"Are you sure it's safe to drink this, Your Highness?"
Garnier asked, narrowing his eyes.
Jernald, Garnier, and I were gathered in the center of the workshop.
Steam billowed from the large vats, leaving the room stiflingly hot.
"Someone might think we're brewing some wicked potion."
I chuckled.
Yellow droplets ticked down copper tubes, falling in steady plinks.
We had ten stills in total—some acquired from Muslim alchemists, others replicated by Jernald.
All of them were boiling wine at full tilt.
Alcohol boils at roughly 78°C.
Water doesn't boil until 100°C, so if you heat wine, you can separate out the alcohol.
That was what the stills were for.
"To think you could 'catch' what evaporates when you boil liquor… I never would've dreamed you could make drink this way."
Jernald let out a disbelieving laugh.
He tapped the copper piping with a hammer.
"I'd heard the Saracens use devices like this to make fragrant waters, but…"
"It's the same principle," I said.
The logic behind distilled spirits was simple:
collect only the vaporized alcohol and condense it into a separate vessel.
What you put in—what you infuse—changed the flavor.
All you really needed was a way to cool the tubing and control the heat.
I picked up a bottle and offered it to Garnier.
"I'll pass this time."
Garnier cleared his throat and shook his head.
"My stomach feels a bit off. And if the Order finds out we're drinking at this hour, they won't let it slide."
"Just say you're scared to drink it, Garnier," Jernald said, laughing loudly.
He snatched the bottle from my hand.
"Let me be the one to try it."
He took a few gulps—then his whole body jerked, and he started coughing.
"God Almighty! I've never tasted anything this strong in my life. I can feel it burning all the way down. Garnier, you have to try it too."
After he finally got his coughing under control, he shoved the bottle at Garnier.
"…Fine."
Garnier eyed it suspiciously, then drank in one long pull.
Maybe he'd braced himself, because he didn't cough as badly as Jernald.
Just once—short and sharp.
"Hm. It's not as unpleasant as I expected. You truly made this by boiling wine?"
"In simple terms, yes."
I lifted the bottle to my nose.
A heavy fruit aroma.
I let a little touch my tongue and immediately coughed.
"Your Highness—are you all right?!"
I waved a hand to show I was fine.
Better to spit than swallow.
In a thirteen-year-old body, I'd get drunk fast.
It was sweeter than the brandy I remembered.
"To live long enough to drink something like this… With liquor this strong, I doubt anyone would dislike it."
Jernald grinned.
"They'll buy it by the barrel. How on earth did you discover this method?"
"Let's just say… it's a secret for now."
I smiled.
In Last Crusaders, distilled liquor was one of the most commonly used items.
If you started as a merchant, it was practically mandatory.
Sure, competitors would eventually appear—but before that, you could make obscene amounts of money.
If we sold it as a monopoly, we wouldn't have to worry about funds for a while.
I looked at the stills.
To Westerners who only drank wine and beer, distilled spirits would be nothing short of a revolution.
The problem was production and distribution…
"To protect the recipe, it would be best to let the Order handle production," I said.
Nowhere was better than a monastery or an order of knights for keeping secrets and guarding "know-how."
And it wouldn't look proper for royalty to run a factory directly.
"Commander Roger would accept gladly," Jernald said. "It doesn't violate any of the Order's rules."
"Once we return to Jerusalem, we'll begin preparations immediately. We'll need more stills at once…"
"So now the Order sells alcohol too," Garnier sighed heavily.
"I don't mind issuing letters of credit to merchants, but this…"
"If it's for protecting the Holy City, what can't we do? The Order already sells silk and soap, doesn't it?"
Jernald laughed.
He looked slightly flushed, as if the drink had already hit him.
"We run dozens of vineyards and workshops as it is."
Just then, someone burst into the workshop.
It was Aeg.
He sniffed the air, then frowned.
"It reeks of booze in here. So you all gathered without me to drink in the middle of the day?"
"Middle-of-the-day drinking? Call it an important experiment."
I burst out laughing.
Aeg looked like he had something to report.
"So what is it this time, Aeg? Don't tell me Saladin sent something again—"
"Knights have arrived from Jerusalem. They say they've come to escort you, Your Highness."
"Knights from Jerusalem?"
The four of us hurried outside.
From the outskirts of the city, we could hear soldiers shouting.
Through the sand and wind, a banner came into view—
a red cross on a yellow field, its arms slightly flared.
I'd seen it a few times before.
I searched my memory… and then it clicked.
Ibelin.
The household of the famous Balian.
The moment I recognized it, I blurted out without thinking.
"Balian came to escort me?"
'We will burn the last mosque and kill the last Saracen. Saladin—what you will gain will be nothing but the ruins of what was once Jerusalem.'
Balian—the man who forced Saladin into concessions with brinkmanship.
