novelSusiti Chapter 6 Collapse
Chapter 6 Collapse
Lyon should have known that what a pirate calls a "clean cabin" might be clean, but it could never be truly clean.
The so-called "clean cabin" was nothing more than a small space for storing a few pieces of cargo, with only simple berths. The air was filled with a mixture of fishy, sweaty, salty seawater and rotting food smells, and at that moment Lyon desperately missed the faint scent of beeswax and wood on the royal ships.
A sharp, teeth-grinding sound rang out as Zahir rudely pushed open the hatch, his muscular body blocking the entire doorway. His scimitar, its hilt inlaid with turquoise, slammed against the doorframe with a loud thud.
"Hey, Your Highness, that precious thing you're wearing is practically growing mushrooms! Come out and see the sun; my ship is much more interesting than your palace's!"
Lyon raised his eyes, silently stood up, and walked towards the door as instructed.
As he passed by, Zahir stretched out his rough fingers and casually flicked a fold in the purple robe on Lyon's shoulder, a gesture as flippant as brushing dust off a piece of furniture.
"Look at this, true royal grandeur," he winked at a passing pirate, his voice booming, "Even on this wretched ship, we have to maintain some decorum, right?"
Lyon did not respond, but simply lowered his head, stepped across the threshold, and walked into the blinding midday sun and deafening noise of the Mediterranean.
In an instant, all the sounds and smells crashed over us like ocean waves.
Not far away, a group of shirtless pirates were sitting in a circle throwing dice. The clinking dinars bounced on the rough deck. The winners laughed deafeningly, while the losers cursed in various languages.
An old sailor sat under the mast, patiently sharpening the blade of his scimitar over a small jar of foul-smelling fish oil.
Others were mending sails, thick needles and thread moving through their hands as they worked, chanting strange, crude songs in a dialect Lyon couldn't understand.
At the bow of the boat, two burly men even started shoving each other over a minor argument, and it looked like they were about to come to blows. Instead of stopping them, the people around them excitedly cheered them on.
Zahir stood like a mountain beside Lyon, arms crossed, smugly admiring the "prosperity" under his rule.
"How's it going, little guy?" He nudged Leon lightly with his elbow, the force making Leon stagger. "Eye-opening, huh? This is what it means to be alive! Much more interesting than you being in the palace staring at those lifeless murals and priests, hmm?"
Lyon didn't speak, he just watched quietly.
Seeing that he was just watching silently, Zahir assumed he was intimidated by the scene and became even more smug, laughing loudly:
"Haha, don't worry, Your Highness! You'll get used to it! Here, at least you won't 'get moldy'—I guarantee you'll be sun-dried into a fine salted fish!"
"Where are you taking me?" Leon ignored Zahir's teasing of a child, instead recalling a word Zahir had once uttered, "Alexandria...port?"
Zahir was a little surprised, but then he was relieved. What was so strange about a royal child learning a few common geographical names?
Thinking of this, he patted Leon on the shoulder heavily and laughed loudly, "Hey, you wouldn't understand even if I told you. Just think of this ship as your father's palace. We're just walking from the hall to the restaurant for dinner, it's just a bit of a long way, and we might run into other... guests along the way."
"Sigh, never mind that. Look at the picture before us. You have your empire, and I have mine," Zahir said, wrapping his thick arm around Leon's thin shoulder and turning him toward his thriving "empire" on his deck. He laughed, "But your empire is full of parasites, rotten to the core. They're still fighting amongst themselves, their people are dying and they've lost all their land to their neighbors, yet they still can't stop fighting. It's nothing but a piece of rotten wood, daring to call itself an empire. And you, little guy, you're just the next piece of wood, hahaha!"
Lyon's heart sank, followed by a bitter laugh. Zahir wasn't exaggerating. If Alexius were here right now, he definitely wouldn't understand any of that nonsense about worms and wood; it would probably burn out his CPU.
As a not-so-professional Roman strategist, he had tried to fight against Saladin, the Scourge of God, with the Eastern Roman Emperor Manuel before starting the Leper King scenario in the game, but he was helpless and could only fail.
Constantinople was a perpetual stage for internal strife. Court politics was like a shackle and a death warrant for Rome. Even in a game, if it weren't for the supposedly superior administrative system, it would have been destroyed by the Yankees in longships as early as the 9th century.
Seeing Leon's withdrawn expression, Zahir laughed even more arrogantly. He casually grabbed a jar of candied fruit from a passing subordinate and shoved it into Leon's arms like a treat for a puppy: "Don't be sad, Your Highness. Keep your manners. It's not honorable for everyone to see you crying—how about some candied fruit?"
Zahir helped the tearful Leon to a comfortable, secluded spot in a cargo crate, where they sat down amidst the pirates' curious and greedy gazes.
Seeing that the child was still not calm after being provoked, he drew his scimitar, took some fish oil from the old sailor under the mast, and began to carefully polish his precious sword.
For some reason, the familiar sea breeze, the clamor of his gang of bastards, and the slick sound of fish oil rubbing against the blade all seemed unusually boring to Zahir.
He glanced at Leon beside him, who was cowering and furtively looking around. A nameless urge quickly gnawed at his heart and abdomen—for the first time, he felt clearly and anxiously: Damn, teasing kids is so much fun! I just can't stop!
Zahir cleared his throat and casually brought up a topic in a seemingly lazy tone, his scarred eyes glancing furtively at Lyon: "Hey, kid, do you know you're very different from your people? If you ask me, you Romans, oh, and Franks, are as cunning as sardines, unlike you, who cries at the slightest provocation! Take Jerusalem, for example. The old king died young, leaving behind a leper son. I heard that the boy is as weak as a reed and doesn't look like he'll live much longer."
He clicked his tongue, as if savoring an interesting piece of gossip: "Now those nobles in Jerusalem are green with envy. Princess Sibylla and her ambitious husband Guy, Count Raymond of Tripoli... are all eyeing the throne. Tsk tsk, things are about to descend into chaos!"
Lyon's heart skipped a beat: How come they forgot me? So I really don't have the right to inherit?
He remained impassive: "Is this what Father meant by 'Game of Thrones'? But, old king... don't you have any other healthy offspring?"
"Other offspring?" Zahir stopped wiping his knife, turned his head, and looked at Lyon with the eyes of someone looking at a fool, then burst into a savage laugh: "Hahahaha! Your Highness, have you been confined to the palace for too long? King Amori, besides the current Leper King on the throne, only had one daughter with his first wife, Princess Sibylla, and he also only had one daughter with the current Queen Mother. A son? Not a single one! Everyone in Jerusalem knows this! If he really had a son, would things be so chaotic now?"
"Our people in Alexandria have dealt with Jerusalem merchants quite a bit. If there really were such a prince, the Papacy and Saladin's spies would have spread the news throughout the world long ago! But right now, there's not even a rumor!"
Lyon felt like he'd been hit on the head, his ears ringing.
His previous fear that he was "someone who shouldn't exist" was relative to known history.
And now, he finds himself seemingly an unacknowledged, completely invisible ghost, even in his current reality.
"So, who am I, exactly?"
Is he the illegitimate son of his mother Maria Komnina and some unknown nobleman? A meticulously planned tool to be used at a crucial moment? Or the product of a deeper conspiracy that even his "creators" keep secret?
He suddenly stood up, walked to the ship's side, gripped the railing tightly, and his fingers trembled uncontrollably.
He gazed at the silent sea in the distance, his eyes lost and empty.
He wouldn't listen to a word of Zahir's subsequent teasing or comforting words.
His world had completely collapsed amidst Zahir's raucous laughter.