[{"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-27":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},2332995,4562,"Chapter 27: The Wolf and the Jackal (Part Two)","the-nation-of-ten-thousand-nations-chapter-27",27,"\u003Cp>Now, Count Étienne and his attendants each faced a dozen mouths lined with sharp teeth, dozens of howls rising and falling in succession, and hundreds of flickering eyes—they were not cowardly, nor were they afraid of death, but humans had an innate revulsion toward these demons’ apostles.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>If he could turn back time, the count would rather return to King Arasal’s Holy Cross Castle and face the young knights in single combat, or even one against ten—dying by a Christian’s spear would be nobler than being devoured by these beasts.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Most infuriating was that if someone wore armor or chainmail, they might have tried to break out, mount a horse, and ride off to summon help—even if they failed to find anyone or found someone unwilling to rescue them, at least they could return to collect their bodies, anoint them with holy oil, and spare them from being cast into hell for lacking last rites after suffering the devil’s torment!\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>But what could they do? Their ship had run aground. Though they had escaped with their lives, bringing horses, wine, and some food, all of them were soaked through with seawater. Several squires on the verge of promotion had worn chainmail (to acclimate themselves to its weight, they’d worn it constantly), but fearing rust from dampness, they’d taken it off, oiled it, and hung it on nearby branches.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The monks and knights wearing leather and plate armor had done the same.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>These beasts, called demons’ servants, were remarkably clever—they seemed to know that once humans donned armor, they could no longer be defeated, so from the start, they’d sent out strong members to prevent them from retrieving or putting on their armor.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>And as for the horses—if they hadn’t tied them together, the panicked mounts would have scattered long ago; now, it was unclear whether this was a blessing or a curse.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The wolf and jackal packs were intimately familiar with these large, deer-like animals; they slipped cautiously between the horses’ hooves, biting tails and legs; some agile wolves, aided by their companions, leapt onto the horses’ backs and tore open the napes of their necks, drenching them in blood.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>They treated the horses as they treated humans—trying to make them fall; once down, the main force of the pack would immediately shift focus and change targets, for at that point, the horses could no longer fight back or flee.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Some wolves and jackals, caught off guard, were trampled by hooves or thrown from their backs—but such losses were entirely worth it.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Count Étienne heard two consecutive cries of anguish; he glanced quickly and saw one squire being dragged away by a wolf, while the other sound resembled one of their monks. In that instant, the alpha wolf seized his sword, its teeth grinding against steel with a screech—even as the blade cut through its tongue and gums, it refused to let go.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>For the first time, the count locked eyes with living wolf eyes at such close range—their color was yellow-brown, their pupils enormous. Count Étienne hoped this was his imagination, but he seemed to see endless abysses, burning coals, hell—hell itself! He screamed it inwardly.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Lord Jesus, help me! Save me!” he cried out with all his strength, but everyone here had exhausted their strength; the wolves and jackals had split them apart, ensuring each group contained only one man to be surrounded and attacked.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“If this is God’s will!” Count Étienne screamed in madness: “Protect me, Saint Pelagius! Guard your apostle, protect your follower! Saint Pelagius!”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He called upon the name of the saint he had hoped for—the one who, in the ninth century, had discovered the tomb of Saint James and a shield once held by an angel; this shield later became the Shield of Saint Pelagius, venerated by the Roman Church, said to shield humans from all demonic harm.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>As the count prayed, searing flames erupted from beneath his feet—first like a spear piercing the wolves’ entanglement, then suddenly spreading to envelop each person. The knights and monks reacted swiftly, driving back the wolves around them and rushing toward the count. The flames lit their faces and hands, igniting some wolves and jackals, yet harming not a single human.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>But at the same time, Count Étienne felt a weakness surge from deep within his body. “I’m done for,” he whispered. Even if a knight lifted him onto a horse, he could no longer grip the reins or hold the stirrups—he knew he wouldn’t survive today, but he hoped his nephew, perhaps others, might escape. “Anoint me,” he said. His vision was crimson, nothing clear—he reached blindly for those nearby.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He felt his hand gripped firmly by another. “Praise Jesus Christ!” he said—but instead of anointing him, the man took his sword; another pair of hands took hold of him. Someone sighed, then fingers brushed his forehead. The count drew a deep breath. He was about to instruct the monk to anoint the others when he felt his kneeling knee trembling. He was puzzled—he felt no fear—but then he realized the truth.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>It was the vibration of hooves striking the earth—one of the most familiar sensations to a knight!\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He lifted his head. Though he could not see clearly, he heard the people around him cheering—help had come!\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>——————\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Geoffroy’s earlier actions had not won Cesar’s approval. Though he owed the Templar knight a debt, his conscience tormented a soul not of this age—but these tangled emotions vanished instantly into the howling wind when Geoffroy knelt for the fifth time, recited the Lord’s Prayer, and beseeched his patron saint, Saint Eulade, for guidance.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Praise Jesus Christ! Praise Saint Eulade!” the elder knight rose, his voice exultant. “We’ve found them—we found them!” He leapt onto his horse and surged forward like an arrow loosed from a bow. His speed surpassed that of birds, and behind him, not a single soul lagged—not even Cesar, who had practiced riding for only a few months.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He hadn’t ridden the small horse Baldwin had given him—Castor. True, it would one day be a magnificent steed, but in this weather, with nonstop riding required, only strong adult Peshir or Mahari horses would do.