[{"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-64":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},2333032,4562,"Chapter 64: This One Cares, That One Cares Too","the-nation-of-ten-thousand-nations-chapter-64",64,"\u003Cp>“Knight Templars never gamble, no matter what.” Walter said.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Such words are not very believable; perhaps after becoming a Knight Templar, knights might abandon the vice of gambling, but no one is born a Knight Templar—commoners gamble with a handful of wheat or a bowl of beans, let alone knights who can afford armor and bear surnames?\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“This is not a gamble set by mortals for wealth or beauty,” Cesar said: “We stake ourselves, and leave judgment to God.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Walter’s face darkened: “You mean divine judgment? But child, merely from your words just now, I could convict you—you must not equate divine judgment with gambling.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“God never forbade gambling; He forbade deceit, greed, and vanity—this law encompasses far more than mere money. What we seek to test is something far more sacred—my lord.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Cesar said calmly.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Oh, the Knight Marshal thought to himself, his voice is also very pleasant—not muddled, not coarse, every word clear.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“You keep saying that Knight Templars serve only one master: the Lord in Heaven, or His earthly representative. But now, we cannot summon that venerable servant of the Lord here to vouch for us, so we have only one left to rely on.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“That is the one and only master of heaven, earth, and all things.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"I know of a way: two knights duel before God, defending their honor with blood and life to claim the right to speak. But you are no knight,\" Walter frowned. \"If Amalric I stood before me, I might still consider it—but you lack the qualification.\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Outside the Golden Gate lies a cemetery where tens of thousands rest. The Isaacites say that when the end of the world comes, the Savior will enter through the Golden Gate, and every dead soul in the Holy Land will rise to be judged. My lord, you and I are flesh and blood, mortal men—we too shall one day sleep in stone coffins, awaiting that day.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Then, on that day, when we stand together before angels and saints, waiting for judgment, will they say: ‘This is a lord, this is a child, this is a knight, this is a squire’?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“No. Before the glory of Heaven, all humans are equally small and humble. They pick us up, not to examine the thickness of our bones or the number of our teeth, nor whether our tombs hold gold or swords—but to see whether our souls are pure, steadfast, and unyielding.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“And,” Cesar smiled brightly, “I do not believe I could match you, my lord. You have truly fought for God; I have not even smelled the blood of battle. All I rely on is your piety toward God and your mercy toward the weak.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Geoffrey coughed, and then, from him to the other Knight Marshals, a chorus of coughs rose in the room—even Walter’s squire coughed.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Walter listened with satisfaction: “So what do you propose?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>All fell silent, watching as the young squire made another astonishing move—he unfastened his belt, shed his dazzling silvered chainmail, which piled on the ground like a curled pangolin—and still, a milky-white glow, like moonlight or sunlight, shimmered around his body.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>People said so because this light was gentler than sunlight and brighter than moonlight.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>It looked so soft; only Walter, who had touched it, knew it was not fragile at all.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“I am willing to stake my life and faith to guarantee my master, King Amalric I,” Cesar said: “I have heard your sword was granted by Saint Paul—it never breaks or rusts; even stone and steel yield before it like cheese...”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“You want me to stab you with that sword?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Precisely. Use it to strike me, slash me—three times. If I take a single step back, utter a single groan, shed a single drop of blood, then God and the saints stand with you—you are righteous. If not...”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“You want me to surrender to Amalric I?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“No. I only ask you to extend your mercy to others—those who should never have become victims in this struggle,” Cesar said earnestly. “No matter who wins your war with the king, they will thank you, praise you, and pray for you.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Walter stared at him a long while, then grinned: “You were just cursing my certain defeat, little brat.” He stretched, and those who knew him well recognized he had been convinced. Geoffrey recalled how, when first meeting Cesar, the boy had asked most about what this Templar of Tortosa loved most, cared for most—he had assumed Cesar meant to bribe or threaten him.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“You want me to use Saint Paul’s sword to strike you,” Walter said, “but I must remind you—you’ve used your final chance. I will show no mercy. Though I know you are favored by the saints, as with two knights clashing, until the final moment, no one knows the outcome. When you lie bleeding and screaming, remember: this is your own choice.