Pilgrims from distant lands crowded Jerusalem's Via Dolorosa, the Way of Suffering. Tradition held that Christ Himself had climbed this road toward Calvary with the cross upon His back. Now worshippers filled the rising street, kneeling on the stones and bowing in fervent prayer.

An old man in rags lay prostrate near Lothar's feet, kissing the stones again and again as he murmured prayers. Sharp gravel had scraped his forehead raw. Lothar could not understand the words, but he recognized Latin. Gaulish had grown from that language and absorbed a wealth of Germanic vocabulary; even without speaking Latin, he could distinguish the two.

The old man's beard was white, his body frail, his movements painfully slow. He bowed once more, pressed his forehead to the pitted stones, and never rose.

He was dead.

"Old John has ascended! The lucky old devil: the Heavenly Father has forgiven all his sins!"

Lothar lost whatever desire he'd had to climb Calvary again or visit the Church of the Holy Sepulchre. He was about to leave when a familiar figure appeared before him.

The man held a Bible and wore a white priest's robe. He was shouting at the top of his lungs: "The Holy Land is in peril! Pilgrims from afar, your devotion is moving, but worship alone cannot wash away your sins!"

The pilgrims exchanged frightened looks. One man's face twisted in anguish. "God above, merciful Lord—even here, so close to Heaven, will the gates of the Kingdom remain closed to us?"

"Did old John not ascend after all?"

Another voice, thick with tears: "What must we do to be saved? We have given so much already."

Through the noise, the priest's voice rose again: "Saladin's evil servants are gathering! The infidel armies have surrounded the Holy Land! Only by defending it, only by dying in battle against the infidel, can you earn true salvation!"

He brandished the Bible as though every word he uttered carried the authority of scripture.

"Join the Crusade! Let every man who can hold a weapon take up arms. Let every man who can give coin give it. Let every man who can work, work. And we will have victory!"

The pilgrims' fear caught fire and became fervor. "The Heavenly Father protect us! We will fight to the end!"

The priest's voice soared: "In the name of Jerusalem! In the name of the Father! Fight for the Heavenly Father! Slay every infidel!"

"In the name of the Father!"

The crowd roared. Men broke off their worship and surged around the priest, following him down the hillside.

Lothar frowned.

The priest was Father Beckett, who had sailed with Lothar to the Holy Land. He had evidently secured formal ordination and put his greatest gift—preaching—to immediate use. Yet recognition brought Lothar no joy, only a quiet unease that crept beneath his skin.

He looked at the handful left behind: too old to work, too poor to donate, and too frail to fight. They stood lost in the street, no longer certain salvation remained within reach. Their village priests had promised that reaching the Holy Land and confessing their sins would be enough. Did that promise still hold?

It had probably never been true at all.

---

Back at Constance Manor, Lothar handed his reins to Laine. "The recruitment of smiths and carpenters, is there a problem?"

Laine's face flushed with embarrassment. "There is, my lord. Every smith in the city has been conscripted by one lord or another. We did find two carpenters, though, decent craftsmen. One of them once built siege engines for Count Raymond."

"Good enough. The smith can wait for now. Have the two carpenters pack up their families and be ready to travel with us to the fief."

Just as Lothar had expected, Jerusalem's war mobilization had consumed every available smith.

"F-fief?" Laine's face went blank, then lit with excitement. "My lord, you've been granted a fief?"

"Not just any fief. A barony. His Majesty has made me Baron of Jogelsburg. I now have the right to create knights." He clapped Laine on the shoulder. "Work hard. Once you and Modell earn enough merit, I won't be stingy with a knight's title and a holding of your own."

Laine's face burned with fervor. "My lord, I swear, I will earn it."

"Where's Modell? Tell him to give the recruits an extra ration: we're celebrating my promotion. And this afternoon, we march them out. They've trained behind closed doors long enough. It's time the lords of Jerusalem saw what a Habsburg-trained company looks like."

"Yes, my lord. I promise: they won't shame you."

---

Back in his room, Lothar used the Transcendent Retainer Voucher at once.

Unlike a standard Card Draw, the voucher offered no preview. Cyan light blazed through the enclosed room, gathered before Lothar, and condensed into the shape of a man.

The figure stood two meters tall, bare to the waist, with a blacksmith's hammer gripped in one hand. His information materialized:

Smith — Malleus

Rarity: Transcendent (4★)

Level: 1

Affinity: Cold

STR: 25 | AGI: 5 | STA: 10 | END: 20 | SPI: 5

Skill: Master Smith — Malleus is a master craftsman, skilled in forging weapons and armor of all kinds. His art is worthy of the name.

Description: Malleus was once Chief Master Smith of the Blacksmiths' Guild of the Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth. He forged a full suit of enclosed plate armor for King Jagiellon VIII, but the armor was pierced with ease by the Grand Master of the Teutonic Order, who wielded the relic known as the Holy Lance of the Cross. For this failure, Malleus was cast out.

A smith?

Lothar's eyes lit up. The Heavenly Father provides: ask, and you shall receive.

Malleus's voice was raw, as though it had been scoured by years of forge-smoke. "You are my lord?"

"I am. Lothar von Habsburg. Baron of Jogelsburg, sworn to His Majesty King Baldwin IV of Jerusalem."

Malleus lowered his mountain of a body to one knee. "Malleus offers you his service."

Lothar raised him up, his face earnest. "I swear to you, Master Malleus, the injustice you suffered in the Commonwealth will not be repeated under my roof."

He meant every word. Not only because Malleus was a four-star Retainer, but because of what he represented.

Malleus possessed armor-forging knowledge beyond anything the famed Lombard smiths could match. Properly supported, his craft might ignite a revolution in armor across Europe and Asia.

Malleus nodded, taciturn and unreadable. Lothar's promise had not been wasted, however. His Affinity rose by a barely perceptible degree.

"Come, Malleus. Let me introduce you to the others."

He pushed open the door.