Episode 147
The line between life and death can be drawn in a fleeting moment.
The Crusader knights advanced like a relentless bulldozer, sweeping away the Islamic forces with little resistance.
It was as if they were nothing more than weeds being pushed aside by a tractor.
Yet, if their goal was to buy time, then perhaps the now-decimated unit could be said to have fulfilled its mission.
After all, they managed to delay Richard and me, even if only for a few minutes.
“That last one must have been the final obstacle.”
But now, it’s clear we’ve reached the limit.
It’s not hard to guess why they sacrificed themselves to halt our advance.
They were likely trying to buy time for the Sultan to escape the battlefield.
Their fearless dedication to their lord, even in the face of death, is commendable.
However, in war, no matter how strong one’s convictions, without the fundamental strength to back them up, nothing can be achieved.
The death of the enemy commander, who was skewered by Richard as soon as the battle began, is clear evidence of this.
He must have held a high position, yet his courage to lay down his life for his lord is admirable.
But in the end, that courage only bought Richard the time it took to swing his spear once.
“Looks like we’ve cleared this area. Shall we join the French forces?”
“That sounds wise. If the French are holding back the main forces of Khwarezm, we might be able to strike from behind.”
“Let’s hope so, though we might have to give up on capturing the Sultan.”
With their determination to protect their king at all costs, it’s likely they’ll manage to escape.
Richard glanced at the scattered bodies of the enemy soldiers and clicked his tongue, nodding slightly.
“Yeah, I figured as much. They were more tenacious than I expected.”
“Still, you seemed to enjoy wielding your weapon. Were you satisfied this time?”
“At first, yes… but after that, it felt like cutting through a haystack—no feeling at all, just a tedious repetition.”
I get what he means.
Initially, you fight with some spirit, but after a few clashes, you get a sense of it.
You realize, “Ah, fighting here means certain death.”
Usually, that’s when people flee or surrender, but the soldiers we just faced seemed resigned to simply buying time.
There’s no joy in cutting down such opponents.
It’s not sympathy, but more a feeling of irritation.
“If only King Philip II had captured the Sultan, it would have been satisfying.”
“Indeed. If he fled after sacrificing his men, only to be captured, there’d be no more disgraceful end.”
It was a delightful thought, but imagination often remains just that.
As Richard and I moved south on the battlefield, we received a report that was exactly as expected.
“You let him escape?”
“That’s how it turned out. I have no excuse.”
Surprisingly, Philip II had joined the front lines himself, as evidenced by the small bloodstains on his armor.
Of course, it could have been from after the battle, but knowing him, the former seems more likely.
Still, the sheer number of bodies scattered around made it clear the French hadn’t fought half-heartedly.
Even Richard was taken aback by the sea of corpses before us.
“They really killed a lot. The French will likely claim the most kills in this battle.”
“Thanks to Your Majesty Richard pushing in from the north and crushing the enemy, those who came this way were already in retreat. Still, it’s a shame we couldn’t capture the Sultan.”
It was obvious the French suffered minimal losses.
Had they recklessly pursued the enemy, they might have captured the Sultan, but they would have suffered significant casualties.
They managed the battle well, maintaining a balance where they could decimate the enemy without overextending.
It was a cold, rational decision typical of Philip II.
After all, there’s no absolute need to kill the Sultan.
From a pragmatic standpoint, keeping him alive might be more beneficial.
Philip II surely knew this and played his cards for the best outcome.
Feigning ignorance, I probed Philip II.
“Given the damage we’ve inflicted, Khwarezm is finished for now. But they might recover quickly, given their resources. Should we pursue them before they regroup?”
“I don’t think that’s necessary. Khwarezm is already done for. I suspect you know this too…”
Before Philip II could question me, Richard II interjected, puzzled.
“What do you mean? If the Sultan is alive, they could always rise again.”
“Normally, yes, but the overall situation is different. I hear their Sultan claimed to be divinely chosen to oppose Marshal. But he failed in assassination, and we turned his plans against him, leading to a crushing defeat.”
“His leadership is in question, and his symbolic status is compromised.”
“Moreover, he sacrificed many of his men to escape safely. We just need to highlight this and spread the word. They’ll fall apart on their own.
Had the Sultan died here, they might have united in vengeance, but that’s not the case, which works in our favor.”