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Everyone grew tense—even Geoffrey was uncertain. Knights could easily judge each other’s divine favor: how long they prayed, whether aloud or silently, how long they sustained it, how strong their devotion was.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Their commander had to know each knight’s condition and traits, lest he mislead them—sending a swift hawk to break its wings in a storm, or a exhausted hound to face a furious bear.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Anyone who had seen Cesar praised his divine favor as deep and pure, his responses swift—as if the saints watched him at every moment. But Walter had been a Knight Templar for nearly a decade, and before that, he was already known in the Toulouse region of France as the “strongest knight.” Had he not been so devout and solely interested in battle, Louis VII’s court would have long since given him a place.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>And his earlier words were no empty threat. Though Knight Templars were beasts to infidels and heretics, Walter was the most reckless among them.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>But on the other hand, Cesar’s method favored him most—aside from ignoring the matter entirely, if he stood still, Walter’s decades of combat experience became useless; the only true measure between them seemed to be divine favor.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The problem was, divine favor accumulates over time. And Cesar had never fought on a battlefield; even if he had faced bears, how could a bear’s fangs compare to a heavy, sharp sword?\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Humans have instincts. When a blade swings toward you, you instinctively dodge. Some cowards freeze, unable even to think of fleeing, screaming instead. If Cesar had merely said he would endure Walter’s three blows, Walter might not have accepted the challenge so easily.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>But since he claimed he would not retreat a step, not utter a sound, not shed a drop of blood—he was declaring absolute faith in God. That alone surpassed countless others, earning the Templars’ admiration and placing him opposite Walter.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Since he said so, Walter spoke no more. Bare-handed, he knelt before the crucifix, recited a brief hymn, then shouted Saint Paul’s name aloud. Light poured from darkness; he raised his hand and grasped a radiant cross-sword, wreathed in flame, as if passed directly from an angel’s hand.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“One.” he said.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>A flash of light, like pure white silk cascading through air—he struck Cesar’s left arm. Alas, though this Templar had spoken cruelly in rage, when it came to action, he still held back.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Only a monk beside the Pope could reattach severed flesh and bone—provided the blood still flowed, still fresh. If the boy’s arm were severed, he would live as a one-armed man, unable to be a knight, only to enter a monastery—but at least he would live.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>No cries were heard, nor any sound of impact or collision. Two clerics among the Knight Marshals stepped forward. Though they were Templars, their blessing was “bestowed,” not “granted”—they were both knight marshals and clerics, responsible for prayer and healing.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>But almost simultaneously, Walter stepped back, lowering his sword’s tip to the ground. All saw: the boy still stood firm. To confirm he had not moved, powder had been sprinkled around his feet—even the slightest twitch of his toe would leave a visible trace.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The two clerics hurried forward, as if they had come for this purpose: “I saw clearly,” one said, “he did not move.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The other examined the spot struck by the cross-sword. A large piece of fabric hung from Cesar’s left arm—but only fabric was damaged. “He did not bleed,” the cleric affirmed.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The other Knight Marshals checked too—they would serve as witnesses when questioned about this trial.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Then, two.” Walter raised the cross-sword again once the witnesses stepped back. All watched his expression, wondering how the first strike had felt—like steel? Hard wood? Linen or wool? No one believed Walter had feigned; that would insult himself and his faith.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The blade screamed through air; all turned pale. This time, it aimed for the neck!\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Could he still avoid it? Could he still remain silent? Even a hoarse gasp from his throat? The fine powder lay at his feet—merely trembling would leave clear marks.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>This time, they could see Walter’s cheek and arm muscles bulging. The Templar twisted his waist, roaring like a beast, his strong body and sturdy arms like a spring pulled taut then released—this blow would sever the head of the giant David slew!\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>But, oh! Everyone saw clearly! The sword struck the squire’s delicate neck like a whip—next instant, they imagined his beautiful head flying through air, blood like a ribbon flung skyward, almost smelling the sweet metallic scent.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Only after a long moment did they realize it was all illusion. The squire still stood firm, unmoved, no blood, no severed neck. Walter stood three or four steps away, expression unreadable.