"Enter."
The moment I stepped past the threshold, a sharp mixture of incense and rot struck my nose.
The chamber was buried in books and parchment. Maps and scrolls lay stacked in precarious towers. At the center, behind a large wooden table, sat a man.
"Come closer, Baldwin. It has been some time since I last saw your face."
His body was wrapped in layers of bandages.
I knew him instantly.
King Baldwin IV.
The Leper King.
The last great ruler of Jerusalem.
My breath caught in my throat.
Seeing him in a game illustration was one thing.
This was different.
'He dies in 1185… so there are four years left.'
A king who rode into battle even while disease consumed him.
Even in the game, his stats were exceptional. His only weakness was the slow erosion of his life by leprosy.
"I hear you've locked yourself in your chamber reading old books," he said lightly. "Have you finally grown weary of falconry?"
Silence.
What was I supposed to say?
The [Ill-Mannered Rake] trait, no doubt. To everyone else, I had been a spoiled youth obsessed with hawking and indulgence.
"After my fall…" I began cautiously.
"I realized how much time I have wasted."
"So you have resolved to change?"
"Yes. I began with books. It seemed the only thing I could do for now."
In truth, it was closer to hiding from reality.
I felt a subtle shift in his emotions.
From indifference to interest.
No—curiosity.
I could sense it, though not precisely name it.
"Good. It is about time you awakened," he said, rising slowly. "Then allow me to ask you something."
His bandaged face was scarred and marked by lesions, yet his eyes burned fiercely.
"This is the current map of the Levant. Saladin has effectively unified Egypt and Syria. Our kingdom is surrounded."
He pointed to the map.
He was right. The Crusader states were encircled east and west.
Salah ad-Din Yusuf ibn Ayyub.
Saladin.
The Sultan who would defeat us at Hattin in 1187 and reclaim Jerusalem.
"How long do you believe our peace treaty with Saladin will last?"
My heart pounded.
Calm down.
This was a test.
"I believe he will attack Aleppo and Mosul beginning next year," I replied evenly. "Until then, he will remain in Cairo consolidating power."
That part I could recite in my sleep.
"Once he fully unites the north, he will begin gathering his forces in earnest. Then he will wait for division within our kingdom."
"And when will that be?" Baldwin IV asked softly.
"When you die."
He burst into laughter.
"A bold answer. Yet predicting the future is something even a child may attempt. Tell me instead—what should we do now?"
"We must conserve our strength."
That much was obvious.
If the Islamic world was an ocean, the Crusader states were a pond. Without fresh armies from the West, manpower disparity could not be solved.
"First, we must secure a firm alliance with the Byzantine Empire."
I pointed toward the region of Greece and Anatolia.
The Eastern Roman Empire.
They had originally called for Crusader aid in Europe.
Fortunately, their current regime was pro-Crusader.
'Though that will soon change with a coup…'
Anti-Latin sentiment would erupt. The Latin Massacre would follow.
That had to be prevented.
"If we do nothing, Emperor Alexios will not survive beyond next year."
"You are certain of a young emperor's death?" Baldwin IV asked. "It would require… an incident."
Strangled in a coup by his cousin.
That qualified as an incident.
"I have heard anti-Western sentiment grows in Constantinople. Should dissatisfaction with the emperor and regency intensify, men like Andronikos may attempt to seize power."
"And we are to prevent that?"
"Yes. But before that, we must address something else."
Money.
Without funds, Byzantium would not be swayed.
"We must rebuild the southern trade ports of our kingdom. Eilat would be ideal."
The Red Sea port south of Jerusalem.
In the game, rebuilding Eilat was the fastest way to generate income.
"If we restore it, we can redirect the spice trade. If merchant ships crossing the Red Sea dock there instead of Egypt…"
"We would collect customs," Baldwin IV finished, stroking his chin. "I did not know you concerned yourself with trade."
"But the Red Sea is under Saladin's naval control," he added.
"As long as the treaty stands, he has no pretext to strike first," I replied.
No one valued legitimacy more than Saladin.
"Most Egyptian merchant vessels are unarmed. They have had no cause for naval war for decades."
"Rebuilding ports and shipyards requires enormous funds. Unless we levy special taxes…"
"We need not spend our own treasury."
He raised an eyebrow.
"Who will fund it?"
"The Venetians."
I had played as a Venetian merchant dozens of times. I wouldn't forget.
Now was precisely when Venice would show interest in Eilat.
Offer them the right incentive, and they would leap.
There was another reason to go south.
'The unchained dog of the Crusades.'
Reynald of Châtillon.
If he continued raiding Muslim caravans and pilgrims unchecked, the treaty would shatter.
If Saladin declared war now, we would lose.
Someone had to restrain Reynald.
And the only person who could accomplish both objectives—
Was me.
"Your Majesty," I said steadily, "permit me to negotiate with the Venetians personally. I will oversee Eilat's reconstruction."
"You?" he began, then paused.
Surprise flickered across his expression.
Thirteen years old.
Entrusting me with something this large had surely never crossed his mind.
[Innate Charisma – Large bonus to diplomacy and persuasion.]
I could only trust the trait.
I held his gaze.
"If you are so confident, then prove it," he said at last. "Twenty thousand dinars."
Twenty thousand?
That was high.
Too high.
But I had already spoken.
"If I secure twenty thousand dinars from the Venetians in port fees," he continued, "I shall grant you authority over the reconstruction."
"I accept, Your Majesty."
I bowed slightly, though my hands trembled.
"No need for excessive formality, Baldwin," he said with a laugh. "At your age, I rode against Saladin at Montgisard."
Right.
The Battle of Montgisard.
A legend even in modern military academies.
"My blood once burned hot, as yours does now," he continued. "Now all that remains are rotting limbs."
He stepped close and placed a hand on my shoulder.
"I am glad to see you changed."
I left the chamber.
A breath I hadn't realized I was holding escaped.
That had gone… well.
Hadn't it?
Or had I just made things far bigger than intended?
Back in my chamber, I collapsed onto the thin mattress.
If I failed to return home, this was where I would die.
God.
Allah.
Buddha.
What sin did I commit to deserve this?
Silence answered.
Was it because I cursed God earlier?
If so, that would make Him rather petty.
I stared out the window.
A foreign city.
'If history follows its course, this will fall in a few years.'
And I would be erased.
Erasure.
I didn't know exactly what that meant.
But it was death.
My fists clenched.
Whoever threw me into this world—
I refused to die obediently.
Expelled from the academy. Cast into the medieval era to perish?
They could all go to hell.
Defend Jerusalem?
Fine.
I would.
"Let's see who wins."
I rose from the mattress.
The path was clear.
To succeed Baldwin IV and become King of Jerusalem.
But first—
"I handle today's task."
I knocked for a maid.
"Yes, Your Highness."
"Send a messenger to the Venetian quarter in Jerusalem. Inform them I wish to discuss the reconstruction of Eilat."
"At once."
"Wait."
There was one man in particular.
A Venetian merchant I had played countless times in the game.
Convincing him would be easy.
"Tell them to deliver the message to Marco. He should be the head of the Jerusalem branch."
"Yes, Your Highness."
She bowed and left.
I smiled faintly at the closed door.
There was nothing to worry about.
Rebuilding a southern port?
That would be child's play.