[{"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-81":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},2333049,4562,"Chapter 81: Siege! (1) Special Thanks to the Patron Who Sponsored This Book, Fish Tai","the-nation-of-ten-thousand-nations-chapter-81",81,"\u003Cp>Baldwin looked at Cesar, seeking his judgment on the case, but Cesar merely shook his head and remained silent.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He could clearly see that among these two groups of Ishmaelites, the Haredi were the weaker side, and with the testimony of the Saracens, he was not a bad man.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Raban, at least, was a shrewd fellow—he had unhesitatingly defected to Amalric I while the latter was still encamped outside the city—and he was surely not, as claimed, a grain merchant; no Ishmaelite grain trader would ever pressure a fellow craftsman who made jewelry so ruthlessly.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>As for the Haredi, unfortunately, he had not been as honest and selfless as the Saracens claimed—he might be a good man, but he had certainly concealed something. This secret, both he and Raban knew, yet neither wished to reveal it to others. If so, Cesar had no intention of interfering in his fate.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Then let’s proceed as originally agreed.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>As soon as Baldwin spoke, the Saracens’ faces broke into smiles. The Haredi smiled too, but his smile carried shame and helplessness—he knew well that his deception had been profoundly unfair to these Saracens.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Raban still tried to plead, but Baldwin lowered his head and said earnestly to him: “I know who you are. You are no grain merchant. In fact, you came to my father many times, begging him to grant you the right to mint coins. You also trade in precious metals and exchange currency, and you lend money—to many people.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“One of my knights once complained that you are a greedy dog. Don’t be afraid—I say this not to accuse you, but to make you understand: I know your true intentions.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Raban nervously licked his lips. Baldwin waved his hand. “But I cannot set a precedent. If this kind of auction-like practice spreads through the city, the harm will far outweigh the benefit—we must quickly count all the people and resolve their affairs first—whether through ransom or trade.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Today you pay triple. Tomorrow someone else will offer five times. My father might gain more money. But he is not a merchant—he is a king and a commander. This profit is not worth the immense effort we’d have to expend to secure it. Do you understand?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“I… I understand.” Raban swallowed hard, reluctant. He slowly rose and turned to the Haredi: “...No matter what, remember you are still an Ishmaelite.” His voice was dark.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>At this moment, the Saracens’ servants had hurried back. They brought the agreed-upon money—and even a little extra. The Saracens were delighted that the Templars had conceded on this point; after all, when Raban had proposed triple the price, they too had hesitated.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Raban clenched his teeth, watching them with bitter resentment. He tried several times to speak, but his remaining reason held him back.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Cesar guessed what he wanted to say: everything in this city now belonged to Amalric I.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>So where had these Saracens gotten the money for their ransoms? It could not be probed too deeply—for these were men of status, and they had not participated in any conspiracy against Amalric I. Indeed, once Amalric I truly ruled this city, he would need them.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>After all, this city could never be only Christian. Even now, Alasaluh housed many Saracens and Ishmaelites—this was unavoidable. No city could flourish while clinging to its original purity.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The Haredi family rushed out of the city without delay. Before Bilebes fell again, he had already prepared a small workshop in a village outside.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Though business would likely be scarce for a long time, he was, after all, a simple man content with poverty.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>But he found no peace for long. On the fourth night, another group of Ishmaelites arrived at the village. Their leader was a true “teacher”—a sage among the Ishmaelites. The moment he saw the Haredi, he opened his arms wide; the Haredi could not help but step forward and embrace him tightly.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Master!” he cried, filled with emotion.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“I thought you would die in Bilebes,” said the Haredi’s teacher.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“I had made full preparations. But I was caught by a Templar knight the moment I left the city. Fortunately, he was not a cruel man—he allowed us to return and collect our ransom money…”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The Haredi recounted everything that had happened in the city. His teacher could not help but admit that, along this journey, the Haredi and his family had indeed been greatly protected by God—had even one link been missing, all he would see now was the Haredi’s bones.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“That group still hasn’t given up,” the Haredi said, speaking of Raban.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“They will never abandon it, for it is…” The Ishmaelite sage did not finish. The Haredi did not press him—he changed the subject, asking about his teacher’s current situation: “We are fine. Honestly, for us Ishmaelites, Christians and Saracens are not much different—they despise us, oppress us, yet still must use us.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The Haredi brewed him a hot cup of sweet tea with honey. The sage took it and drank it all at once, letting out a long sigh.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Though he was always vigorous and strong, the news of Amalric I’s second campaign had driven him straight to Bilebes—this urgent, lengthy journey had left him utterly exhausted.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>But the Haredi was his best student. He should have become a sage himself, yet due to conflicts with some of his own people, he had been forced to become a goldsmith.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Though he was the finest goldsmith among them, seeing him still pained the sage: “Come back with me, Haredi. I need you. Others who share our thoughts and convictions need you too.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“I hate war, Master. I dislike all quarrels and arguments. I refuse to raise my blade against my own people.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“You don’t need to do it yourself.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Is there a difference between the order I give and the hand I wield?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The sage sighed deeply. “But you have seen it—this world is full of war—for faith, for profit, for land, even for a single horse, a single sheep, a single copper coin. Where can you hide? I heard Amalric I is about to attack Fostat. Even if you hide here, soon everyone here will be conscripted.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The fruit trees here will be cut down. The farmland will lie fallow, untended. Next year, famine will sweep through. Where will you go then?\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Unless you cease being an Ishmaelite—abandon our faith…”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“I will never do that,” the Haredi said fiercely.