You have slain a werewolf.

Milestone unlocked: Monster Hunter — Slay any three dark creatures including werewolves, vampires, demons, and wraiths. [1/3]

You have laid eyes upon a witch.

Milestone unlocked: Witch Hunter — Exchange bodily fluids with three or more witches. [Incomplete]

You have won your first Champion Knight title.

Milestone: Champion Knight [1/3]

A cascade of Milestone notifications scrolled through Lothar's mind. Without a fief, his only path to more card draws was through Milestones.

The Witch Hunter milestone could wait. Witches, without exception, pledged themselves to great lords: at minimum, a regional power like Count Leopold. At the top, you had men like Richard the Lionheart and Emperor Heinrich of Germania. Their standards were high.

Besides, Lothar didn't think much of them anyway. Count Leopold's red-robed witch was probably beautiful, but next to Prajna, she didn't compare. Their skin alone wasn't in the same league.

Champion Knight and Knight-Errant, on the other hand: those he could work on. The former required two more tournament victories. If he found no opportunity in Venice, he could finish it after reaching Jerusalem. The latter was simpler.

The roads of this age swarmed with bandits, especially the Bedouin raiders around the Holy Land, thick as flies. He'd have no trouble finding them.

Monster Hunter was harder. Dark creatures hid among ordinary men. They were difficult to identify, and even when identified, difficult to kill. Prajna was strong, but her strength lay in defense, not speed or killing power.

The incense was making him drowsy. Near sunset, the old imperial architecture came into its own: the bathhouse gathered light far better than any medieval structure. Moonlight streamed through the dome's high windows and pooled silver on the marble floor.

A soft ripple of water brought him fully awake. A beautiful maidservant in a gauze shift was gliding toward him like a mermaid.

"Who are you?"

"I am Naz, the head maidservant." She moved through the water with easy grace, a teasing smile on her lips. "You seemed dissatisfied with the attendant we assigned. I thought I might offer my services personally."

Lothar understood. He'd ignored the maidservant waiting by the poolside, so the head maid had come herself. He shook his head quickly. "Forgive me. I am not dissatisfied. I have sworn an oath to the Heavenly Father to preserve my chastity until the infidel have been driven from the Holy Land."

"Is that so?" She could not resist glancing beneath the water's surface.

"Absolutely." Lothar emptied his mind with effort, redirecting his blood flow through sheer will.

"You are truly a pious knight. Forgive my presumption." The head maid rose from the bath. Her soaked shift left nothing to the imagination. She stepped gracefully from the pool and pointed to a folded set of clothes beside it.

"Please dress. I am to escort you to an audience with His Excellency. I will wait outside."

Lothar changed into the provided attire: a fitted black tunic with purple tassels. Purple was precious in both East and West. In the Western world especially, only the wealthy nobles of the Eastern Empire could afford purple-dyed robes. Even a small purple flourish was a mark of significant wealth.

He followed the head maid deeper into the castle. The path from bathhouse to keep was paved entirely in marble, and well-equipped men-at-arms patrolled at regular intervals.

Lienz was not even Leopold's seat of power, merely a secondary residence. Vienna was his true capital. The extent of his wealth was written in every stone.

The iron portcullis groaned upward on its windlass. Count Leopold stood at the gate and greeted Lothar warmly. "Well, young Lothar! Were the gifts to your liking?"

Lothar bowed respectfully. "Most satisfactory, Your Excellency."

"Ha! No need for nerves. I barely recognized you at first. I campaigned alongside your father in the old Crusade, you know. We were good friends. I held you when you were a child."

Leopold clapped Lothar on the shoulder and gestured for him to follow. "Werner is a stiff old mule. I see his son has picked up the same habit. We are close. No need for formality."

Lothar smiled. "Indeed." Indeed, the man knew how to win loyalty. He couldn't recall Count Werner ever mentioning any close friendship with Leopold.

"So, when shall we hold the ceremony? My heralds and smiths are ready to craft your personal arms. Baron of Wienerwald."

Lothar blinked. "You mean to raise me to baron?"

"Of course! And not just baron. I also intend to name you my personal champion, my sworn sword. It was the prize I promised before the tournament, and I am no man of empty words."

Lothar hurried to speak. "Your Excellency, your generosity is known to all. But I set out on this journey to take ship from Venice and fight the infidel. I cannot fulfill the duties of a vassal." The title "Excellency" was applied loosely in these lands; eastern lords in particular were often addressed so by their followers.

As for the reward… it was tempting. But no meat fell from the sky without a hook. A vassal owed feudal obligations. He could not stay here in Austria as a minor baron. That would mean he died a minor baron.