Faced with that threat, Saladin had no choice but to guarantee the safety of the Christians in Jerusalem.
In the movie, I'm pretty sure he was a handsome pretty-boy…
In reality, Balian looked less like a "beauty" and more like a seasoned, middle-aged warrior.
A heavy frame in armor.
A commanding presence.
He stepped before me and dipped into a slight bow.
"A humble servant of Ibelin greets Your Highness."
"Welcome to Eilat, Lord Balian. I didn't expect you to come in person."
"I heard you were attacked by Bedouin raiders on your way from Jerusalem to Eilat," he said.
"His Majesty sent us so that nothing like that happens again."
Ah. So that was it.
An escort, to make sure the return trip didn't turn into another ambush.
"His Majesty praised you highly, Your Highness—said you accomplished admirable work in Eilat. And…"
He lowered his voice.
"The palace has been abuzz with talk of you for quite some time."
"I'd like to think it was buzzing in a good way."
I glanced to the side.
A man stood beside Balian.
A silver mask like Baldwin IV's.
A white cloak marked with a green cross.
A scabbard hung at his waist.
"And this gentleman is…?"
"It is an honor to meet you, Your Highness! My younger brother's greeting was far too stiff and boring!"
He seized my hand and shook it vigorously.
A voice that sounded well past fifty—
but overflowing with energy.
"I am Hugh of House Ibelin—this fool's elder brother."
A silver mask, and white gloves.
Then that meant…
"As you can see, I currently belong to the Order of Saint Lazarus."
He boomed with laughter.
The Order of Saint Lazarus.
The leper knights, was it?
Overshadowed by the Hospitallers and the Templars, they lacked presence—yet they certainly existed in the game.
"That look—are you surprised? Was I speaking too close to you?"
"Not at all. It is an honor to be escorted by such distinguished men, Sir Hugh of Ibelin."
I shook his hand.
I sensed a flicker of surprise from him.
He hadn't expected me to treat him so warmly.
But why wouldn't I?
Balian and House Ibelin—
they were renowned warriors and commanders.
And they were among Baldwin IV's most notable allies.
In other words, men likely to support me in the succession struggle to come.
Baldwin IV trusted Balian enough to marry him to his own stepmother, Maria Komnene.
That alone said everything.
While I was lost in thought, Hugh suddenly called out in a booming voice.
"Is Sir Garnier of the Knights Hospitaller here, by any chance?"
"I am here, Master. Truly… it has been a long time."
Garnier stepped forward with a heavy sigh.
"Do you know Sir Garnier?"
"Know him? Of course. I'm the one who taught this idiot how to use a sword."
Hugh roared with laughter.
"I heard you've been training His Highness. Later, I'll have to see for myself whether you're even qualified."
"Any time you like. Unlike some people, I'm an excellent teacher."
Garnier replied with a proud, unflinching face.
I have a bad feeling I'm going to be the one suffering for this.
"Please forgive my crude elder brother, Your Highness," Balian sighed.
"After contracting leprosy, he somehow seems to have even more vigor than before… somehow."
Balian leaned closer and whispered.
"I heard you treated many sick within the Hospitaller hospital. About leprosy—might there be anything…?"
"I'm sorry," I said. "In the medical texts I've read, there is no cure for leprosy."
Leprosy wasn't something my limited knowledge could fix.
If it were, I would have tried everything to cure Baldwin IV first.
Balian sighed again.
"No… I spoke foolishly."
"Look at you—crying like a baby the first time you got hit with a wooden sword, and now you dare talk back to a master who's like the heavens above you—!"
"And what about you, Master? Didn't you spend whole days drinking and singing?! And those women you kept tucked at your side—!"
Garnier and Hugh were still bickering.
This might take a while.
"Both of you, come inside. I'll hear the details in there."
"Yes, Your Highness."
The moment we entered the workshop, both Balian and Hugh widened their eyes.
"What—were you holding liquor in broad daylight?"
"If you don't mind, have a few drinks. We have much to discuss."
I offered the brandy bottle.
I felt like I'd become a bartender for the day.
"Thank you. At last, something to wet this old man's tongue."
Hugh took a swig—then made a choking sound and erupted into coughing.
"God Almighty! What in the world is this?!"
At the sight of Balian and Hugh panicking, Garnier and I burst into laughter.
Through the workshop window, I could see the world outside.
Children shouting as they played.
Ships moving in and out of the harbor, and the constant sea wind.
Somehow, this place had started to feel familiar.
But I can't just stay here.
I was already in the eye of the storm.
If I wanted to survive, I had to face it head-on—and force my way through.
It was time to return to Jerusalem.
__________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Q: Brandy should be aged in oak barrels—like the ones used for sherry and other liquors—so it develops aroma.A: Some brandies exist that aren't aged separately, such as eau-de-vie. As for oak-barrel aging, that relates to later developments in the story.