The walls' new gray stone looked almost unnatural amid a world weathered yellow-brown by desert sand. Above the Lord's Hall, the black eagle banner cracked in the wind. Leonard now knew those arms well: they belonged to his new lord.

A groggy soldier stumbled out of the barracks, stretching. "What's going on, old Leonard? Is it time for drill? I hear that Modell fellow is a harsh one. We'll get the whip if we're late."

"See for yourselves!"

Leonard raised a hand to point, then snatched it back for fear of giving offense. The renewed keep now gleamed like a great lord's seat. Beside it, a massive stone barracks occupied ground that had stood empty yesterday. Two banners flew from its tower: the familiar black eagle and a red standard bearing a winged lancer.

"Did anyone hear anything last night?"

"Nothing. There's no way that was built in a single night!"

The keep could perhaps be explained as an astonishing restoration. The stone barracks could not. Empty ground had become a fortress overnight.

"A miracle."

"It's a miracle!"

"The Heavenly Father's will!"

Leonard's voice dropped to a whisper of revelation: "The lord is divinely chosen."

Lothar appeared behind him, dressed in a silk shirt. He crossed himself. "Yes. The Heavenly Father's will." His face was calm, unmoved by the commotion.

"Don't treat it as a spectacle. Miracles are not for kneeling before. They are tools the Father has given us to defend the Holy Land."

System construction involved no spectacle of stones flying through the air. It renovated, rebuilt, or created according to the site—silently, cleanly, and with deeply unsettling ease. Watching it the previous night had unnerved even Lothar.

"Yes, my lord! We understand!"

Jogelsburg stirred fully awake. The noise of voices rose. Every man who saw the transformation was stunned. Some simply dropped what they were holding and prostrated themselves before the Lord's Hall, until Leonard chased them off with curses.

"This miracle isn't for you to kneel to! The lord said: the Heavenly Father gave us these things to defend the Holy Land!"

---

"Hans, did you find any suitable riders last night?"

Hans understood the System's work and felt urgency rather than awe. Measured against a Winged Hussar, a one-star Retainer held no obvious advantage.

Allowing the newcomers to outshine him would be humiliating. Winged Hussars were the historic nemesis of his Teutonic Order—"Pacify the Rus, humble the Teutons," as the old saying went.

Hans made a silent vow: work harder. Even if he couldn't forge a Skill, he would at least push his stats higher.

"One, my lord. His name is Ulm. He herded livestock for a village headman once, then became the castle courier: rode back and forth between Jerusalem and Jogelsburg. His horsemanship is decent."

"Only one?" Lothar frowned.

"A few others have been on a horse, but they're nowhere near Ulm. Turning them into mounted sergeants would be a stretch." Hans was resigned. In this age, outside the nomad tribes and the knightly class, skilled riders were genuinely rare.

Lothar accepted it. "Bring this Ulm to me. He'll be our first cavalryman."

An army rewarded merit, but it also used the best talent available. Ulm might only be the tallest among dwarfs, yet he was still the finest rider among more than eighty men and a suitable first test.

Ulm arrived quickly: a young man with a dark, fine-featured face, sparse chin-beard, and a mail shirt with a hole in it.

"Ulm, you're a German?"

"Yes, my lord. My father was Bavarian. He marched with the Second Crusade. We settled at Seggau after."

Good stock.

Ulm's voice trembled with barely contained hope. "My lord, you truly mean to make me a cavalryman?"

"I do. You will be the first rider under my command." Lothar smiled. "Now bring your horse. Follow me."

Emotion robbed Ulm of coherent speech. The miracle he had witnessed had already convinced the devout soldier that Lothar was something close to a living saint.

Lothar led him to the Winged Hussar Barracks. The massive stone building looked less like a barracks and more like a small fortress. Lothar stepped inside first.

"From now on, this place is yours. You will be a Winged Hussar. You will train here."

Ulm followed, leading his newly issued warhorse.

An enormous riding ground filled the interior. Racks of armor and lances lined the walls. Ulm stared in a daze at the slender four-meter ash lances while Lothar helped him don each piece of armor. At last, Lothar lifted a broadsword from the rack.

"Kneel, rider. As your lord, I grant you this blade."

Ulm dropped to one knee and received the sword in both hands.

"I… my mind is full of memories. I know how to wield these weapons; it feels like a lifetime of training." His voice was awed. "My lord, is this a gift from the Heavenly Father?"

"It is. The Father's gift, bestowed through my hands."

"Use it well. Guard your oath. Guard the Holy City. Do not waste the trust I've placed in you."

Lothar looked at Ulm, now in his new armor, lobster-tailed helm on his head, and saw a man remade.

The System chimed: Your soldier has undergone rigorous training and been promoted to Winged Hussar. His loyalty to you is permanently set to Maximum.

Fifty solidi was expensive, but a soldier whose combat power equaled or surpassed a knight remained a bargain. Permanent loyalty made the price irresistible. Lothar doubled his planned cavalry from ten men to twenty: twenty Winged Hussars whose allegiance could never waver.

They would form a core of unquestionable strength. When Lothar returned to Jerusalem, he would no longer be merely Baldwin's promising young baron, but a power in his own right.

"Go, Ulm. Show the men your gear. Tell them: loyalty is always rewarded."

"Yes, my lord!"

Ulm mounted and rode out of the barracks, his heart pounding.

---

"Heavenly Father, who is this knight?"

"That face… it's Ulm!"

"Ulm! Let the lads have a look: yesterday you were the courier boy, today you're a knight-lord!"

The soldiers crowded around, marveling.

"Cavalryman. Not knight." Ulm corrected them. A cavalryman was a profession. A knight was a class.

"That armor alone: you could buy a small manor for what it's worth at market. I've never seen such beautiful work."

"Don't speak like that! The lord gave me this armor. I've sworn myself to him utterly. How could I ever sell it?" Ulm's voice went sharp with genuine anger.

"I was only joking!" The soldier quickly backpedaled. "We all know the lord is the Father's chosen. A man destined for great things. You think I'd pull a Judas over a suit of armor?"

A third soldier smoothed things over: "That's right, Ulm. Don't mind this idiot. His mouth is like a mule's backside: you never know when it's going to drop something foul. But I promise you, the shit didn't go through his brain first."

"Ulm, ask the lord for leave tonight. Come back to the village with us. The young girls will see you in that armor and their legs won't stay closed."

"All those people who looked down on you, they'll have to call you 'lord' now. They can't tell cavalry from knight anyway!"

Ulm's face was stone. "No. I am a Winged Hussar. To serve my lord and defend the Holy City, that is my sacred purpose now. What you're talking about… it means nothing to me anymore."

He wheeled his horse and galloped out of the castle.

"Heavenly Father, Ulm's like a different man. Did the lord give him some kind of divine revelation?"

"Is that really the little Ulm we used to know?"

"The way he looked at me just now: I felt actual fear."

The soldiers who'd known Ulm looked at one another in bewilderment.

Lothar watched from a distance. He valued loyal soldiers, but recognized this transformation for what it was: brainwashing. No gentler name could make it righteous. He would use it anyway.

Outside the walls, Ulm circled the castle on his magnificent horse. He had never known such mastery in the saddle. The armor he expected to crush him felt lighter than it looked, and at full gallop he became the wind. Dust thrown up by the horse's hooves whistled through the eagle wings upon his back.

"This is what it means to be a Winged Hussar!"

He let out a shout of pure exhilaration. His entire life before this moment seemed a cruel joke. Only now, in the service of the "Saint," had he found true salvation.