Constance Manor lay in the western quarter of Jerusalem.

It was a three-story villa, encircled by a red-lacquered wall with a watchtower for sentries. Against the inner face of the wall stood a cluster of servants' quarters, stables, a smithy, a prayer chamber, and storehouses. Trees and shrubs had been planted throughout the grounds, their canopies offering islands of shade. A small fountain at the center sprayed cool groundwater in a steady, soothing arc.

Lothar pointed with his riding crop. "How many can we house here?"

"Packed tight? A hundred should be manageable." Laine, who had experience with "communal living," gave the estimate.

"That's not counting the main house," Modell added. "Only you, your family, guests, and personal attendants would live there, my lord."

"Not bad." Lothar nodded. "Let's go inside. The sooner we finish the handover, the sooner we can rest."

An old manservant and two Jerusalem men-at-arms in blue surcoats watched over the manor. After verifying King Baldwin's seal, the old servant gave Lothar a brief tour, then departed with the two soldiers.

The handover went far more smoothly than Lothar had expected. He had half anticipated finding a squatter barricaded inside—or something worse.

"I have to say, these Eastern-style estates are far more comfortable than anything back on the continent."

Lothar climbed the stairs with Fringilla and Prajna. The ground floor was an open, airy space. It had probably been a stable once, but the original owner, unwilling to sleep above the reek of horses, had emptied it out and built new stables farther from the house. A sensible decision.

They climbed the wooden staircase to the second floor, where broad front and rear chambers opened into one another. From the balcony, Lothar could see all the way to the distant Temple Mount. The rooms seemed dim after the blinding glare outside, but unlike the damp gloom of a continental manor, the shade here was a blessing—a refuge from the searing heat.

"Come with me," Lothar said.

Fringilla eyed him. "What are you doing?"

"You might witness the birth of a new companion."

He meant to use the Card Draw at once.

He opened the System and selected Draw. A hazy purple glow suffused his vision.

Another Epic pull?

Joy and surprise surged through him —

Then confusion.

You have received: Epic Item — Winged Hussar's Swallowtail Banner.

An item?

Why an item?

Lothar frowned. He didn't remember designing this content. Either the System had "mutated" on its own, much the way the Premium System had clearly gotten more expensive, or the development team had added new content after his death.

If it was the former… well, nothing to do but accept it. If it was the latter… have a conscience, you bastards. Stop dreaming up new ways to fleece your players.

The indignation was shameless. In his previous life, he had designed nearly every predatory scheme used to bleed those same players dry. Most of the development team had been idealists he kept working for passion and meager pay by painting them one grand future after another.

"Looks like there won't be a new companion after all."

Lothar produced the banner. It was a red-and-white swallowtail flag. But with a wave of his hand, it reshaped itself into a new standard, one bearing the rampant lion of his house.

Strictly speaking, he shouldn't be using the lion rampant at all. That coat of arms belonged to the County of Aargau, and he had no claim to the inheritance. Arms represented titles and lands. The House of Babenberg, for example, bore the red-and-white striped shield of the Austrian March: a device the Habsburgs would later adopt when they inherited Austria.

Lothar had no fief of his own, and no particular need to design a personal coat of arms. Not yet.

Swallowtail banners came in many sizes. The one he had drawn was smaller: perfectly sized to hang from a cavalry lance.

He held it in his hands, and its attribute panel materialized before him:

Winged Hussar's Swallowtail Banner: When affixed to a lance, increases the lance's penetrating power and renders it unbreakable. When flown as a standard, increases the charge speed of all cavalry under the bearer's command by twenty percent.

The item was powerful. In the hands of a king who could summon hundreds or thousands of horsemen, this banner would be a relic of war capable of turning a battle outright. Armored cavalry running down steppe light horsemen would make for a slaughter.

Unfortunately, Lothar was no king.

At present, his entire mounted force consisted of one cavalryman: Hans. Two, if he counted himself.

The item was excellent. But he would still have preferred a Retainer. Talent was simply too scarce: even a one-star Retainer like Hans was worth more than gold. System-granted Retainers, regardless of Affinity level, were unconditionally loyal. That was something no amount of leadership or charisma could guarantee on its own.

He was no natural leader; his greatest gift was painting grand futures. Unlike the empty promises of his old life, however, Lothar meant to honor every one he made now. Whether fate would let him was another matter.

---

After a short rest, Lothar set out with Prajna, Fringilla, and Hans for Baron Godfrey's estate.

Godfrey had been waiting for them. He treated them to a midday meal, then led the group, along with Balian and Sir Kevin, on a tour of the Holy City.

They went first to the Temple Mount: Mount Moriah, at the southeastern corner of Jerusalem. This was the place believed to be closest to the Heavenly Father. The First Temple, built in the age of Solomon, was said to have housed the Ark of the Covenant itself: the very chest that held the two stone tablets of the Ten Commandments. But the First Temple had long since been destroyed, and the Ark with its immeasurable power had vanished from the world.

On the mount stood an enormous gold-domed Fire-Worship shrine. This, too, was holy ground for the followers of Zoroaster. Under the agreement Saladin had reached with King Baldwin IV, Fire-Worshippers were no longer barred from making pilgrimage here.

Then came the Western Wall: a vast rampart of massive, rectangular stones fitted together without mortar. Here, the Jews who had been driven from their homeland by the emperors of old gathered and wept, which was why it was also called the Wailing Wall.

Everywhere Lothar looked, the faithful bowed in fervent prayer: Arab Fire-Worshippers, Jews at the Wall, Armenians of the Apostolic Church, and Orthodox communities left behind from the days when the Eastern Empire ruled Asia Minor and Syria.

The devotion of these heretics and heathens was every bit as intense as that of the Catholic faithful. This was the age of faith.

"They say Jerusalem is a great tomb," Balian said, his voice subdued. "So many have been buried here. I can scarcely imagine what the Fire-Worshippers will do when the city falls: what vengeance they will unleash in blood."

Godfrey placed a hand on his son's shoulder. "Then work to protect it. Train hard with Sir Kevin. I will see you knighted soon."

"I will, Father."

Lothar exchanged a glance with Godfrey, a brief, private look, and smiled without a word.

Afterward, they visited the Church of the Holy Sepulchre. This was the path Christ had walked beneath the weight of the cross, each step bearing Him toward death. The faithful crowded the route and prostrated themselves in worship.

They went to the Church of the Agony on the Mount of Olives: an Orthodox church built by the Eastern Empire, marking the place where Christ had prayed on the night of His arrest.

Lothar prayed there with a feeling he could only call solemn. He was still not particularly devout. But all around him, men and women were lost in the most profound reverence, gazing upon these ancient stones as though the divine presence itself might be near. They barely dared speak above a whisper. The emotion was contagious.

And the sight of an entire city so thick with faith drove home, more than anything had before, the true power of belief.

In the right hands, such power was terrifying.

---

"Lord Godfrey. I need your help with something."

Lothar drew the baron aside to a secluded spot. He came straight to the point.

"This is about the King's task?"

Lothar nodded. He glanced around to confirm they were alone.

"Speak freely here. No one can overhear us."