Chapter 439: Even After Being Cured, He Still Drools (Part 2)

Chapter 439: Chapter 312: Even After Being Cured, He Still Drools (Part 2)

The young man didn’t wait for the other to answer, shoving him against the wall.

He then grabbed another noble by the collar.

“Jilbe, have you forgotten? Your marvelous estate in Burgundy… I can still recall the scent of roses in the garden that summer. And your wife, so elegant! How much glory and wealth did your marriage to her bring you?

You have but one daughter with her. How vulnerable would your only daughter be without your protection? Your wife would be forced to marry a man who could protect her, and your daughter would be married off as a prize to someone many times her age!”

“Lord Adir, have you forgotten? The first half of your life was filled with such glorious military achievements that whenever anyone mentions your family name, they think of your moniker: ‘the Lion of Geneva.’ You expanded your family’s lands, turning what was once a meager fief into a domain so vast and wealthy.

How can a glorious life like yours end in a Saracen prison? You have no son, no daughter. Are you truly going to hand over the lands you conquered with your own blood and flesh to your Lord?”

His hysterical shouts quickly roused the other dazed prisoners. A sudden clarity returned to their eyes.

“I can’t die! I have to see my wife again!”

“Heaven! There is no Heaven here! Only graves everywhere!”

“We were deceived!”

“The East is a cursed land! A land abandoned by God! Where is God?! Where is God?! The Demon worshipped by the Saracens speaks through the mouth of the Pope of Rome, not God!”

“We were all deceived! We were all deceived! The Emperor of Germany is the one truly favored by God!” the young man suddenly roared, his eyes flashing with a mad light.

“You cowards!” A white-haired noble exploded in fury, pointing an accusing finger at the young man. “You say a Demon of the Saracens bewitched the Pope, leading us down this misguided path! You say this Crusades is nothing but a grand trap, that God’s will has been misunderstood!” He paused, gritting his teeth. “You are not worthy to utter such blasphemies! Our mission does not change for the sake of cowards like you!”

Another noble chimed in with a cold laugh. “Did you all hear that? He actually claims we were bewitched by the evil of the Saracens! How absurd! You see the despair here, you hear his grievances—can you not see this for what it is? The self-justification of a cowardly soul gripped by fear! He says ‘surrender,’ he says ‘go home,’ but what has God arranged for us? Suffering! A test to try our true faith! We are meant to face these challenges, not shrink from them!”

A powerfully built noble lifted the rabble-rousing youth into the air and roared at him in Frankish laced with German, “Your voice sickens me! It’s filled with betrayal against God! Our brothers and sisters have died in this land, carrying forward the flame of faith and glory! And you? You grovel here, clinging to life, trying to throw it all away!

If you are wavering for the sake of your own riches and the comfort of your homes, then your souls are destined to fail this trial! We are not fighting for our own lives! We fight for God and for our faith!

If one more word of blasphemy against God escapes your lips, I’ll rip your throat out!”

This burly noble had a build similar to the Danish, clearly hailing from the northern regions of Germany.

The burly German noble jabbed his fingers into the center of the youth’s throat. A wave of suffocation washed over him, and tears instantly welled in the corners of his eyes. He began to struggle desperately, but given the difference in their sizes, it was utterly useless.

The youth’s Attendant tried to rush to his master’s aid, but the burly noble sent him sprawling with a single kick.

The nobles who had just been echoing the youth’s sentiments were startled, but not one of them dared to step forward and intervene.

They were too weak. Unarmed, they stood no chance against the burly German noble.

Just when everyone was certain the pitiful young noble would die that day…

The cell door suddenly swung open. A blinding light flooded in from outside, blurring the prisoners’ vision. They instinctively shielded their eyes.

A man was carried in by the guards, and the cell door slammed shut behind them.

In the dim light of the cell, the prisoners saw that the man was covered head to toe in bandages, as if gravely wounded. Even his face was completely wrapped.

“It’s… it’s Lord Yuge!”

A Frank noble leaned closer, lifted the bandages from the man’s face, and cried out.

“Yuge. It’s Yuge,” another Frank noble who knew him confirmed his Identity.

“God be praised, God be praised. You’re alive.”

The cell immediately erupted in a clamor.

This young man, Yuge, was none other than the blood brother of Philip, the King of the Franks. He was a member of the Capetian Royal Family, made the Count of Vendeuvre two years prior, one of the very instigators of this Crusade, and the noble of most eminent lineage among them.

Yet, contrary to his noble lineage, for much of the Eastern Expedition, Yuge had not commanded the respect of the other Frank nobles.

Despite his noble blood, he was a fanciful young man. He was ignorant about many things, yet always eager to voice his opinion.