toghrul II would gladly watch him and the Crusaders tear each other apart—after all, the Zengid dynasty had risen from the ruins of the Seljuk.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Nur ad-Din’s father, Zengi, had once been merely a Turkic slave of the Seljuk Sultan. Only through his wisdom, loyalty, strength, and Allah’s favor granted for his piety and the Prophet’s revelation had he founded his own dynasty. Even so, though men called Nur ad-Din Sultan, his and his brother’s official titles remained Aqbat (Regent and Grand Tutor).\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The last Bedouin chieftain stepped forward and reported a minor matter: their light cavalry, scouting ahead, had discovered an Ishmaelite settlement in the wilderness of Qibqunlan—three villages, roughly two thousand people.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“I have heard of them,” Nur ad-Din said. “They belong to the ‘Hermit Sect’ among the Ishmaelites—gentle and obedient, devoted only to farming and herding, never lending or trading.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“And?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Kill them all.” Nur ad-Din calmly sentenced the two thousand to death. In Aleppo or Damascus, he would have allowed them to live—even protected them. But here, too close to Jerusalem, he could not.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>——————\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Hurry! Hurry! Hurry!”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The sage’s frantic cries still echoed in his ears. Haradi’s throat, eyes, and ears were filled with blood. He could not see the path ahead, could not hear the screams. His chest burned as if torn apart—he did not know if the pain came from his lungs or his heart.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The saint’s blessing allowed the sage to foresee danger and opportunity, but even if he heard the horn of death blaring, how could he warn every soul? Especially at night, with no warning at all.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Some foolish souls claimed they had lived for centuries in the wilderness of Qibqunlan, untouched except by tax collectors and soldiers, a few merchants—never disturbed. They had paid to buy exemption from service. Neither the wolf-like Saracens nor the lion-like Crusaders had ever bared their fangs at these meek lambs.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>They could flee, but what of their furniture? Their homes? Wild beasts would soon occupy them, ruin everything. Their grapes, wheat, olive trees…\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Even if they reached another settlement, would other Ishmaelites accept them? They owned nothing but the clothes on their backs—how would they rent homes, acquire furniture, buy food? Would they violate their lifelong teachings, live by deceit like other Ishmaelites?\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Arguing with such fools was pointless—especially for Haradi, who had survived the massacre of Fustat. He knew disaster struck like thunder—sudden, inescapable, searing into the bone. Any hesitation now meant the worst fate. He did not hesitate. He took his wife, daughter, and others willing to follow, and fled the village.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>But how could human feet match the hooves of horses?\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Especially when the pursuers were the swiftest, most agile light cavalry among the Saracens—wearing wide cloaks and flowing robes, black headbands holding their turbans, black veils covering their faces, leaving only glowing eyes and blades. Their crescent-shaped scimitars, as they swept past, were like death’s invitations—none missed.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>More terrifying still were the Nubian slave soldiers, clad in sleeveless, belted light tunics and wide-legged trousers, their black skin, long hair braided into topknots. In the dark, they were headless demons, shrieking in chilling voices. Each rode a horse, with two or three spare mounts.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>They did not even dismount to change horses—leaping directly from one to another.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>It was these loathsome hyenas who chased Haradi. His reaction was the fastest of all—he and the sage mounted one camel, tied his wife and daughter to another, and gave the rest to his neighbors. Before the storm of slaughter, flight was their only resistance—they had no warriors.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>They had once been proud of this…\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Haradi lay across his camel’s back, using his body as a shield for the sage. Strange “whooshing” sounds passed his ears, vibrating through his body, the saddle, even the camel’s hide—he did not know if he was wounded, only that from one moment on, one side of his body lost all strength. Only the sage’s tight grip kept him from falling.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>They fled through the desert for how long, he did not know. Until dawn rose, golden light spreading across the earth. His camel gave a mournful cry and collapsed. He and the sage crashed heavily into the sand.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>For a long time, they lay still. Haradi awoke from darkness, blinded by sunlight, tears streaming down his face. He struggled to rise, checking on the sage. The sage was an old man with white hair and beard; after the night’s torment, he was barely breathing, his breath so faint it was nearly undetectable.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Haradi turned and saw a gruesome wound on his thigh—not from a long blade, but from a spear strike, then torn open by the camel’s jolting. He was a blessed man—he had survived this long only because of it. Otherwise, he would have bled to death long ago.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He also saw the camel, now still, its warmth gone, hardened into cold flesh. He remembered tying the other camel’s reins to its saddle—but he saw no trace of the one carrying his wife and daughter. When had the rope broken?\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Haradi set aside his worry for his wife and child, returning to the sage. The sage propped himself against the camel, pale-faced, eyes filled with regret and hatred: “It was the Saracen army,” he said. “Ah, child, how foolish I was.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>I was an ant rolling in the sand, watching two giants fight, thinking it was none of my concern—yet for us lowly ones, even the smallest change is annihilation.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“I am doomed to hell, child,” he grasped Haradi’s hand. “But you live—that may be the best thing. Take this terrible news there. I know you do not wish to, and fear their prejudice—but no matter. Take the treasures I showed you. Give them to them—they will forgive you…”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>His breath grew rapid: “Haradi, this is not just for you—it is for the most precious things. Do not let them burn in war’s fire… do not let them fall into the hands of infidels… Haradi!”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He cried Haradi’s name one final time, straightened his body, and died.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Haradi prayed for him, pushed the camel’s corpse over him as a crude grave. Exhausted, he lay still for a while, then took the water skin and food bag from the camel and staggered forward. Not far ahead, he saw another camel lying behind a dune.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Before joy or hope could rise, he saw his wife lying over his daughter, two spears piercing her back. He turned her over, lifted his daughter—unharmed, yet cold and stiff. She may have died of cold—or fright.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>In any case, she was dead.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>(End of Chapter)\u003C\u002Fp>",2241,"2026-06-20T20:58:34.857Z",1,"Qwen3-Next 80B","0fdbd6fbfb4c2884382e1e16ac9fe9ef739fce018f63f75b4706112d5fa82f6c","the-nation-of-ten-thousand-nations-chapter-123","the-nation-of-ten-thousand-nations-chapter-121",168,"https:\u002F\u002Fnovelzhen.com\u002Fimages\u002Fcovers\u002Fthe-nation-of-ten-thousand-nations-cover.jpg"]