Chapter 948 - 171: At the Gates of Damascus
Ten days later, in Damascus.
As the undisputed military and administrative hub of the Ayyubid Dynasty, no matter how wealthy Egypt might be, Saladin had never shifted the center of his rule away from here.
Commerce and industry flourished here; the swords and handicrafts produced were famed overseas, and both the Genoese and the Venetians had established trading houses in this city; besides, many Pilgrims bound for Jerusalem would pass through here in transit.
Like Cairo, it too was praised as a city of a thousand towers—countless minarets, Holy Fire Altars, Fire Temples, and religious schools rose everywhere.
But the Damascus of today was clearly no longer the prosperous city of its zenith.
The townspeople on the streets were gripped by panic; many shut themselves indoors, and even if they had to go out, they walked with heads bowed and hurried steps. Refugees huddled at street corners, their expressions numb as they stretched out their hands to beg food from passersby.
The imams held their scriptures, preaching and giving alms to the refugees, yet beneath their kindly faces there remained an anxiety they could not conceal.
Ever since that terrifying "Heretic Demon Lord Losa" had taken command of the northern Crusaders, these Frankish troops had needed but a single day to seize Holmes, a city that had previously held out for over a month.
After that they wasted not a moment: leaving behind a garrison, they swiftly skirted south around the Galemon Mountains, capturing several cities in succession, and now their spearhead pointed straight at Damascus—the heart of the Ayyubid Dynasty.
At present, the Ayyubid Dynasty’s Syrian territories had already been cut in two; if northern provinces such as Aleppo wished to send troops in relief, they had first to break through the Crusaders’ interception.
As for the Governors of the provinces south of Damascus, they were already showing signs of defying orders; no matter how Saladin summoned them, they merely made excuses about raising troops and provisions, yet never moved their armies.
"With the loss of Egypt, the Kingdom is like a man who has lost his legs; with the loss of Adil and more than half of our Elite Warriors, the Kingdom is like a man who has lost his hands. Now that Holmes has fallen, the Kingdom’s softest heart lies exposed beneath the barbarians’ iron hooves—what strength have we left to resist?"
Farushah’s expression brimmed with sorrow; the Kingdom was dying, right before his eyes, slipping step by step into Hell.
Seated beside him was his fellow sufferer, the former Governor of the Upper Egypt Province, Turanshah.
Turanshah could not help but give a bitter smile. "Who could have imagined that those Franks would advance so quickly?"
He had crossed the Red Sea, passed through the Hejaz, and returned to Damascus, intending to live in peace for a time—who could have thought that the Franks would arrive scarcely any later than he did?
Farushah answered with a wry smile, "And what is there to find unimaginable? The Casters are unwilling to act; that Demon Dragon needs only a single breath of flame to melt a city wall. No matter how strong a city may be, what can it count for before them?"
Turanshah could not hold back his tears. "Is it because our faith in the Holy Fire has grown less devout over these years? How else could it be that the Holy Fire has abandoned us, leaving us to face the Heretics’ butcher’s knives?"
Farushah soothed him softly. "Do not let your heart be troubled. Your Majesty still lives; he will surely find a way."
Though they both belonged to the Ayyubid Clan and were thus "sons of the royal house," their relationship had never been what one would call harmonious. Only now, in this utter desperation, did they look upon one another with a newfound sincerity.
"Governor, Your Majesty summons you."
The Black Eunuch, hurrying over, cast a cautious glance at Farushah.
"Wait here for a moment; I will be back shortly."
Farushah straightened his robes; even though he had prepared himself mentally, he was still startled when he entered the palace.
That once heroic figure who, in Damascus, had gathered the ministers and vowed to punish the Heretics and retake Jerusalem—the Monarch—was now emaciated to the extreme, lying upon his couch.
His dark skin was drawn tight over his bones like that of a Mummy; his eye sockets were sunken, and even though various incenses burned in the air, they still could not mask the thick scent of medicinal herbs.
"Your Majesty, you..."
He opened his mouth, but for a moment he was choked with emotion, and tears streamed down his face.
"My brother, do not blame yourself. In Holmes you have already done all you could. That the situation has collapsed to this extent—all the guilt should rest upon my shoulders alone."
These past days he had been stricken by a grave illness, wasting away to a shadow of his former self.
He stretched out his withered hand and grasped Farushah’s arm.
Hearing this, Farushah could not restrain his grief; he burst into loud sobs. He was a man of substance and loyalty, or Saladin would never have trusted him enough to appoint him Governor of Holmes. Had they chanced upon a coward like Turanshah instead, would he not have simply handed the gates of the nation over to the enemy?
"Enough, my brother."
Saladin had not been without ideas.
Yet Losa’s reputation in the Extraordinary World at this moment was simply too terrifying; the more knowledgeable a man was, the better he understood what it meant to pit oneself against a Legendary. Unless Saladin could produce another Divine Artifact on the level of a Cuneiform Clay Tablet.
Leaving aside how rare an artifact of that level was, even if Saladin could produce one, who could guarantee that any newly recruited Caster would be as honest and upright as Shemir?
They had no means of countering it at all.
If a Legendary Mage seized your treasure and fled, who could stop him?
Or if he simply usurped royal power and took the throne for himself, what recourse would you have?
Now, in every country there was a struggle between divine authority and royal authority; even the Eastern Empire and Sassan, nations that regarded their sovereigns as the supreme leaders of religion, were no exception.
Saladin had not been without ideas.
Yet Losa’s reputation in the Extraordinary World at this moment was simply too terrifying; the more knowledgeable a man was, the better he understood what it meant to pit oneself against a Legendary. Unless Saladin could produce another Divine Artifact on the level of a Cuneiform Clay Tablet.
Leaving aside how rare an artifact of that level was, even if Saladin could produce one, who could guarantee that any newly recruited Caster would be as honest and upright as Shemir?
They had no means of countering it at all.
If a Legendary Mage seized your treasure and fled, who could stop him?
Or if he simply usurped royal power and took the throne for himself, what recourse would you have?
Now, in every country there was a struggle between divine authority and royal authority; even the Eastern Empire and Sassan, nations that regarded their sovereigns as the supreme leaders of religion, were no exception.
Saladin had not been without ideas.
Yet Losa’s reputation in the Extraordinary World at this moment was simply too terrifying; the more knowledgeable a man was, the better he understood what it meant to pit oneself against a Legendary. Unless Saladin could produce another Divine Artifact on the level of a Cuneiform Clay Tablet.
Leaving aside how rare an artifact of that level was, even if Saladin could produce one, who could guarantee that any newly recruited Caster would be as honest and upright as Shemir?
They had no means of countering it at all.
If a Legendary Mage seized your treasure and fled, who could stop him?
Or if he simply usurped royal power and took the throne for himself, what recourse would you have?
Now, in every country there was a struggle between divine authority and royal authority; even the Eastern Empire and Sassan, nations that regarded their sovereigns as the supreme leaders of religion, were no exception.