He would have no avenue for expansion; his only hope would be that Leopold, pleased with his service, might one day grant him more land. That hope was thin. Leopold himself was only a count; making a baron was already the limit of his authority.

Lothar could hardly follow the example of a certain General Lü and turn on his liege to seize power for himself. That would blacken his name beyond redemption.

Leopold waved dismissively. "I know all this. But don't refuse yet. I intend to petition for the elevation of the Austrian March into the Duchy of Austria. If it succeeds, and if you prove yourself, I will consider raising you to Count, equal to your father."

Lothar drew a breath. "Forgive me, Your Excellency. I wish I could accept your generous offer at once. But my faith forbids me to break a sacred vow. You know I have sworn to defend the Holy Land and fight the infidel."

Leopold's expression chilled. "Young Lothar. Do you understand the magnitude of the honor I am offering? If you hadn't exposed that werewolf in disguise before half the noble world, you might have remained nothing but a knight your entire life!"

For an ordinary knight, that was true. Most landless knights died somewhere in the long process of earning their place. Another large portion fell in the continued pursuit of glory. And the vast majority of the remainder spent their lives as petty lords of nothing in particular.

Lothar shook his head. "I do understand. Thank you again for your generosity. But I cannot accept."

Leopold held a long silence. The weight of his presence pressed down until Lothar felt like a schoolboy shrinking before the headmaster. Then—

"Ha ha ha! Spoken like Werner's son! The man's stubbornness runs true in his blood." Leopold's severity shattered into open, boisterous laughter.

"Don't fret, young Lothar. I too am a devout believer in the Heavenly Father. How could I be angered by your piety? Quite the opposite.

"I will fund your journey. And once you've established yourself in Jerusalem, write to me. I will send men and supplies to aid you."

Seeing Lothar's stunned expression, he clapped his shoulder again. "In short: there will always be a place for you in my service, should you return from the Holy Land."

Lothar smiled. "You have my deepest thanks. But, Your Excellency, aren't you planning to join the Crusade yourself? Perhaps we'll fight side by side."

"True enough. Once I've settled affairs here at home, and smoothed things between the Emperor and His Holiness, I'll march. When that time comes, let me see what you've learned about leading men in war."

The two of them talked on, the conversation warm and easy, until at last they parted with mutual satisfaction.

Leopold stood in the torchlight outside the castle gate, silent for a long while after Lothar had gone. His red-robed witch came to stand beside him, a smile on her lips. "He refused even that. The man has a witch at his side. He's not nearly as pious as he pretends."

Leopold nodded. "He does. He's ambitious, and he's capable. No ordinary man beats a werewolf in single combat. And Jerusalem is the perfect stage. In that city, even a beggar from the streets of Paris can wake up one morning as a landed lord."

The witch's red lips curved. "If we can't bind him as a vassal, let's make him an ally. It'll soften the loss of the werewolf knight I prepared for you."

Leopold's voice turned cold. "Hold your tongue. How dare you speak such blasphemy before me? I share nothing with those foul creatures."

"Please. Don't perform for me. You are a practical man. If it would help House Babenberg rise, you'd use werewolves, vampires, demons, anything."

Her pale arm coiled around his waist like a white snake. "Use them freely. While I am here, nothing will turn on you."

Leopold caught her arm; a flicker of something soft crossed his face, then hardened. "How strong is the witch at Lothar's side? Compared to you?"

The witch's voice turned sharp. "What, are you tempted?"

"How could I be? I only want to gauge his potential: decide how much to invest."

She nodded. Her voice lost its lightness. "I don't know. But she is strong. Not far below those two old crones in the Tower of Witches."

"I see."

…

"Back."

Prajna sat in her chair at the inn. She looked up only slightly as Lothar entered. "You saved me today. Thank you."

"Don't mention it." She shook her head and let her gaze travel over him, then sniffed lightly. The faint tension in her brow eased. No strange scents on him.

Lothar hesitated, then asked, "Prajna, if I truly hadn't been able to beat Averardo… would you have stepped in?"

Prajna lowered her eyes and said nothing.

If he had not been able to borrow her Talent for the killing blow, in that final moment, she would have acted. Rules were rules. Breaking them would make his future far more difficult. But that assumed he had a future.

She would never say this aloud, though. Without the tempering of true life-and-death struggle, if he always carried the thought "Prajna will save me" in the back of his mind, he would never grow into a lord worthy of her fealty.

Prajna's silence stretched. Lothar studied her face, then nodded. "I understand."