[{"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-76":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},2333044,4562,"Chapter 76: To Egypt! (7)","the-nation-of-ten-thousand-nations-chapter-76",76,"\u003Cp>How ironic—the Franks cry “Revenge!” and the Saracens cry “Revenge!” too.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The thought flashed through Cesar’s mind but did not hinder his action—he leapt up, one hand pressing on Geoffrey’s shoulder, light pouring like water down the Templar’s back, forming a large, scale-shaped shield.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The Saracen arrows fell like rain—as they always had, using volleys to disrupt and kill, effective when enemies were unprepared, even with women and children nearby—but today, all arrows missed.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The “maid” Cesar leaned against rolled into the crate the moment he leapt; only thudding sounds followed, arrows grazing his hair and ears, nearly pinning his cloak to the ground, yet he suffered not a scratch.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Before rising, Geoffrey shouted; knights immediately drew shields or took cover behind four-wheeled carts.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>These Roman-style four-wheeled carts were typically used for hauling goods, with a semi-cylindrical arched roof, three enclosed sides, and one openable door.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Now the door was opened; four fully armed knights leapt down, sprinting toward the two-wheeled carts, flipping back the ox hides beneath which lay their weapons: hammers, longswords, and flails.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Squires had already brought their horses; they mounted swiftly and charged toward the Saracens!\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The Saracen leader’s face turned ashen—they had been tricked!\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>His earlier foreboding had not been baseless; the Prophet had warned them, yet he hesitated repeatedly between halting immediately and one final gamble, and luck ultimately overcame reason.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Because his scouts had already told other young men of their discovery, when he reappeared, they were fully armed and eager to fight.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Even after he demanded no women or children be killed or harmed, the youths showed little disappointment, making him imagine perhaps things were not as dire as the elders claimed.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>After the battle, they would demand ransom from the Franks, then leave their kin behind to seek Saladin in Damascus under Zengi’s rule.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He had fought under Saladin, knew him to be merciful and just, never denying a subordinate’s merit merely for differing faith.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Yet now he dared not imagine how many warriors he might return with; the leader’s desperate howl pierced the dark dome as he called for the Saracens to rally to him.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>They numbered fifty-one, holding numerical superiority—but if more than two among these knights were favored by the Prophet, their advantage vanished; if more than three, they would be at a disadvantage…\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>What if more than five?\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The leader watched in horror as the foremost knight raised his hands, calling—divine favor descended upon him; as he met the first Saracen warrior, a broad, long cross-sword gripped tightly in his grasp.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Blood sprayed with the light, screams mingled with laughter echoing in their ears; bodies of men and horses collapsed sideways as the towering, demon-like knight and his steed tore through like lightning!\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The second Saracen warrior who met him never understood what happened before meeting the same fate.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He also saw the “noble lady” constantly surrounded by knights—she rose, nearly as tall as another knight.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Likewise, no—her body glowed with light exceeding the sum of all others; she unhesitatingly tore open her velvet robe, revealing chainmail beneath, then mounted the white Arabian horse.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>If the earlier knights were an unstoppable blade, this young, beautiful Frank was a colossal mace—when he charged, the thunder of hooves sounded like boulders rolling.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He charged straight toward the leader’s warriors, like a hurricane sweeping fish from the sea—none could resist or flee.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Seeing this, the leader understood fully: as he had feared from the start, this was a net spread wide, waiting for them to leap in; his panic deepened, even ignoring the elder’s warning, he ordered his warriors to converge—perhaps united strength could break out.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>But his call backfired: warriors initially fought fiercely, yet upon hearing his cry, some clung to battle, some sought retreat from this dreadful trap, and others hesitated, unsure what to do.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Only a few warriors managed to cross the battlefield’s gaps and gather around him.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The leader, pale-faced, looked at his warriors, then turned to the elder—now it was too late: “May God protect you.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He said, then before the elder could react, yanked the reins, forcibly turning the horse’s head northward, and plunged his blade into the horse’s rump; the elder’s horse screamed in pain, reared up, and bolted away at once, vanishing far into the distance.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He turned to the youths: “Escape or die?!”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Die!”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Die!”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Die!”…\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The leader fell silent; when he looked again at the battlefield, only the vile Franks remained—of fifty-one, save the elder, fewer than ten warriors and himself were left; his eyes blazed with hatred and despair as he drew his sword.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>This time, both sides silently clashed without a cry—the outcome was obvious: whether Amalric I, the other two great orders, or the distant lords and barons, all had decreed no prisoners would be taken in this battle.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Even without the divinely blessed knights, these men in chainmail, wielding hammers and longswords, far surpassed the Saracen warriors armed only with bows, wooden shields, and long knives, clad in quilted cotton robes or everyday clothes.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Only the leader wore chainmail beneath his wide-collared coat, a skullcap beneath his fur-trimmed hat, carried a black-iron mace, and a straight-bladed sword sheathed beneath his saddle.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>But how could an ordinary “kayyad” compare to a Templar knight like Walter or Geoffrey, blessed by God?