Chapter 5: The Town
"Pleased to make your acquaintance."
Banu gave a slight nod, her expression remaining calm and composed. Though she wasn't particularly respectful, she didn't come off as rude either.
'Clang—' A black triangular shield, made from an unknown material, was set down on the ground.
Banu lifted her head, a trace of curiosity flickering in her brown eyes, as if silently asking what instructions would follow.
Lothar looked away, feeling inexplicably guilty.
He had just taken a good look at Banu's appearance. Compared to her character illustration, there were some adjustments, but she was still worthy of the title "2D waifu." Her skin was flawless and radiant, without a single blemish.
This was exactly Lothar's type. After all, the pursuit of perfection was a human instinct.
He had never liked freckles and didn't agree with the promotion of the so-called "freckle aesthetic" or its romanticization.
"You'll need to change clothes first. This outfit still draws too much attention."
A black biker suit might sound less revealing than a mini-skirt or hot pants.
But what she wore was a custom-made, magically enhanced tight leather outfit that Lothar had specifically designed. It perfectly outlined her flawless figure and the visual impact was… Explosive.
Coupled with Banu's breathtaking beauty, she was bound to attract all sorts of unnecessary trouble.
Her long black hair, on the other hand, wasn't as eye-catching. While it was exceptionally sleek and smooth, such hair color was common in both Europe and the Middle East.
"Alright."
Lothar asked, "Do you like that outfit a lot? I mean, considering your combat style, wouldn't you prefer to wear heavy armor?"
Banu frowned slightly. "Sorry, but I've never relied on armor for defense. Just get me some ordinary clothing."
Lothar paused for a moment.
His eyes instinctively swept over Banu's exposed, fair arms—soft, smooth, and pristine—completely unlike those of a heavily-armored tank with astonishing defense.
It was hard to imagine that her constitution and endurance were six times that of an average person, and her strength nearly four times that of a typical adult male.
A strange image flashed through Lothar's mind.
By the time Banu appeared before Ryan and Moder, she had already changed into a fresh white linen outfit, complete with a veil and headscarf.
Notably, as the Gatekeeper of Hell in her backstory, her body temperature was perpetually cold. When standing close to her—even in the height of summer—Lothar could feel a pleasantly cool sensation radiating from her.
It stirred a sudden urge in him to curl up beside Banu and take a long nap.
But that was just a fleeting thought.
For one, their affection level wasn't high enough, and Banu would probably refuse. For another, he found such behavior a bit despicable. His moral compass wouldn't allow it.
There were no maids in white short skirts and sheer silk stockings in the Habsburg manor in the town, nor were there any butlers in tailcoats acting with gentlemanly decorum.
Lothar's father, Count Werner, was a typical German military aristocrat. He much preferred living in the Hawk's Castle—a stronghold he had personally overseen and constructed with support from his bishop brother in Strasbourg—over this far more habitable manor at the foot of the mountain.
All over the town, peasants and freemen in tattered clothes could be seen heading home after a long day's farm work.
Most of the town's buildings were made of clay and wood. Only a few wealthy farmers could afford stone-brick houses with roofs of reed and straw.
There's a reason the Middle Ages are called the Dark Ages. The vast majority of people during this period couldn't even fill their stomachs.
An elderly man, with skin like the bark of an ancient tree, sat by the roadside surrounded by a group of children, telling stories.
His body was covered in old wounds—scars crisscrossing his skin—and even the intact areas looked shriveled and worn. A thick cataract clouded his eyes, making it hard not to question whether he could see at all.
"He's got sword wounds, arrow scars, and some injuries I can't even identify."
Lothar frowned. "Who is he?"
Moder replied, "An old blind man. Rumor has it he once made a pilgrimage to Jerusalem and even killed a Mamluk knight. But I think it's just his own bragging."
Moder was handpicked by Lothar—a skilled sword-and-shield warrior who had once defeated a knight in a one-on-one foot battle.
The town was under the control of a stationed knight and fifty Habsburg soldiers. These soldiers rotated regularly. Naturally, Moder and Ryan had spent time living in the town.
"A pity he's blind. Otherwise, he might have made a good guide." Lothar sighed and withdrew his gaze.
In the central square stood a simple water reservoir, surrounded by women with clay jars on their heads, waiting to draw water.
"Lothar, what brings you here?"
The voice came from the local parish priest, responsible for all the town's and nearby farms' religious duties—prayers, weddings, and funerals.
He wore a faded cassock and a white headscarf and approached with a kindly smile. "It's been a while, Lothar. Hmm, I see you're wearing the lion crest now. Has your father finally knighted you?"
Lothar smiled. "Yes, Father Sawyer. I've decided to embark on a Crusade to liberate the Holy Land. I set out tomorrow morning."
Sawyer's face lit up with joy. "Congratulations, Lothar! That's a very wise decision. The Lord will surely bless your devout heart. I happen to have a decent packhorse—you can take it with you. Consider it my humble contribution to your pilgrimage."
"Thank you for your generosity." Lothar bowed.
It took quite a while to extricate himself from the overly enthusiastic priest.
He muttered helplessly, "Father Sawyer really is warm-hearted."
Ryan whispered, "Of course. Father Sawyer is a good man—he fetches water for widows by day and hears their confessions by night."
"Oh, by the way, that widow's husband used to be a knight. His name was Joseph. He sold off his land and all his possessions to pay for the Crusade, persuaded by Father Sawyer. Then he ran off, leaving her behind."
Lothar's smile froze. He asked quietly, "He didn't come back, did he?"
"Of course not."
Ryan shook his head. "Last year, Old John—the blind man we just saw—returned from the Holy Land with a cane."
"What about Joseph, the knight? Did he die in battle?" Lothar asked casually.
"No. Actually, he never even reached Jerusalem. He was ambushed by pirates halfway there and sold into slavery."
Lothar frowned. "Did no one pay a ransom?"
"No. The widow and the priest were too busy enjoying each other's company. She had no money for a ransom—and from what I've heard, Joseph wasn't kind to her when he was still around."
"Master, what I mean is—not everyone is fortunate enough to reach Jerusalem. Pilgrimage is a long journey, full of trials and dangers. Only those blessed by God can reach the Heavenly Kingdom."
Lothar fell silent for a moment, then nodded. "You're right."
Fighting infidels in Jerusalem was dangerous, but the journey to the Holy Land was equally treacherous.
Most poor pilgrims couldn't afford the astronomical price of ship passage. They had no choice but to walk—and on the way, countless were lost to plague, famine, and bandits.