Chapter 436: Master and Servant

Chapter 436: Chapter 310: Master and Servant

“What are you still waiting for? What are you waiting for? Do you expect me to pick up the embroidered robes from the floor for you personally?” Suleiman Shah looked at the officials and Attendants around him and snorted coldly.

The officials and Attendants were instantly startled. Those closest to the embroidered robes on the floor immediately dropped to their knees, prostrating themselves. They lifted the robes, and, with bowed bodies, hurried out of the hall.

The rest, who hadn’t gotten a robe, also followed the others and quickly departed.

Soon, the guards closed the doors to the great hall, leaving only two people inside.

Suleiman Shah stood on the steps, looking down at Eric below. Then, Suleiman Shah walked to the center of the dais and sat down directly on the steps.

“I have never liked adding such complicated and useless prefixes to my name. That is a tradition of the Persians and Arabs, not of the Turkic People.

I used to think that every Turkic person felt as I do—that it is a kind of meaningless self-aggrandizement. But contrary to my wishes, many of our people tirelessly indulge in it, as if it were made for them.”

Suleiman Shah was about thirty years old, but he looked quite young. He wore a tulip-shaped turban on his head, had thick eyebrows, a gray beard, and no mustache. He watched Eric quietly.

“Forgive me, but in my field of vision, I see only one person. Where is your master, the one with all the fancy prefixes? When I agreed to this negotiation, I was looking forward to meeting the Monarch of the Normans.

I wondered what kind of man rules such a gang of unscrupulous bandits.”

“He is in Cilicia, securing his newly conquered territory,” Eric lied on Robert’s behalf.

‘He couldn’t very well say that Robert was throwing orgies on Cyprus every day.’

“Is that so? Although, my men don’t seem to have run into anyone… wearing a Crown in Cilicia.” Suleiman’s lips curled into a smile, but he didn’t intend to give Eric a chance to speak, continuing, “That sounds just like a Byzantine. The Emperor of the Greeks loves to stay in Constantinople, sitting on his imperial throne, waiting for the fawning flattery of his sycophantic but imaginative subjects. Until one day, a bold General rushes into the palace, gives him a good kick, and takes the throne for himself.”

He then gave Eric a meaningful look.

“A Monarch’s duty is to lead, not to handle everything personally. Although he is a Warrior and a General himself, the responsibilities he bears are far greater than just charging into battle. As you can see, his vassals are loyal enough to complete the tasks he assigns them.

A Monarch who is free from worry and can fully enjoy the honor and status of a King is precisely so because he has a group of sufficiently loyal and capable vassals. Only when a Monarch can delegate authority and trust them can he truly enjoy the glory that comes with the throne.”

“HAHAHAHA! And yet, from what I’ve seen in the Empire of your brethren, the Greeks, such an Emperor would be thrown from his throne by his capable vassals.” Suleiman Shah roared with laughter.

“In the Kingdoms of the Franks, vassals and Kings each have their own distinct place. Both sides constantly abide by and defend their own rights and duties. A King’s rights and duties are no more than his vassal’s, and a vassal’s are no less than his King’s.

The right to rule, for both King and vassal, is granted from God, bestowed through the authority of Saint Peter.”

“Our supposed representative of Allah only cares about what’s between a woman’s legs. How many wives did your Saint Peter have? Oh, I remember now, you Christians only have one wife. So, how many mistresses did he have?” Suleiman Shah scoffed.

“He was a Cultivator, and also a scholar,” Eric said.

“A Cultivator? HAHAHAHA!” Suleiman Shah laughed again, louder this time, as if he had heard the funniest thing in the world. “I sometimes go to the Mosque because it’s cool and a good place for a nap.

Those fellows who claim to have dedicated their souls to Allah are the most sanctimonious and hypocritical of all.

I once met a Persian prostitute who told me she detested Cultivators the most.