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Then think again. You have two daughters, still in their prime. Do you want them to lose their virtue and lives in this war? If you return, I can choose two suitable young men for them. When they marry and have children, your bloodline will continue.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Then you will see—your sacrifice will be entirely worth it.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>How the Haredi responded to his teacher, we do not yet know. But the sage was right: Amalric I did not force every Saracen to labor for him, yet these people left the city with nothing—empty-handed.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Even if nearby villages could shelter them, how could tens of thousands survive? And the villagers themselves must prepare to endure the coming months.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>They wanted to pick fruit for food, hunt birds and beasts—but all had already been looted clean by the Crusader knights. Where was there any such fortune left for them? Even the fish in lakes and rivers had grown scarce.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>At this time, Amalric I issued a proclamation, telling them that if they worked for him, they would receive food rations and wages. What work? No need to say—it was for the siege of Fostat: more carts, more siege towers, more ballistae, more battering rams, more trebuchets… more spears, more palisades, more tents and huts…\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Outside Bilebes, the trees—some grown for years, decades, even centuries—laden with dates, olives, pomegranates, and figs—fell one by one, amid the Saracens’ anguished gazes. They had no choice: this was their future. But if they refused service, they would lose even their present.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Baldwin and Cesar had once seen the people of Alasaluh build such machines—during King Amalric I’s campaign against Tortosa Castle. But compared to this, it was like comparing a toddling child to a giant towering over several zhang tall. From above, they looked down: craftsmen swarmed like ants; piles of wood and stone resembled blocks of sugar.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Enough,” Heraclius placed his hands on their shoulders and gently urged them forward. “Let’s go down and take a look.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Heraclius was in charge of this vital project. Some objected—he was no longer a monk beside the king, but the Patriarch of Alasaluh. Yet clearly, both Amalric I and Heraclius believed overseeing the construction of siege engines, fortifications, and encampments suited him far better than kneeling before an altar in prayer.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Heraclius, of course, would not miss such a perfect opportunity—to see drawings, read texts, hear explanations—what could compare to seeing, touching, and understanding firsthand?\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“This is a stone-throwing crossbow,” the teacher said.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>To Cesar and Baldwin, it was still only a trapezoidal frame, with a horizontal beam and four square base feet. These were stacked layer by layer and transported to another area, where workers fitted them with metal parts and elastic horsehair ropes, then secured them into a massive assembly. Another group stuffed them with straw and loaded them onto carts.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Cesar now realized that people of this time already possessed a crude, simple sense of assembly-line production—though this awareness arose from occupational isolation: a blacksmith needing a wooden plate couldn’t carve one himself; a carpenter needing nails couldn’t forge one; a stonemason skilled in carving couldn’t cast iron statues or make puppets.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>What each did, sold, or bought was strictly governed by guild rules, and they accepted these rules. These customs originated from artisans under noble estates—every craft: delivering messages, guiding paths, raising cattle, harvesting honey and beeswax… was jealously guarded and passed down with sacred secrecy by each artisan.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Anyone caught stealing knowledge—even an apprentice—would be whipped or even executed.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>With such traditions, everyone became accustomed to interfering in no one else’s work—each did only their own task, then passed it on to the next for the following step…\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>As Cesar understood, even among blacksmiths, there were extreme divisions: some specialized in making horseshoes, spurs, and bits; others in crafting, repairing, and sharpening tools for carpenters and stonemasons; some forged elegant, sturdy railings and window grilles; others specialized solely in making nails—nails of every size and shape, from the tiniest hooked nails used to fasten armor plates to the largest used to anchor ships or mount figureheads…\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“These are the flat-shooting and high-trajectory stone-throwers.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Heraclius did not interrupt the workers; instead, he walked to the finished pieces and pointed them out: “Around the fifth century B.C., the Phoenicians here built the first stone-throwers, though they could only fire horizontally, not upward. The Macedonians made stone-throwers said to launch metal arrowheads weighing up to a hundred pounds—or stones of fifty pounds.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“These stone-throwers effectively destroy weaker battlements and thinner walls, far more vulnerable than city ramparts.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He led them a few steps further and pointed to another crossbow: \"This is the Roman improvement of the Phoenician and Macedonian stone-throwers—modified to launch farther and inflict greater damage. They called it the Roman stone-thrower or the scorpion.\" He stood before this clearly longer device and made a sweeping gesture with his arms: \"It resembles a scorpion extending its front claws, doesn't it?\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“And this,” he said, pointing to a device inside a wooden crate: “is the torsion catapult and its frame. This machine demands greater precision and craftsmanship, so it cannot be casually stacked or stored—it’s troublesome and time-consuming to build, but far more stable, with greater range and power.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“All these catapults require recalibration before firing—temperature, humidity, and wear affect their power and accuracy. A skilled archer needs only to listen to whether the two bowstrings sound identical to determine this—if they differ, manual adjustment is needed. On the battlefield, you’ll experience it firsthand.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>These catapults varied in size: some as small as chairs, others as large as cabinets; some were mounted directly on carts—one cart, one catapult.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“There are larger ones,” Heraclius said, noticing Baldwin’s gaze fixed on a wooden device that also resembled a catapult: “No, boy—that is not a catapult.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He said: “That is called the ‘Wild Ass.’ It, too, comes from the Romans, but we added arms to it, allowing it to launch farther.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“But it’s still a trebuchet.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>(End of Chapter)\u003C\u002Fp>",2073,"2026-06-20T20:58:34.857Z",1,"Qwen3-Next 80B","6216428111af35b9a3892c5409898d08ba833f3020f05ce908acca00bbd2c953","the-nation-of-ten-thousand-nations-chapter-82","the-nation-of-ten-thousand-nations-chapter-80",168,"https:\u002F\u002Fnovelzhen.com\u002Fimages\u002Fcovers\u002Fthe-nation-of-ten-thousand-nations-cover.jpg"]