Medieval Gacha Lord

On the streets of Montreal, patrolling soldiers looked with envy at the boisterous public bathhouse.

"Truly 'the Generous'! This is the first time I've ever seen a Grand Master treat his subordinates to a bath! Which of those high and mighty noble lords ever treats us like human beings?"

"Scott, did you see? At noon, waiters from the 'Oak and Hazel' tavern delivered 'cartloads' of ale and roast meat in there! They'll probably be eating and drinking straight through till evening!"

His companion, wearing a white turban, sighed with emotion. "Yeah, working under a noble like Baron Lothar is a heck of a lot more comfortable than baking under the sun and eating sand all day under Sir Humphrey."

"It is said this Royal Knightly Order just recently defeated that Saracen slave cavalry troop that plundered Tafilah! Truly inspiring!"

"For real?" The guard looked astonished. "Before, when that band of slave cavalry was parading arrogantly around Montreal, Sir Humphrey and those usually haughty knightly lords didn't dare let out a peep! And they were defeated by this army?"

"Could it be false?" The man puffed out his chest. "Don't you know that I, Honest John, never lie?" He then began to describe with vivid detail the scene he had peeked at: "I saw with my own eyes their column's wagons loaded to the brim with Saracen-style scale armor and damaged swords and blades, still covered in bloodstains! If they hadn't defeated the Saracens, where would all these spoils have come from?"

His companion said thoughtfully, "That's right. Those men under Baron Lothar, when they entered the city, every one of them reeked of slaughter, their surcoats covered in dried blood. They had clearly just been through a major battle!"

"This Baron Lothar is truly a formidable figure! But why have I never heard his name before?"

To show off how well-informed he was, the man began to boast expansively to his companion, "Heh, let me tell you the truth. My uncle's neighbor's wife's sister's husband serves as a standard-bearer under this very Lord! If you ask me, this Baron Lothar is nothing like those good-for-nothing nobles! You know that desert bandit gang that used to run rampant, the one even Sir Raynald couldn't handle? It was Baron Lothar who led his men and wiped them out! Those feathered cavalrymen under his command are all battle-hardened experts, even better than those knightly lords!"

Just as he was speaking with gusto, spittle flying, someone suddenly shouted, "Help! Guards, guards, come quickly! Someone else is dead!"

"Someone else is dead?" The two guards exchanged glances. Honest John, who had been boasting so grandly just moments before, immediately lowered his voice. "Wait, don't go over yet. A lot of people have died mysteriously in the city recently. If you ask me, it must be the work of that evil spirit from the dry well. Let's wait until that old thing leaves before we go over and make a show of it..."

Scott looked hesitant. "Can we do that?"

John threw up his hands. "Why not? Catching evil spirits is work for priests! What does it have to do with us common soldiers? The Heavenly Father will forgive us."

***

Inside the crowded public bathhouse, now packed with sergeants fresh from their soak, feeling refreshed and invigorated, they gathered around long rectangular tables, toasting each other and tearing into roast meat bought from inns and taverns. The knightly lords congregated in several rooms in the innermost part of the bathhouse, where there was a special supply of iced wine, chilled in a well. The sergeants, however, only had ale.

"Did you hear? Lord Lothar is going to knight a batch of men this time! I killed two Saracen cavalrymen in this engagement; do you think Milord will promote me?"

"In your dreams! I killed three and wouldn't dare to dream of such a thing!"

"You dog! You killed two? When I was charging at the front with the Axe Guards, you were bent over with your arse in the air, prying gold teeth from dead men's mouths!"

A group of them laughed and cursed, boasting about their exploits on the battlefield. If one were to add up all their claimed achievements, the number would probably reach a staggering thousand—Zahir's entire cavalry force only numbered a little over three hundred.

Just then, the sergeants seated in the inner section all fell silent. The quiet, as if contagious, quickly spread over more than half the bathhouse. Someone asked with confusion, "What's wrong with you all? Why has everyone stopped talking?"

