Footsteps sounded behind him.

Otto, his elder brother, came to stand beside him with a smile. "I knew I would find you here. Whenever you are troubled, you come up here to get some air. It is a fine place—an open view does wonders for the spirit."

Lothar frowned. "What do you want?"

Otto smiled gently. "Brother, I only thought you seemed nervous."

"You are imagining things. What do I have to be nervous about?"

The words were not entirely sincere. In his former life, Lothar had never even slaughtered a chicken himself. Now he was about to travel far from home and fight enemies with spear and sword. How could he not be nervous?

"Lothar, the Crusade is a sacred cause. The Holy City is surrounded by wolves and in grave danger. We fight for God. That is our calling."

Otto's voice turned wistful. "If the Emperor had not been excommunicated by His Holiness, I expect Greater Germania would already be mobilizing."

Lothar sighed. "Otto, do you truly think the Crusade is sacred? A band of men travels a thousand leagues to burn, kill, and plunder in someone else's homeland. Can that really be called justice?"

Otto frowned and answered without hesitation. "His Holiness has said that killing an infidel is not murder. We are saving them, preventing them from falling into the devil's embrace."

"Hah."

Lothar gave a short laugh. He remembered the Fourth Crusade in his former world, when those western brigands had not only turned their weapons on fellow believers but also taken Constantinople and pillaged it ruthlessly. The Eastern Empire's Orthodox believers and the Catholic Church were brothers in Christ, after all.

"You are right. I have thought too much about it."

He turned away. He had no interest in debating someone born into this age; say too much, and Otto might take him for a blasphemer.

Before long, the day of Lothar's departure arrived.

With his gear packed and his Nisaean warhorse in hand, he led two carefully chosen attendants to the castle gate. One was Laine, a crossbowman; the other was Modell, a shield infantryman. Both were standing soldiers of Hawk's Castle, skilled fighters hardened by years of training.

The packhorses they led carried the equipment and baggage.

Strictly speaking, neither man was a squire. A knight's squire was a noble in training, or at least a country gentleman. Some impoverished knights took the sons of burghers as squires in exchange for money, while those burgher families used the arrangement to climb the social ladder.

But Lothar had only just become a knight. Proper squires would be difficult to find on short notice, and they were not especially practical in any case. A squire was a light cavalryman expected to charge beside his knight on a proper warhorse, which meant still more supplies and baggage. In narrow mountain country, against the bandits they might encounter, two proper squires would plainly be no more useful than two veteran soldiers.

Before he left, Count Werner approached with a solemn expression and handed him a wax-sealed letter bearing his personal signet.

"Lothar, at the Battle of Montgisard, I followed King Baldwin into the charge against the Egyptians beneath the light of the True Cross. We tasted victory in full and crushed an infidel army many times our number. Even now, I often return to that day in my dreams."

"Remember this: King Baldwin is a born sovereign. Serve him with courage, and you will find it more than worthwhile. Deliver my letter and convey my greetings. Tell him that Werner of Swabia offers his highest respects to the lord he once served."

Lothar took the letter and nodded. "I will, Father."

Baldwin was Baldwin IV, King of Jerusalem. In the world Lothar had left behind, some called him a genius and others a weak mediocrity. Some even claimed the Battle of Montgisard was a fabrication of his household knights. But in this world, Baldwin IV truly possessed extraordinary military talent and personal charisma. Even Emperor Heinrich had never received such praise from Count Werner.

After saying farewell to his father, Lothar set out along the mountain road with Laine and Modell.

He had not gone far before hoofbeats sounded behind him. Otto caught up on horseback and looked down at Lothar.

"What is it?" Lothar asked, raising an eyebrow.

After a moment of silence, Otto tossed him a cloth bag. Lothar caught it and gave it a shake. Coins rang brightly inside the heavy pouch.

"Where did you get this much money?"

Otto muttered, "I stole Father's two favorite silver goblets. The rest is what I have saved over the years."

Lothar laughed. "Otto, are you not afraid I will return alive and compete with you for the inheritance?"

