[{"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-18":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},2332986,4562,"Chapter 18: Killing Intent","the-nation-of-ten-thousand-nations-chapter-18",18,"\u003Cp>“What kind of child do you think Cesar is? Foolish? Or brave?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Faced with Amalric I’s seemingly casual question, Heraclius could not suppress a chill—he knew the previous… spectacle had aroused the king’s suspicion.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“I know the woman holding the child was arranged by you, but afterward… did you warn him, or did he willingly do it?” Amalric I did not wait for Heraclius’s answer, continuing his question.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Heraclius frowned tightly, unsure how to answer the king. Yes, to heighten the atmosphere and prove that Cesar’s asceticism had truly earned divine favor, he had arranged a woman—this was common; anyone alive or dead seeking to add the title “Saint” to their name would inevitably have clerics fabricating miracles: icons bleeding, weeping, the lame rising, the blind seeing again—though some clerics truly could heal the disabled, most were false, forged.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>But the scale that followed utterly surpassed Heraclius’s expectations.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Just as Longinus had marveled, unlike what we assume, in this era, the noble did not consider themselves the same species as commoners or even lower slaves; clerics, even humble ascetics of such sects, rarely bestowed their kindness—neither for money nor for faith—they were more stingy than the Ishmaelites they despised.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Perhaps some would think Cesar merely an ignorant child, unaware of how much invisible wealth he held—but those poor, disabled, and ailing people were equally terrifying: their hair like thick felt, skin like thin paper, sores reddened like fish flesh oozing pale yellow and white pus, scabs flaking like wood shavings, shedding snowflakes with every rub, the fabric covering them less cloth than a mixture of dust and grime; they stank like dead fish, roared and whimpered like beasts, their cloudy eyes holding almost no light—over a hundred such people, and even the bravest knight would retreat.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Once you saw them, you knew these people had nothing left to lose; they valued neither their own lives nor others’. Who would dare extend a hand? No—they would drag anyone who helped them down into hell with them!\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>At least, that was what Heraclius believed until that day.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He should have found it laughable, but he could not laugh; he thought a child’s innocence would be crushed by the cruelty of the world—but it was not. Those who heard that a young saint was willing to bless anyone—the destitute who could not afford indulgences or cross the church threshold—flocked in droves, yet none harmed another out of haste or anxiety.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>According to the knights who followed, at first there was some crowding, but when they realized everyone would receive what they sought, hundreds, perhaps a thousand people, suddenly fell silent; even as the number reached a terrifying count (the knights could no longer count), order remained impeccable, and even guides and coordinators emerged to manage the queue—so when Cesar donated his ornaments and robes, people immediately appeared to take responsibility for them.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“You say, how many in Alasal are now chanting his name?” Amalric I mused: “And my son, the king’s son, Prince Baldwin—how will people describe him? A… pitiful wretch… who received a servant’s charity?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Now, Heraclius was not merely chilled—he was terrified.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Cesar was not of this age; he did not know that his acts of pure kindness and sincerity had stirred Amalric I’s dread—especially as a servant, his “gifts” to Baldwin had placed himself in a position of moral superiority—God knows, a servant may be foolish, dull, vile, lustful, greedy, even cruel or cowardly… but he must never mistake his station… never pity his master.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>How arrogant!\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Heraclius was certain Amalric I had decided to kill. If no one changed his mind, Cesar’s fate would be no better than Wit’s; with a single careless gesture from the king, the boy who had just been showered with honor and praise would vanish silently one quiet night, returning to the Lord—those in the know would sneer in secret, those unaware would sincerely praise, delighted—after a moment’s hesitation, he finally spoke: “Your Majesty,” he lowered his voice, “no matter what you intend, should you not ask Baldwin?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>————————————\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>After leaving Amalric I’s sight, Baldwin’s first action was to take a deep breath.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Amalric I was his father and his king; he ought to be loyal, obedient, and compliant—but after all he had witnessed, he had changed greatly; at least he had seen how many vile hearts lay hidden beneath the glittering surface. Cesar might be… reckless, but his heart was good, and Baldwin firmly believed his origins were not too base—he would become a knight, and accepting a knight’s gift was not unacceptable to Baldwin now.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The prince even demanded Amalric I not warn Cesar; if the king’s wish remained unchanged—he preferred an imperfect friend over a groveling, obedient servant: “I will teach him,” he said.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>In truth, Baldwin had little confidence; though their time together had been short, he sensed Cesar was stubborn—no, he had a child’s body but an adult’s willpower, meaning it was nearly impossible to change his mind or alter his actions—just as before, Heraclius had arranged a pitiful mother for him, but the hundreds of pilgrims drawn by his deeds were Cesar’s own doing.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Baldwin.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Baldwin turned; not surprisingly, it was his sister Sibylla—the only woman in this towering castle who could call him by his given name.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Perhaps because today held no grand occasion, Sibylla and her maid wore light clothing, headscarves instead of Xinan hats; she gestured with her fingers for him to follow.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>They did not walk far; beside the main tower stood a delicate courtyard in Saracen style, where boxwood, mulberry, and myrtle shaded currants and cherries in lush abundance; four square flowerbeds were occupied by roses, irises, cabbage, and lilacs; beside the cross-shaped path flowed a clear channel—but these were not the only things servants tended with care: nearby, in the garden, grew mulak (a tooth-cleaning shrub), henna (dye), alfalfa and garlic, fava beans and leeks.