"Has Milord finished his bath and come out?"

'Gulp.' His companion beside him swallowed hard and murmured, "Heavenly Father above, where did such a beautiful woman come from?"

Just then, Banu and Fringilla emerged from the inner room, one after the other. Banu, uncharacteristically, was not wearing her veil. She wore a white arming doublet, holding that black shield in her hand. Her tall figure completely obscured Fringilla, who followed behind.

"She's so tall! This is the tallest woman I've ever seen!"

"So beautiful! So beautiful it makes my heart race! This is simply a demon from hell!"

"Indeed... I still prefer demons."

"Heavenly Father above, please forgive my sins."

In this era, the image of demons was often extremely beautiful, as they needed to tempt mortals. The image of angels, conversely, was often ugly and terrifying, as they were meant to inspire awe and fear.

The sergeants whispered amongst themselves. Someone lowered their voice and said, "Look at that black shield! Heavenly Father above! When I was charging with our Lord, I clearly remember her using just one hand on the battlefield to flip a fully armored slave cavalryman!"

"She... she is that Iron Knight by Milord's side? I always thought her armor looked a bit strange; I never imagined it was actually a woman!"

"Impossible, right? How can such a formidable woman exist in this world?"

A Winged Hussar said with a stern face, "All of you, watch your eyes! This is the personal witch accompanying the Grand Master, possessing incredible and terrifying power! You should all know how miserable the consequences of offending a witch can be!"

The Winged Hussars had also distinguished themselves on the battlefield this time. Previously, some people had pointed fingers at them, but after this battle, even those arrogant knightly lords had to admit that the Winged Hussars' performance on the battlefield surpassed their own by a great deal.

Someone else had a sudden realization: "No wonder when I was charging with Milord on the battlefield and already felt exhausted, I suddenly gained new strength! I thought it was the Heavenly Father's blessing!"

The hall fell silent. People hastily lowered their heads, daring not to look further. Someone muttered under their breath, "No wonder the Grand Master hasn't found a wife at his age. If demons look like that, I'd never marry too."

The Knightly Order's sergeants and knights stared, their eyes practically popping out, but no one dared to approach, greet, or accost them.

In the battle against the Saracen cavalry, Banu alone had killed nearly twenty well-trained Mamluk cavalrymen, her battle record second only to Hans. Her nickname, "Iron Knight," was already known by everyone in the Knightly Order.

If not for her class, with most of her attribute points from leveling up automatically allocated to Endurance and Constitution, and also being limited by her mount, given enough time, she could slaughter her way through an enemy formation single-handedly.

Although Hans was also a melee-type retainer, his specialization was more of a Heavy Warrior, which made his attributes more versatile and more effective at clearing mobs. But if the two of them were to fight, the victor could only be Banu.

Banu paid no mind to the onlookers' gazes. She stopped under the eaves outside the public bathhouse door. Fringilla, whose short legs made keeping up a struggle, nearly failed to stop in time and almost bumped into Banu's back.

She said irritably, "What is it now, you big dummy?"

Banu gazed into the distance and said softly, "Don't you sense it? A special aura."

Fringilla frowned tightly, twitching her nose. "So smelly! What is it?"

"I don't know. It feels like an evil ghost, but it also radiates intense fire energy. Perhaps it's some kind of spiritual entity unique to this world. You go deal with it."

Fringilla looked stunned. "Why me?"

Banu said very naturally, "Because I must protect Milord. Hans, that little werewolf, isn't good at dealing with such spiritual entities. Besides you, who else is there?"

Fringilla huffed. "I'm not going! If you want it dealt with, go yourself!"

Banu said expressionlessly, "Do you think a lazybones who always tries to shirk responsibilities and wants to do nothing is more endearing, or a thoughtful little sister who can share Milord's burdens and solve his problems is more endearing?"

An eager look instantly appeared on Fringilla's face. "What you say... doesn't seem to be without reason."