Medieval Gacha Lord

Ctesiphon was, without a doubt, the foremost magnificent city in the Zoroastrian world. It boasted a population exceeding five hundred thousand; during its peak, the settled population here, including travelers, had reached nearly a million.

An endless stream of Eastern and Western merchant caravans used it as a trade hub. Northern nomads, native states of India, the Turkic tribes of Asia Minor, and the Caucasian mountaineers came here year after year to declare themselves vassals and offer tribute.

This was also the origin of the Sasanian King's title, "Shahanshah" or "King of Kings."

White-robed eunuchs shouldered an imperial palanquin. The esteemed King of Kings sat cross-legged on this gilded ivory litter, looking down at the powerful, surging waves of the Tigris River below the city walls. He tossed a translucent pomegranate aril into his mouth and, while chewing, inquired, "How fares Saladin's offensive?"

The Grand Vizier, Sepehr, said with utmost respect, "He is still firmly blocked before the walls of Kerak Castle, unable to advance an inch."

The Sasanian dynasty was a state where church and state were one; the King of Kings was both the secular ruler and also the universally acknowledged Grand Patriarch of all Zoroastrians.

Bahram, the Sasanian King of Kings, let out a long breath. "The valor of the Franks is something even I must acknowledge. Retaking the lost Holy Land should have been my duty, but—" His face turned somewhat livid. "This Saladin, by what right does he dare to presumptuously launch a Jihad? Is this not a prerogative bestowed by the Holy Fire upon the Grand Patriarch?"

'Authority and prestige should not be delegated to others.'

The King of Kings was conflicted. On one hand, he was too lazy to bother retaking the Holy Land, so distant from Ctesiphon, as it offered absolutely no tangible benefits; on the other hand, he didn't want anyone else to accomplish this great deed in his stead.

Sepehr said gravely, "My Lord, retaking the Holy Land and taking revenge on the cruel Franks is the will of the people; Saladin is merely riding this tide. If he succeeds, his prestige will be like the midday sun, but still incomparable to yours. And if he fails, the various chieftains forcibly integrated under his command will rebel again, and his vast kingdom will instantly disintegrate."

Bahram VI snorted coldly. "Not only that, if he suffers losses and is defeated by the Franks, I will personally lead a grand army to punish him!"

Sepehr said in a low voice, "My King, furthermore, there is another matter. The Khan of the Western Liao (Qara Khitai) has sent an envoy, inviting you to form an alliance to jointly resist the newly risen threat of Mongols on the steppes."

"Heh! That Khitan Khan is unwilling to declare himself my vassal and offer tribute. A few years ago, he even supported my worthless younger brother, intending to split my lands and carve out a separate territory. How can such jackals and wolves be worthy of allying with me?"

Bahram was utterly dismissive. His gaze and energy were entirely focused on the Mediterranean coast, on Saladin, who, after taking Jerusalem, would see his fame soar like the midday sun, directly challenging his own status as King of Kings.

Sepehr advised, "My King, the momentum of the Mongols rising on the steppes is indeed alarming. It is said that many powers have suffered successive defeats at the hands of the Mongols."

The Sasanian King laughed heartily. "The territory I rule, not even counting those fortresses and stockades, but only major cities with their names known far and wide, numbers over a thousand! When the armies under my command assemble, if they throw their horsewhips into the Tigris River, its waters would cease to flow! The Tang Empire, once so resplendent, was it not defeated before my ancestors? Mere Mongols! Let them fight it out with the Liao people!"

***

There was a city in the distant northern lands, far from Jerusalem, amidst endless frozen earth and black forests—Kiev, the capital city of the Kievan Rus'.

A powerfully built man, naked to the waist, fiercely threw the head of a giant beast onto the frozen ground outside the court. The beast's head was covered in black, triangular scales; its branched, spear-like horns were still stained with scraped-off flesh and blood.

As the head thudded to the ground, white mist instantly billowed from the severed neck, and the flowing blood sizzled like boiling oil.

