Late that night, Lothar lay awake in bed, unable to settle.

Tomorrow, after replenishing provisions, water, and fodder for three packhorses and a warhorse at the manor, they would follow the Alpine foothills eastward. Their route would take them through the Austrian March, then south to Venice, where they would find a ship. Cutting straight across the Alps into Italy only looked shorter on a map. In truth, the mountains were sheer cliff and treacherous drop: even at the lower passes, one wrong step could send a man into the abyss. There was a reason Hannibal and Caesar were still celebrated for crossing them.

"Adequate rest is essential for a warrior."

Prajna's voice carried no emotion. She sat in the adjoining sitting room on a felt pallet covered by a thin blanket, resting with her eyes closed. The night breeze from her direction was pleasantly cool. She was like a small, living air conditioner.

"Prajna. I'm a little lost. I'd like to talk with you. After all, you're the one person in this world I can truly trust."

Her manner might be cold, but Prajna had been summoned from the System, designed by his own hand. There was no one closer to him. Even Otto, his brother in this life, could not compare.

At first, no reply came from the sitting room. After a pause, her clear voice sounded: "Speak, then."

Still so cold…

Lothar smiled to himself and began.

"In my previous life, I was nobody. Utterly ordinary. In school, my grades weren't the best, but neither were they the worst. I followed the rules, mostly, but got up to mischief now and then."

"I liked singing, dancing, basketball, video games. But in every one of those things, I was mediocre. Just like the vast majority of people."

"I was a cog in society's great machine, nothing special at all. A certain Kaiser once coined a term for people like me: 'consumable material.' It fits. Without me, the world would not change in the slightest. A new screw would take my place at once."

"Honestly? I don't mind being transmigrated here. Even if the kings of this world live no better than I did in my old one. Because I want a new life. A life that isn't mediocre. A life full of adrenaline and surprise."

"I need territory. A title. Power. To get those, I have to win merit and wealth with lance and sword."

"Yet I know perfectly well that the Crusade is not just. Traveling a thousand leagues to take other people's lives for power and wealth—how is that different from being a bandit? If I had been born in this world, perhaps I would consider it normal. But I was not. I know that I am different."

"The System gives me a goal: build my territory. But I don't have a goal of my own. I'm like a boat adrift at sea, blindly following a lighthouse beam, but I don't know what waits at the end of the light."

"I have no faith. No conviction. No purpose. I don't know what any of this means. Am I just supposed to follow the System's will and nothing else?"

His voice was earnest.

"Then find yourself a conviction."

Prajna paused. "What do you think of this world? Is it a good one?"

Lothar shook his head. "Of course not. The level of development is abysmal. Even counts, electors, archbishops, kings, emperors: they live, at best, modest lives. And the common folk, if they're unlucky enough to have a miserly lord or a greedy priest, suffer terribly."

"Do you want to change it?"

Prajna asked the question evenly.

Lothar nodded. "I do."

"Then let that be your goal. Let the people sworn to you live in peace and plenty. Let the war-torn lands be unified, so men no longer slaughter one another over petty differences of faith."

Her voice was cool, almost flat: no grand rhetoric, no soaring passion. But it was like a lamp flaring to life in the darkness before Lothar's eyes.

He turned his head, staring toward her silhouette.

Prajna frowned at the long silence. "What?"

"You put it perfectly, Prajna." Lothar's voice was thick with wonder. "Yes. What you just said: that is something I want to do. Something that feels meaningful."

"Then do it."

"I will."

The room fell quiet. Much later, Lothar spoke again. "Thank you, Prajna."

"Mm."

"Good night."

She did not reply.

In his mind, the System chimed softly: Prajna's Affinity has increased. Current Affinity: Cold.

Still Cold? A faint smile touched Lothar's lips. Cold was fine. At least she wasn't the utterly unapproachable type. Her attitude toward him might be distant, but she could be trusted. He rolled onto his side and sank into deep sleep.

Out in the manor courtyard, Laine and Modell sat beneath the eaves, arguing heatedly about Prajna's identity. Lothar hadn't explained her to them, and truth be told, he hadn't yet figured out what story to tell. But neither did he have any obligation to explain. The two men were his attendants.

Attendants and servants looked, on the surface, much the same: both performed menial work. The difference lay in essence, not appearance.

"That long black hair, smooth as silk... Perhaps she is from the Eastern Empire's imperial house?"

"No, no. Didn't you feel the presence she gives off? It's unsettling. She's just a woman, but the danger she exudes: it's worse than facing a mountain lion." Modell's voice was firm. "She's a witch."

"You're sure?"

Modell hesitated, then shook his head. "No. But she's no ordinary person. You know my instincts. They're rarely wrong."

Laine nodded, taking this seriously. "To think the young master knows a witch… I heard the whole Gallic crusading army only hired two witch advisors."

"Does that mean our journey will be safer?"

"Maybe. Or maybe the opposite."

A troubled look crossed Modell's face. "Witches are mysterious. Powerful. Beautiful. But also dangerous. Terrifying. Not to be trifled with. I can't imagine why she's following our lord. To put it bluntly… is he really worthy of a witch's allegiance?"

"Come on, man, you're overthinking it. Maybe it's love. A witch falls for a handsome knight: happens all the time in the chansons. And the young master is the most handsome knight I've ever laid eyes on."

"In any case, it is not our place to wonder. We are attendants, not even proper squires. The young master is our lord now. We have no right to question his affairs."

Modell was silent for a long moment, then nodded. "You're right, Laine. You make good sense. From today on, we stop calling him 'young master.' He is our liege lord. Even the count himself can no longer command us. We answer only to him."

Laine clapped Modell on the shoulder. "Don't underestimate him. He may be younger than us, but he's also sharper. He'll lead us down the right path." He paused, then added, "And even if he doesn't: it's not like we'd do any better in his place."

Modell grinned. "Perhaps. Let's hope I'm just worrying for nothing."

The two attendants shared the same unease. Neither knew what future awaited them beneath Lothar's banner. Would they one day be knighted for their service, or would some nameless plague take them before the Holy Land was even in sight? No one could say.

"May the Heavenly Father watch over His faithful. Amen."