It seems they deliberately avoided capturing the Sultan to exploit this.
Regardless of his actual abilities, Tekish will now be seen as a ruler who ruined his own nation.
An incompetent enemy leader is more valuable than a brilliant ally general.
We just need to fan the flames and pressure Tekish, reaping the benefits.
Having waged war and lost, it’s time for them to pay the price.
Now begins the time of reckoning.
Exactly 24 hours after the nightmare ended.
Around 1 PM.
Inside the temporary command tent of the Khwarezm army.
”…”
”…”
”…”
”…”
Despite having mouths, no one dared to speak.
The ambition to surpass the Seljuks and create the greatest Islamic empire seemed to have vanished.
Of the soldiers who had gathered like clouds, only about a fifth remained.
Of course, not all 80% were dead, but the Khwarezm army was too broken to even catch deserters.
No doubt, even now, soldiers are deserting, seeing no hope.
At this rate, nothing might remain, but what can be done?
Speaking out of turn could lead to being blamed for the defeat and losing one’s head.
A meeting was necessary, so they gathered, but as the sun rose high, silence prevailed.
Finally, Tekish’s heir, Muhammad, broke the silence with difficulty.
“Your Majesty, we must retreat. Let’s return to the capital.”
“Sigh…”
Unable to rebuke his son, the Sultan opened his eyes and sighed deeply.
“Let’s assess our situation first. How much strength do we have left?”
“About 80% of our forces haven’t rejoined us. Fortunately, most of the remaining troops are cavalry.”
“Our Khwarezm cavalry wouldn’t be easily wiped out.”
“Indeed.”
They were trying to console themselves, but everyone knew the cavalry survived not because of superiority but because they used the slower infantry as shields and fled without looking back.
The few infantry who managed to escape were almost miraculous.
How fit must they be to escape on foot from that battlefield?
“If we return to the capital, can we reorganize and face the Crusaders again?”
”…I’m afraid it’s impossible in the short term. The losses from this battle are too great, and it will take time to persuade the regional amirs.”
“What if they advance on us?”
“The Byzantines will likely stop at reclaiming Anatolia. They can’t maintain more territory.”
With Crusader help, they could seize much of Khwarezm, but the Crusaders wouldn’t just hand over land to the Byzantines.
They’d likely demand reparations and a surrender treaty.
Even that would be a severe blow to Khwarezm.
The lands they secured by appeasing the Caliph and crushing the Seljuk remnants would be lost.
Having to hand everything over to the Eastern Roman Empire was enough to make anyone’s stomach churn.
The most despairing part was the realization that, having lost this war, there was no way to push the Eastern Romans back, no matter how much time passed.
In fact, there was a chance they might be pushed back by the resurgent power of the Eastern Romans and have to tread carefully around them.
No, there wasn’t even a guarantee that he could hold onto the sultan’s seat until such a situation arose.
“For now, we need to find a way to minimize our losses in this situation… Is there any clever strategy we can use?”
“First, we must return to the capital and find a means to negotiate with the enemy. They’ve surely gained immense confidence from their victory in this war. However, they are a coalition, not a single entity. If we exploit that, there’s a high chance they won’t be able to coordinate their opinions. Minimizing our losses in this way is our best option, isn’t it?”
Had Sultan Tekish of the Great Khwarazm Empire ever been forced into such a humiliating negotiation before?
Engaging in such a pitiful conversation made the reality of their defeat in the war weigh heavily on his heart.
If only this were a dream. Tekish sighed repeatedly, indulging in that futile fantasy hundreds of times.
Just then, an uninvited guest burst into the tent, raising his voice.
“Your Majesty! Your Majesty! There you are. An urgent message has arrived from the capital! You must see it immediately.”
“What urgent message could there be in this situation…?”
“Could it be a rebellion?”
What else could a messenger bring in such a frenzy during these times? Surely, it was news of disloyal subjects refusing to serve a king who had lost a battle.
With hands trembling in anger, Tekish took the urgent message from the capital.
Who would dare to commit treason at a time like this…?
”…What?”
Just because one act ends doesn’t mean the play is over.
Misfortune tends to pour down like a torrential rain.
The sultan’s voice, filled with disbelief, hung heavily in the tent.