A battlefield of love.

Side with Prajna, and Fringilla's Affinity would surely drop. And how important was Fringilla's Affinity? Irreplaceable. He was still only a knight. But if he could share her Talents, he would instantly gain command of the mysterious art of blood magic: transforming himself from melee cannon fodder into a true caster.

In the game, balance meant mages weren't dramatically stronger than archers, warriors, or tanks; they even suffered crippling weaknesses: fragile, slow, easily killed. But this was reality. A spellcaster outranked a grunt in ways no game mechanic could capture. Yet to side with Fringilla would fracture the bond he had so carefully built with Prajna.

Lothar did not deliberate long. From a purely utilitarian standpoint, backing Fringilla might be the smarter play. But he had never been a machine running on cold calculation.

"Lady Fringilla. Mind your words. I do not wish you, fresh to this world, to clash with my most trusted companion—not even in words. As she said, I expect at least a basic measure of respect when you address your lord.

"This world is no simple one. Beings stronger than either you or Prajna are all too real. You were once enemies. Now you are comrades. You will learn to cooperate.

"And you, Prajna. I know exactly what Fringilla is. You need not worry that she might seduce me."

"Mm." Prajna's face remained blank, but the Affinity increase told him she had appreciated him taking her side. What puzzled him was that Fringilla's Affinity had also risen, not fallen.

Lothar exhaled quietly. "Fringilla, come with me. I'll introduce you to my followers."

In the hallway, he stopped and turned to her, his voice grave. "I must warn you in advance. Restrain your vampire nature. Do not prey on my followers. Do not harm ordinary people at will.

"This is not the Blood Court. This is a dangerous foreign world: witches, vampires, demons, all real. Do not casually reveal what you are."

"Vampires?" She licked the corner of her lips. "This world has vampires? I can't wait to meet my kin, and make them kneel before me."

"If you're capable, you may get the chance." He paused. "Remember my words."

Fringilla curtsied, smiling. "Of course, my honored lord. Your every command shall be obeyed without reservation." Her attitude was perfectly obedient.

But the Affinity drop notification betrayed her true feelings. Whether she chafed at being ordered, or simply hated the idea of changing clothes, he couldn't tell.

Lothar gave her a long, measuring look. Dealing with Fringilla was not like dealing with Prajna. Cut this girl's heart in half and both sides would be black. In her backstory, the humans she'd killed numbered in the thousands if not tens of thousands. She was a demon through and through.

He brought her a perfectly ordinary woman's dress of the era. Like Prajna, she was fitted with a veil. But her hair was rare white, so he added a headscarf for good measure. Ding, ding, ding: three Affinity drop notifications in a row. Fringilla was clearly disgusted at being forced into garments she considered hideous.

Lothar wasn't worried. He had recalled, piece by piece, the character design he'd written for her.

In the game, players could only unlock Fringilla's backstory fragments after reaching Elite promotion, then use that knowledge to pursue her route. Lothar was different. No one knew these Retainers' personalities better than he did. In a sense, every Retainer in the System was his child.

"Fringilla, this world is dangerous. Prajna and I once met a witch more powerful than her. I know you love looking beautiful. But your safety matters more." He spoke with gentle gravity.

Fringilla paused. She gave a small, dismissive snort and said, in a tone of elaborate irritation, "Fine. I won't cause you trouble."

"It won't be forever. Thank you for bearing it." The Affinity increase chimed, right on cue.

The Veneto lay in the northeast of the Italian peninsula, between the Alps and the Adriatic, bordering the Austrian March to the north. In the history Lothar remembered, the Veneto had fallen under Habsburg rule for a long period, though not until after the Mediterranean trade had faded and the Age of Sail was well underway. For now, the region was firmly in the grip of the Republic of Venice. As the undisputed ruler of the Adriatic, Venice was one of the most powerful maritime republics in the Mediterranean. Only the Genoese fleet could truly contest them.

Even the Eastern Empire, Venice's former suzerain, possessor of Greek Fire, had been forced into compromise after compromise with the Venetians. Every Crusade that chose the sea route had to beg ships from Venice. The fact that the Republic maintained its independence while nearly every other state on the Italian peninsula had been absorbed into the Greater Germanic Empire spoke for itself.

The merchants of this age were despised and mocked. But no one could deny that their wealth dwarfed any feudal lord's, even an emperor's. In this era, money bought armies of elite mercenaries far more dangerous than serf levies.

Laine and Hans returned. The moment Laine was through the door, he erupted in Swabian country dialect. "Those greedy, contemptible, hideous swine! Three gold coins per ticket—three! They're butchering us like fattened hogs!"

Modell frowned. "Did you tell them we're bound for the Holy Land to join the Crusade?"

"I did! And that damned wretch told me, stone-faced, that if we can't afford the fare, we'd only end up as idle vagabonds in the Holy Land anyway: bringing shame to the holy cause. I truly doubt these Venetians even believe in the Heavenly Father! They're no different from the Jews: false believers, heretics all!"

Lothar laughed. "Perhaps the Venetians worship Hermes instead."

"Her-who?" Hans explained: "An old pagan god the Greeks used to pray to. Patron of commerce."

In this age, education was near-entirely in the hands of the clergy. Even a lord, even a king, might well be illiterate.

Laine's face cleared with understanding, then went awkward. "Yes, that! The Venetians' devotion to their coin-purse far outstrips their devotion to the Heavenly Father. During the last Crusade, they had already settled on a price, and then raised it at the last moment. Against a papal bull, no less!"

Lothar shook his head. "It doesn't matter. One merchant quoting a robber's price doesn't mean everyone will. The main Gallic crusader host hasn't even gathered its supplies yet, they're nowhere near the Veneto. They're hiking the price far too early."

"Tell them this: if they insist on gouging, we'll find a Genoese ship instead."

As merchants, these men made their living sailing the Mediterranean. A dozen berths at three gold per head: they were treating him like a fool. Lothar saw no need to negotiate personally. A merchant faced with too approachable a lord would only smell weakness.

By afternoon, Laine and Hans returned. Their faces still showed displeasure, but the storm clouds from the morning had lifted.

"You got them down?" "We got them down. One solidus per head. The bastards tried to slip a loophole into the contract: stick us in the bilge hold. Good thing Hans can read."

Lothar's jaw tightened. His fists, too. "Was there no other merchant to deal with?"

He didn't want to board a ship run by men without honor. He had no desire to find himself sailing not for the Holy Land but for a North African slave market.

Of course, if it came to that, the most likely outcome was him slaughtering the entire crew and walking away with a free ship. The merchant guards were no match for his party.

Laine shook his head. "None. The Crete route's been disrupted: sea monsters, they say. The lanes are shut down for now. We sail with their fleet tomorrow morning."

Lothar nodded. He wasn't going to spend another month cooling his heels in the Veneto. The sooner he reached the Holy Land, the sooner he could begin the real work of winning his fief. With the System in hand, a month or two of development could make all the difference.

Sea monsters? With Fringilla aboard, he wasn't worried about a few beasts that relied on charm and brute strength.

"Then it's settled. Laine, Modell, Hans, you three organize the followers. Buy a batch of metal spearheads and shields. Salvage whatever usable weapons the bandits left behind. I want the men formed up as pikemen."

Pikemen were cheaper and easier to train than sword-and-shield infantry.