Otto dismounted and walked over. He patted Lothar's shoulder, hesitated, then reached up and tousled Lothar's short hair. "If that day comes, we will each rely on our own ability. But honestly, I truly hope you return safely."

Lothar fell silent for a moment, then smiled. "I will return. But not to fight you for the inheritance of a little county. By then, I will accept your homage under a title greater than Count of Aargau."

Otto laughed, open and unrestrained. "You will, Lothar. I believe you will accomplish great things. House Habsburg will be proud of you."

Lothar nodded. The smile left his face as he swung into the saddle.

"I am off."

He said it quietly. Without looking back at Otto or waiting for his two attendants, he urged his mount into a gallop along the mountain road.

From that day forward, he was a knight-errant. Yet unlike the vast majority of penniless knights-errant, he possessed a fine set of knightly armor, a bastard sword, an arming sword, a lance, a warhorse, two packhorses, and two fully armed attendants. Such a force would be welcome in the service of any lord.

Behind him, Otto made the sign of the cross and murmured, "May the Heavenly Father grant my brother Lothar good fortune. May he triumph on the battlefield, and may neither blade nor arrow touch his flesh."

By evening, Lothar's party reached the small town at the foot of the mountain. It still lay within the County of Aargau, Count Werner's direct domain, and had not been granted to a vassal.

At the Habsburg manor in town, Lothar could not wait to enter a sealed room. He opened the System and chose to summon his First Retainer, Prajna.

Golden light flooded the room.

Brilliant. Noble.

Majestic. Cold.

Like a god descending into the world to save mortals.

At length, the light faded. A tall woman in a black leather riding suit from an age yet to come stood before him, a black triangular shield in hand, looking directly into Lothar's eyes.

The System displayed her information.

**Name:** Prajna

**Rarity:** Legendary (6★)

**Level:** 1

**Affinity:** Cold

**STR:** 18

**AGI:** 12

**STA:** 30

**END:** 30

**SPI:** 15

**Talent:** Stonefort — When activated, Prajna is immune to all physical damage for three seconds.

**Talent:** Rally — When activated, all allies within a 300-meter radius centered on Prajna gain END +10.

**Skill:** Bloodlust — Prajna drinks deep of blood and death. After killing ten enemies in succession, all attributes increase by 50% for one minute.

**Skill:** Thorns (Requires Elite Promotion to unlock)

**Skill:** Demon Gate (Requires Elite Promotion to unlock)

The black-haired woman was truly tall. She was no shorter than Lothar, who stood more than six feet tall. Meeting his eyes, she asked with distant calm, "Are you my Master?"

His First Retainer showed no sign of deference.

Lothar looked a little awkward. Naturally, the Affinity system had been another of his own designs. In the game, increasing Affinity unlocked additional voice lines, granted percentage-based combat bonuses to Retainers, and unlocked Bond Talents shared by the player and Retainer.

But in reality...

Prajna, who carried that demon-faced triangular shield, had been the gatekeeper of hell in the game's lore. Would she truly submit to an ordinary, newly made knight?

Without the vast quantity of materials needed to develop her, she was still far from the invincible strength described in her backstory, and none of her high-level skills had been unlocked. Even so, her superior attributes alone meant she could knock down a trained knight like him with one hand.

Lothar kept his expression steady. "That is right, my lady. I summoned you."

Fortunately, Prajna only drew her brows together before bowing her head in allegiance. "Then from this day on, I will fight for you, my lord."

Lothar exhaled quietly. "Prajna, where do you come from?"

She frowned. "My lord, as the warden of the Demon Gate, I naturally come from the Demon Gate."

So she follows the setting in her backstory...

Lothar frowned. "Lady Prajna, you do not seem to think highly of me."

Prajna looked at him without revealing joy or sorrow. "My lord, whether I think highly of you or not, I will use my shield to block every open and hidden attack aimed at you. I exist because of you. Serving you is only natural."

"That is enough."

Lothar drew his knight's sword and rested it on her shoulder. "I accept your allegiance, Lady Prajna. In time, I will prove that I am a worthy lord—one who deserves the loyalty you have given me."