Because those pompous men usually won’t pay a single coin for their pleasure. The Cultivator she met claimed her payment would be used for the salvation of her soul. When she pressed for payment, he threatened that her soul would fall into Hell.

A delightful joke, isn’t it?” Suleiman Shah stood up, smiling as he looked at Eric.

“I also once met a Persian prostitute. She told me she detested Turkic Nobility the most. Because those pompous men usually won’t pay a single coin for their pleasure. They find that what is taken by force is far more gratifying than what is paid for with Money.

The member of the Turkic Nobility she met claimed her payment would be used to pay a new tax—one he invented on the spot, levied only on that very prostitute. When she tried to pursue the matter, the nobleman simply ordered his men to have her beaten beyond recognition.”

Eric walked up the steps, stopping just two steps below Suleiman Shah. Even so, Eric was still half a head taller than him. “His Majesty the Sultan, do you find this a delightful joke?”

The smile vanished from Suleiman Shah’s face. He stared intently at Eric.

Eric continued, “A Cultivator’s purse may be empty, but the purse of the Turkic Nobility is always full. But do you know why? Why a member of the Turkic Nobility would rather draw the Sword at his waist than unfasten his pouch full of gold and silver?” He gave a slight, sharp-eyed smile. “Because in their eyes, drawing a Sword is more direct than opening a money pouch. It declares who is the master and who is the servant. They prefer to use violence to assert their status. After all, though Money is plentiful, the sense of power that violence brings is what truly sets their minds at ease. And they firmly believe that the fear generated by violence is the most effective way to ensure obedience.

Hypocrisy is despicable, but it’s trivial. Violence, however, can destroy a person. Will that Persian prostitute survive the Winter?”

Eric averted his gaze, looking toward the hall window as if genuinely worried about the Persian prostitute.

Even though, before this conversation, this Persian prostitute had never existed.

Eric then continued, “If she survives and miraculously recovers, what will she think? Will she want to gouge out that nobleman’s eyes, or slice off his nose? She will silently hate and resent him, imagining all the ways she could repay him with pain.

However, all these vicious thoughts of revenge can only fester in her heart, because she is just a lowly prostitute, utterly powerless to act.

Until one day, someone ties up that member of the Turkic Nobility and kindly hands her a dagger.”

“A perfect plan. Unfortunately, the one handing her the dagger is a complete and utter Heretic. And this Heretic, under the banner of an Alien God, intends to turn this land into a realm of Heresy and its people into slaves of his Alien God.

I know what you’ve done in Cilicia. Your little tricks may work on Ruben, but they are meaningless to me, because…” Suleiman said with disdain.

“Because you sometimes go to the Mosque, where it’s cool and a good place for a nap.” Eric interrupted him softly, a mocking smile playing on his lips. “Perhaps you can be a just ruler, but your subordinates don’t think so. They feel they have every right to do as they please, that it is the pleasure they have earned for fighting for you.

The people who benefit from your grace might remember you as a benevolent ruler, but as these tragic events happen again and again, they will come to see you as either a hypocritical or an incompetent ruler.”

“And how are you Heretics any better than us?” Suleiman Shah snorted.

“We are different from you. We have an end goal. On the road from Syria to Jerusalem, what we need is chaos, not dominion.

We may not be able to convince all the Arabs and Persians, but there will surely be more than a few who are interested.

These Arabs and Persians who join us won’t even need to fight you on the battlefield. They only need to stand by our side, wave our banners, and proclaim our justice and mercy.

In such a situation, what will the Arabs and Persians standing beside you in your fortress be thinking?

Perhaps one of them might even quietly open the city gates for us.” Eric shrugged. “However, I think you could be our friend.

After all, compared to Anatolia which you rule, Syria is insignificant.

And the chaos in Syria would be beneficial to you, would it not?

In the short term, you have no time to spare for Syria, nor to deal with Tutush—your distant cousin—who has already occupied Damascus.”