\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Though the leader vowed he would “never be the last to die,” when Geoffrey swung his hammer, smashing a young Saracen warrior from his horse, then reversed the blow to knock the leader off, he could only cry out and faint in agony.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Walter galloped over, head bowed, glancing at the man on the ground clearly distinct from common fighters: “Why spare him?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Amalric I ordered me to do something for him.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Ah.” Walter understood, wiped blood from his face—though unnecessary, he was drenched in blood, all Saracen, or rather, not just blood, but bodily fluids and organ fragments.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He and his horse were half-drenched in crimson; unless he washed thoroughly in a river or lake, Geoffrey thought even demons from Hell would come to celebrate the birth of a new king.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Where’s Cesar?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“I sent him to chase a fleeing Saracen,” Geoffrey said.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“A Saracen who fled?” Walter exclaimed.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Judging by his attire, he’s their elder.” The Saracen elder was their priest, holding immense influence in villages and cities, teaching students, guiding tribes, conveying God’s will.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Though elders sometimes joined battle, allowing one to flee was not unusual.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Cesar expected a long pursuit, but it was not so; in the end, he did not catch the Saracen—it was more as if the Saracen had finally halted his horse, and sat calmly facing him when Cesar drew near.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>When the elder recognized his face in the bright daylight, his expression shifted from shock to anger: “I don’t know how you came here, woman—I will not be your captive,” he declared sternly: “If they think this can humiliate me, they are gravely mistaken.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“I am not a woman.” Cesar pulled down his hood—his Adam’s apple had slightly protruded, though not prominently; Damara had given him a white hood covering all hair and concealing his neck.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Yet the elder had already realized his mistake: Cesar bore the Prophet’s light; only men underwent the “Selection Ceremony” among both Franks and Saracens.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Women were forbidden from performing it—even gazing upon it was a sin; once a noblewoman attempted such transgression, and though her father was a duke, she was sentenced to lifelong imprisonment.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“This was your scheme.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“To capture you,” Cesar said. “You have sinned.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Did not you commit the first sin?” the elder retorted. “When our Caliph ruled here, he treated the Ishmaelites and Christians with mercy—he allowed them to trade, live in cities, build their own temples, elect their own elders and scholars, as long as they submitted and paid tribute, even preserving some of their former authority.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Even Christians seeking pilgrimage were permitted to pass through the Caliph’s lands, worshiping alongside us in holy temples to God and the Prophet.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Yet how did you treat us? When we thought friends came from across the sea, your swords pierced our chests!\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Look,” he spread his arms, “seventeen villages’ warriors gathered here—but before you came, they were mere craftsmen and farmers, earning their living by hand, praying daily, meeting every stranger with kindness.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>You came—you demanded food, we gave; shelter, we gave; livestock, we gave; then you demanded women—our wives, sisters, daughters—you burned our orchards, shot down every bird, fished every fish.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>You were insatiable, cruel and vile—you were not men, but vast locusts, devouring our food, then devouring us—and now you stand here saying we sinned? What sin did we commit? To punish sinners?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The elder asked, yet even now his tone remained calm, as if describing ordinary matters—but this calm, like storm clouds gathering, suffocated all breath.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“…If you truly punish only sinners,” Cesar said.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“You came to us—not we to you,” the elder said.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“I once persuaded them, child—but I persuaded them not because I failed to feel their pain—I felt it, as you do, since you are here.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“I promised… those who commit sins must face their due retribution.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Only Saracens?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“If you ask me…” Cesar said, “All.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The elder’s eyes widened slightly as he studied this youth, beautiful as a star—just risen, just blooming, a strong yet tender young beast: “Are you a prince?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“No, I am not.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Then are you a lord’s son?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“No.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Then at least you are a knight’s son.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Regrettably, I lost my memory; when I awoke, I was only an Ishmaelite slave, being sold to the Fatimid or Byzantine court—Amalric I saved me.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The elder did not show the disgust or contempt Cesar expected: “A pearl in mud shines brighter than one on velvet… Your mind transcends any crown. Yet such as you…” he said: “Perhaps this is the ending the Prophet wrote for us, meant for you to fulfill.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He closed his eyes and sighed deeply: “Do they order you to kill me—or bring me back?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Perhaps there is no difference,” Cesar said, “but you may now kneel and pray to your god—\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>I know Saracens perform last rites; perhaps slightly different, but if I take you back, they may not allow you to pray—you did not let those girls pray, did you?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“But I can forgive you—for a Saracen once forgave my servant.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The elder gave a bitter smile.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He knelt and prayed to God for himself and the other Saracens.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>————\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Hey, we’ve been waiting for you!” Geoffrey called. “Come quick! Good news!”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>(End of Chapter)\u003C\u002Fp>",1759,"2026-06-20T20:58:34.857Z",1,"Qwen3-Next 80B","72b5e60d83e0f92d880867c20005abe86ed2517af237830d3712c9539be28391","the-nation-of-ten-thousand-nations-chapter-77","the-nation-of-ten-thousand-nations-chapter-75",168,"https:\u002F\u002Fnovelzhen.com\u002Fimages\u002Fcovers\u002Fthe-nation-of-ten-thousand-nations-cover.jpg"]