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Beneath a particularly tall myrtle tree stood a stone bench, its grass green as velvet; Sibylla motioned her maid to stay behind, walked to it, and sat, her skirt spilling onto the ground like a pool of congealed blood.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Brother,” she said gently, watching Baldwin, “it seems you’ve changed our father’s mind.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“King Arthur had twelve knights,” Baldwin said. “For purity, none surpassed Galahad; for bravery, none rivaled Gareth; for beauty, Gawain had no equal—but can you say Arthur’s glory dimmed by even a fraction because of them?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“You’re right,” Sibylla nodded, then slightly narrowed her eyes, plucking a sprig of rosemary in full bloom—its dark green leaves clustered around pale purple flowers, each blossom whole, fresh, pleasing to the eye: “How old is he?” Without waiting for Baldwin’s answer: “Nine, Baldwin. You are nine too—but even in swaddling clothes, you were destined to be King of the Holy Land; even as a toddler, ministers bowed to you, generals knelt; your friends and companions all came from noble blood; your teachers, every one, were either lords or bishops.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The princess cupped her hands slowly around the rosemary: “But he? Even if we grant he truly lost his memory, every word he speaks, every act he does, every choice he makes… do you think David and Abigail could reach this level? Baldwin, perhaps you could—but who are you? A child of unknown origin, who in mere months has nearly stood shoulder to shoulder with you? Don’t you feel… fear?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Fear, perhaps,” Baldwin answered steadily, “but as a king, as a commander, must one fear a blade too sharp?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Are you certain you can control him, and not the other way around? Brother, you’ve noticed—he lacks reverence for superiors.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“I don’t need reverence. I need loyalty.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Without reverence, how can there be loyalty?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“There is love—the love of friend and brother.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Though I hate to say it, Baldwin, you are a leper. You are still healthy now, but as time passes, as seasons turn, you will grow weak, confused, dull; you will suffer pain, you will change—and so will he. Then, even if you hold high rank and power, you will be no match for his vigor and alertness—he will be your knight, your attendant, your minister, perhaps even your general; he will know you inside out… and he may act as he pleases…”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“I still have time, sister. I will watch him. If he is truly as you say, I will not hesitate.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“People praise your mercy, and I will echo them—but Your Highness, I lack my father’s courage. I cannot leave such a dangerous man beside you without restraint.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Restraint?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“An inescapable, unhidden flaw.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Baldwin lowered his eyes; the princess’s slender, long hands—unlike the dainty hands favored by the Franks—Sibylla’s were pale but not plump, with distinct knuckles, more like a man’s hands—slowly crushing the entire rosemary sprig, petals trembling as they fell, broken leaves releasing a rich fragrance.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Lend him to me for a while,” he heard her say slowly. “He will have an accident.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“What kind of accident?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“The kind that returns fate to its proper course.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Baldwin instantly understood Sibylla’s intent; the resentment and weariness he had suppressed before Amalric I surged into his heart.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>In Francia or England, or even the Italian peninsula, the vile customs of the Two Rivers had not penetrated the court due to persistently low population—but here on the Arabian Peninsula, surrounded by Byzantium, Armenia, Egypt, and Syria—all places that prized eunuchs in their inner chambers—how could Baldwin be unaware?\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Yet in the Christian world, especially in Alasal, a man useless in bed was seen as useless on court and battlefield; all would shun him, even his enemies would scorn to fight him—let alone kneel to him or serve him. Then, even if he possessed Gawain’s beauty, Galahad’s piety and purity, Gareth’s bravery, or even Arthur’s nobility, he would become nothing but a shadow hidden behind curtains.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Too terrible—he did not speak it, but buried the thought deep. After all, Sibylla was his sister; her intent was for him… she might be cruel, this method not the wisest—but she was merely a noblewoman, not a knight or a cleric; he should not judge her so harshly.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Forget this thought,” Baldwin said softly but firmly. “I am not yet so cowardly.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>————————\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“What’s wrong?” Cesar asked curiously. “Do I have sauce on my face?” As he spoke, he curled his fingers and wiped his lips.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Such a crude gesture, yet he performed it with the grace of a dance; Baldwin smiled: “Nothing. You know I just spoke with Sibylla, Cesar—do you remember Damara? For your asceticism, you’ve neglected her long enough. As a future knight, that’s hardly fitting. My sister ordered me to punish you—so you must go to Damara and beg her forgiveness.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“I will go,” Cesar sensed Baldwin’s words were not entirely true, but he did not press: “Perhaps tomorrow.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Only tomorrow remained; Heraclius had just confirmed with Cesar the date of the Selection Ceremony: Epiphany, January sixth. The timing was delicate, for the celebrations surrounding Christ’s birth began on December twenty-fifth and peaked on January sixth—since December twenty-fifth was originally the Egyptian solar festival, many clerics and believers still regarded it with indifference, considering Epiphany more worthy of celebration… and this date also neared Baldwin’s true birthday, perhaps allowing them to obscure Amalric I’s earlier intent to hold the Selection Ceremony for his son.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Epiphany was drawing near; now they must continue fasting and grow even busier. Neither Baldwin nor Cesar wished to contemplate what would happen if they were not chosen—yet before then, Cesar should indeed see Damara; otherwise, they might not meet until Lent, and that long gap might draw unwanted attention.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>(End of Chapter)\u003C\u002Fp>",1940,"2026-06-20T20:58:34.857Z",1,"Qwen3-Next 80B","dc3b14528b4e206857f9e936c06c154790d71431546e97c0d9593ef9628f0e15","the-nation-of-ten-thousand-nations-chapter-19","the-nation-of-ten-thousand-nations-chapter-17",168,"https:\u002F\u002Fnovelzhen.com\u002Fimages\u002Fcovers\u002Fthe-nation-of-ten-thousand-nations-cover.jpg"]