An Archbishop from Greece was startled and stammered, "Heavenly Father above! Your Highness the Grand Prince, how could you disregard your own safety and personally lead troops to subdue an evil dragon?"

Grand Prince Vsevolod III of Vladimir spread his arms, showing his unharmed chest to the man. "Haha! It was just a Long-Snout Dragon from the north, flying south for the winter! A little fellow, at most the size of two oxen. My guards pinned it to death in its cave with a single volley of javelins made of Magic-Resistant Gold. Tan its head and make it into a display piece. I want to take it back to Vladimir to show my subjects my valor."

His eyes were sharp. Suddenly remembering something, he said, "I know the Empress sent you to recruit more Varangian Guards. But I warn you, you must, according to my wishes, go to the Rus' principalities I designate to recruit men. You absolutely must not bewitch or incite my personal guard. Otherwise, I don't mind leading my grand army, allying with the Bulgarians, and attacking the very walls of your Constantinople, dragging your Empress back to pour my wine and warm my bed!"

The bishop who was scared into silence, nodded repeatedly. "Your Highness the Grand Prince, rest assured, I will definitely not go against your will."

This so-called Archbishop was actually just an ordinary Orthodox priest, captured by Grand Prince Vladimir many years ago and brought to this bitter, cold land. Now, he served as a liaison, a mouthpiece between Constantinople and the Rus' principalities, and had managed to make a decent life for himself.

***

Oultrejordain, Montreal.

When the knights emerged from the castle once more, their faces were still filled with fear and disbelief.

"Heavenly Father above, could there truly be an evil god at work?"

"That lizard-like corpse we saw in the dungeon, was it really Sir Humphrey?"

"There can be no mistake. I've been with Sir Humphrey since I was a child. He had a deep scar on the back of his neck from being cut by a scythe while playing in the past."

"This Baron Lothar, what kind of person is he exactly?"

"Have any of you ever considered that only two kinds of people can kill the servant of an evil god?"

"One is a saint. The other... is the servant of another evil god."

"No, perhaps those two female companions of his are powerful witches? Didn't the German Emperor build a Witch Tower?"

The knights' expressions were a fascinating mix. They said to their squires and sergeants, "All of you, stand down. Baron Lothar is innocent. He is not a murderer, but a hero worthy of respect."

"Our apologies, Milord. We misunderstood you." The pimply-faced knight was at the fore.

Lothar said magnanimously, "It's alright. No one could imagine that their liege lord, whom they served loyally, would be bewitched by an evil god. This is a rare occurrence in all of the Continent."

Someone knelt before Lothar on one knee. "Milord, please forgive my disrespect towards you."

Lothar, his face benevolent, said, "It is you, knight. I forgive you. But your duel with Pepin under my command must still proceed as scheduled."

The pimply-faced knight's expression instantly turned bitter. "Ah, this..."

"Gentlemen, my female companion was frightened and is still unconscious. I shall entrust the matter of electing a castellan to you. I must return early to look after her." After speaking, Lothar indeed departed with Banu, showing no intention whatsoever of interfering with the governance of this city.

Gazing at Lothar's retreating back, someone muttered in a low voice, "I told you they were witches. If she were a mistress, he wouldn't be so blatant. If a wife, she wouldn't be unknown in the noble world. If a maidservant, there would be even less need for such concern."

"Heavens! For an Emperor, a King, or a Grand Duke to gain the allegiance of a witch is not surprising. But he is just a Baron!"

"The most urgent matter now is to immediately elect a castellan for Montreal! Just as Baron Lothar said, maintaining Montreal's stability is the most important thing right now! If riots occur, or if we are unable to provide sufficient supplies for the Crusaders arriving from afar, even if Count Raynald forgives us for failing to protect his young master, His Majesty the King will not forgive our dereliction of duty!" The knight said in a stern voice, his expression severe, "By then, we will all be hanged from the gallows!"