"Please take care of me."

Prajna inclined her head. Her expression remained cool, neither deferential nor discourteous.

Clang.

Her black triangular shield, forged from some unknown material, struck the floor. Prajna raised her head. Inquiry touched her brown eyes while she waited for his next command.

Lothar looked away, suddenly a little self-conscious. He had just studied Prajna's appearance closely. The real woman differed somewhat from the illustration, but she was still worthy of the term 2D waifu. Her skin resembled congealed cream, flawless in every respect.

Lothar liked that. The pursuit of perfection was human instinct. He had never liked freckles, much less the western insistence that they were beautiful.

"You need to change clothes first. This outfit is too conspicuous."

A black leather riding suit sounded less revealing than a miniskirt and hot pants. Yet Prajna's was a skintight leather outfit Lothar had personally redesigned, one that perfectly outlined her figure. Its visual impact was too strong. Combined with Prajna's nearly perfect face, it would surely bring unnecessary trouble.

Her long black hair was less noticeable. It was unusually sleek and glossy, but that hair color was common in both Europe and the Middle East.

"Very well."

"Do you like that outfit? I mean, considering your fighting style, would you prefer heavy armor?"

Prajna drew her brows together. "Forgive me, but I have never relied on armor for defense. Ordinary clothes will do."

Lothar paused. His eyes fell on Prajna's bare, pale arms. They looked soft and delicate, nothing like the limbs of a Heavy Warrior Retainer with astonishing defensive power. It was difficult to imagine that her Stamina and Endurance were each six times an ordinary person's, while her Strength was nearly four times that of an average adult man.

An image came to mind.

Lin Daiyu uprooting a willow tree with her bare hands.

When Prajna appeared before Laine and Modell, she had changed into a new white linen dress and put on a veil and headscarf.

As the Gatekeeper of Hell in the game's setting, her body was always cold. Even in the height of summer, standing near her brought Lothar a pleasant chill. It made him want to hold Prajna and hide in his room for a long sleep.

But it was only a thought. Their Affinity was not high enough, and Prajna might not agree. More importantly, he considered it a base impulse. His conscience would not allow him to act on it.

The Habsburg manor in town had no maids in short white skirts and white silk stockings, nor a courteous butler in a tailcoat. Lothar's father, Count Werner, was a typical Germanic military noble. He preferred Hawk's Castle, which he had personally overseen and built with financial help from his brother, the Bishop of Strasbourg, to the much more livable manor at the foot of the mountain.

The town was full of serfs and freemen in ragged clothes, returning home after a day's labor in the fields. Most of its buildings were made of clay and timber. The few built with stone and roofed in reeds and straw belonged to comparatively prosperous farmers.

There was a reason the Middle Ages were called the Dark Ages. Most people in this era could not fill their stomachs.

An old man sat beside the road, surrounded by children listening to his story. His skin resembled dry bark, and old wounds marked his body. Tangled scars crossed his flesh, while the unmarked portions had shriveled like dried fruit. A thick film clouded his eyes, making it hard to believe he could still see.

"Sword wounds. Arrow wounds. And some I cannot even identify." Lothar frowned. "Who is he?"

"A blind old man," Modell said. "They say he once made a pilgrimage to Jerusalem and killed a Mamluk knight. I think that is probably just his own boasting."

Modell was an elite sword-and-shield soldier Lothar had chosen himself, a man who had once defeated a knight in one-on-one combat on foot.

The town was administered by a resident knight and more than fifty soldiers of House Habsburg, who rotated through the garrison. Both Modell and Laine had been stationed here before.

"A pity he is blind. He might otherwise have made a good guide."

Lothar sighed and looked away. In the middle of the square stood a crude cistern. Farm women crowded around it with clay jars balanced on their heads, waiting to draw water.

"Lothar, what brings you here?"

The speaker was the parish priest, who conducted prayers, weddings, and funerals for the town and the surrounding farms. In a faded cassock and white cap, he approached with a warm smile. "It has been a long time, Lothar. Ah, you now wear the lion crest. Has your father finally made you a knight?"

"That is right, Father Soyo. I have decided to join the Crusade and set out to free the Holy City of Jerusalem. I leave tomorrow morning."

Father Soyo's face brightened. "Congratulations, Lothar! It is a most wise decision. The Heavenly Father will bless such devotion. I have a decent packhorse. Perhaps you could take it as my modest contribution to your pilgrimage."

"Thank you for your generosity."

Lothar bowed his head. It took him quite some time to deal with the priest.

"Father Soyo is certainly enthusiastic," he said helplessly. "A packhorse is worth quite a few denarii."

Laine muttered, "Of course. Father Soyo is a good man. In the daytime, he helps widows carry water. At night, he hears widows' confessions."

He added, "Speaking of which, that widow's husband used to be a knight named Joseph. He listened to the priest's advice, sold his land and all his possessions for money to buy Crusade supplies and passage, then left his wife behind."

Lothar's smile stiffened. "He did not come back, did he?"

"Of course not." Laine shook his head. "Last year, old John—the blind man we just saw, who had gone with him—limped back from the Holy Land on a crutch."

"And Joseph? What happened to him? Did he die in battle?"

"No. He never even reached Jerusalem. Pirates robbed him on the way and sold him into slavery."

Lothar frowned. "No one paid his ransom?"

"No. The widow is having a fine time with the priest. Why would she spend money to ransom her husband? And I hear Joseph did not treat her well when he was home."

Laine continued, "Young master, I only mean that not everyone is fortunate enough to reach Jerusalem. Pilgrimage is a long journey filled with hardships and dangers. Only those favored by God can arrive in the Holy Land."

Lothar was silent for a moment, then nodded. "You are right."

Fighting infidels in Jerusalem was dangerous, but the road to the Holy Land was just as full of hardship. Most poor pilgrims could not afford the enormous fare for passage by sea. They could only walk. On that road, no one knew how many fell to plague, famine, and bandits.

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Author's Note: Medieval European currency was complex. The pfennig circulated in Germania, though older denarii likely remained in use. The terminology here is not historically precise; please do not treat it as rigorous history.