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Come, look,” Walter said. Only then did they awaken, rushing forward to confirm Cesar was unharmed.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Three.” Walter said. Everyone assumed he would roar, feint, or stab viciously at the squire’s eyes—after all, any movement, any cry meant defeat. Even Cesar believed so—he saw the murderous gleam in Walter’s eyes, colder and wilder than a she-bear robbed of her cubs.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The cross-sword rose high, glowing like the sun. Even Cesar involuntarily closed his eyes slightly. But the expected violent blow never came. He heard a soft sigh of relief and admiration from the crowd. He opened his eyes to find the cross-sword resting gently on his shoulder.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“I believe God has seen your faith,” Walter said. He lowered his hand; the cross-sword dissolved upon Cesar’s shoulder.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>——————\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>In Amalric I’s tent, anxiety was not confined to Baldwin alone; Heraclius felt it too. But neither could say: do not pity commoners like weeds, do not offend the Templars, do not display your strength and talent before all.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>If Cesar had obeyed such orders, he would now be a negligible servant in the Holy Cross Castle—perhaps even unable to enter it. When Baldwin contracted leprosy and was mocked by the servants Amalric I had chosen for him, the king had been furious, determined to find Baldwin an impeccable companion.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Whether by fortune or misfortune, he found him.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>When a servant entered the tent joyfully, announcing that the king’s envoy had returned safely with a messenger from Tortosa, even Amalric I could not suppress a smile.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The volatile Walter de Lusignan could easily ignore the king’s authority; if he viewed Amalric I’s envoys as an insult, it was entirely possible. Worst case: he executed them and flung their bodies from the castle. Best case: stripped them of clothes, armor, and banners, sending them back to camp in disgrace.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Baldwin emptied his chest, hoping only that Geoffrey might save Cesar’s life.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>But the outcome far exceeded expectations—even those who had held a faint hope were now as intoxicated as if they had drunk a full cup of sweet wine.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Amalric I maintained his royal composure, confirmed the location, time, and approximate numbers for battle with the Templars of Tortosa, bestowed gifts upon them, then smiled with satisfaction.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Baldwin, as soon as outsiders left, leapt onto Cesar, hugging his neck tightly. His face flushed with excitement, he could not speak—perhaps he wanted Cesar to recount what happened in Tortosa Castle.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Of course, Cesar first answered the king’s inquiry. He told everything plainly. When he described how Walter de Lusignan’s third strike had merely rested gently on his shoulder, Amalric I gave a subtle smile.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Had he been in Walter’s place, he would have done the same. Walter was nearly forty; Cesar was ten. Even if he won, would it be honorable? To lose was unthinkable. With the first two trials, an experienced knight could already judge whether he could win this judgment—abandoning the final blow created a noble tale; people would speak only of his mercy and generosity...\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>To speak harshly, this favor might be useful for twenty or thirty years.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“You have saved me much time, manpower, and gold,” Amalric I said. “If you were already a knight, I would give you a horse, armor, and retainers. But you are still a squire, so I grant you one wish—you may claim it now or keep it for later. I will honor it whenever you ask.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Heraclius straightened his back; Baldwin held his breath. They both guessed what Cesar would request.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“I have only one request,” Cesar said calmly. “Your Majesty, please forgive the commoners of Tortosa Castle.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The king fell silent, gazing at Cesar with a stern look. The tent was utterly still.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Did Amalric I swear to kill every soul in Tortosa Castle because they had insulted or betrayed him? No. He did so only because the Templar Order obstructed and threatened him, and because of the Crusade’s cause, he had to abandon his plan to execute the ringleaders and wash his shame in their blood.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>But a king’s wrath must find an outlet.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Thus, the Templar Order had tacitly accepted that, aside from a few individuals, all others in the castle would be executed by Amalric I to vent his fury. Yet now, a young squire stood before him and boldly requested mercy for them all.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>(End of Chapter)\u003C\u002Fp>",2336,"2026-06-20T20:58:34.857Z",1,"Qwen3-Next 80B","2a5c4639de37b6d04455eda2cf5631c135fbbf1ae31d4c0794e93e7cdc3a6160","the-nation-of-ten-thousand-nations-chapter-65","the-nation-of-ten-thousand-nations-chapter-63",168,"https:\u002F\u002Fnovelzhen.com\u002Fimages\u002Fcovers\u002Fthe-nation-of-ten-thousand-nations-cover.jpg"]