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Cesar rode a Peshir horse—one the Gerard family had sent as a gift upon hearing he was leaving the castle, in return for the bucket and mop he’d given them. The horse had a glossy dark-brown coat, with white hooves and tail. It couldn’t compare to Castor, but Cesar loved it at first sight.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>As for how the horse came to like Cesar—it was because Cesar had unhesitatingly given it all his share of fruits, vegetables, and candy.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Riding an adult horse felt utterly different from riding a foal; the sensation of galloping was vastly unlike walking. When messengers still relied on horses, one often saw riders collapsed from exhaustion after long journeys—even the horses were spent—because when a horse galloped, a rider couldn’t sit still without risking every bone in his body being shattered.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Cesar’s master, Baldwin, taught him: when the horse gallops, don’t tell yourself, “I am riding a horse.” Tell yourself, “I am standing on a small boat.” Your feet must grip the stirrups firmly, anchoring you to the saddle like a ship’s anchor. Your knees must bend, rising and falling with the horse’s motion like waves. Your hands must grip the reins tightly, as a sailor grips the sail ropes—only then can you steer this sentient little vessel through hurricane and storm, rather than be swallowed by them.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>In these past days, Cesar had truly felt the value of this teaching—though it may not have been Baldwin’s exact words, but borrowed from his former martial instructor (who might even have been Count Raymond of Tripoli or Amalric I himself).\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>At first, he was clumsy; his legs often bruised and scraped from impact and friction. Had his body not been unlike that of an ordinary boy—he meant, stronger, faster healing, lower pain sensitivity—he would have been left behind by the Templars long ago.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Geoffroy hadn’t liked him from the start.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Only when he tried riding according to Baldwin’s instructions did he truly feel the thrill and joy of horseback riding. The small rift between him and the horse dissolved into nothing; their bond became seamless, as one. Though they moved on land, it felt like riding through rolling waves—the wind became an invisible tide—and he even caught up to Geoffroy, riding just behind him, and saw that faint light, nearly extinguished.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He heard Geoffroy calling out his patron saint’s name. He charged toward the light like a heavy hammer striking the iron net of hell. His horse lowered its head, flattened its ears, and leapt forward—just one bound, and he plunged into the heart of the wolf pack.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Cesar saw it too. He wasn’t frightened. He’d joined several hunts before; as long as a man was mounted, wolves and jackals—medium-sized beasts—could not threaten them. On the contrary, even untrained horses instinctively kicked and bit.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He gripped the reins, lifted his body, and commanded his horse to rear and strike down—its hooves crushed the chest of a large wolf, which cried out and died. Cesar felt only a slight jolt; the horse snorted, circling the field, shaking its body.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Then two soldiers and squires arrived. The fragile balance between wolves, jackals, and humans shattered—but not as the alpha wolf had hoped. The scales tipped not toward the pack, but the other side. The wolf, hidden in darkness, assessed human strength and pack numbers. Though Saint Pelagius’s grace to Count Étienne had now faded…\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The original goal was unattainable. The alpha raised its head and let out a long howl. The pack’s assault slackened. Experienced old wolves abandoned their prey, snatching up fallen jackal corpses and fleeing swiftly into the dark. The other wolves followed suit. The jackals sensed the shift; their alpha roared in fury, but could do nothing.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The beasts left behind a litter of corpses and fled without hesitation. Count Étienne’s party, barely alive, collapsed to the ground, trembling limbs, dizzy minds. Only the count, supported by his squire, walked toward the Templars.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Honor to the brave knights!” he gasped. “I thank you—if not for you and your squires (now he could see a little), we would all be dead!”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Praise God, praise the Virgin, praise Her Son, and praise my patron saint, Saint Eulade! Without their protection, we could never have found you, let alone come to your aid!” Geoffroy scanned the battlefield, ensuring not a single coward remained. His gaze finally settled on the guide.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“King Arasal’s Amalric I heard your ship had wrecked and sent us to find you,” he told Count Étienne. This claim had serious flaws: countless ships had wrecked; even if other survivors reached villages or cities and reported it, and even if messengers immediately rode to Amalric I, the round trip would take at least ten days—how could they have arrived so quickly?\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>But since the Templars said so—the guide sensed this might be his only chance to escape. He hid behind the monk, slowly inching toward the shadows where he wouldn’t draw attention. But just as he neared the edge, he heard a “clink.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>A gold coin fell—and landed precisely on a broken short sword. The sound was loud, clear, and heard by all.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Everyone instinctively looked. The guide stared in terror, instinctively clutching his coin purse—securely tied to his belt, hidden beneath his leather armor. But after relentless bites and scratches from wolves and jackals, even the toughest calf leather had torn open in several places—the earlier coins had been just the beginning; now, any movement from him would cause more golden coins to spill out continuously.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The count’s monk moved first, snatching up several coins that had fallen near his feet. He weighed them, examined them—they were Roman gold coins from Arasal, each weighing over four grams. We’ve said before: one hundred fifty Roman gold coins were enough for a knight to outfit himself completely—no guide should possess such a fortune…\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He turned to the guide and slowly gripped his hammer’s handle. The guide shrank back, dropping more coins—but where could he run?\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>No one noticed the guide’s eyes shifting from terror to ferocity. No one expected him to hunch his shoulders, bend his knees, feigning cowardice—then surge forward with all his strength, lunging at Count Étienne!\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>(End of Chapter)\u003C\u002Fp>",2065,"2026-06-20T20:58:34.857Z",1,"Qwen3-Next 80B","8bff836094ed0a24f057d6c5454edf1a15b89d2713027448dfa72b98dae58442","the-nation-of-ten-thousand-nations-chapter-28","the-nation-of-ten-thousand-nations-chapter-26",168,"https:\u002F\u002Fnovelzhen.com\u002Fimages\u002Fcovers\u002Fthe-nation-of-ten-thousand-nations-cover.jpg"]