Chapter 44: El Cid, the Death Knight [1] - I am Rodrigo Diaz of Vivar

Chapter 44: El Cid, the Death Knight [1] - I am Rodrigo Diaz of Vivar

[Note: The following adheres to the historical context and may contain fictional additions. It is by no means intended to be offensive, rude, dishonorable, or damage anything or anyone.]

Long ago, Spain was deprived of the happiness it once deserved. The land was war-torn, divided by the Christians and the Moors. Not accepting such divisions, a certain someone planned his way to conquer Spain, and perhaps destroy it in the process if necessary. 

He was the African Emir, Ben Yusuf, who was gathering his savage forces across the Mediterranean Sea, on the Northern Shores of Africa.

Clack - Clack - Clack

Ben Yusuf arrived at the arid plains of Al-Andalus on his black horse. Clad in a black garment and similar clothing that covered half his face, Ben Yusuf seemed a bit mysterious and terrifying, living up to the rumors. He was a wise and shrewd man, neither too prompt in his determinations nor too slow in carrying them into effect. He spoke Arabic poorly.

Yusuf was of average build and stature. He had a clear brown complexion and a thin beard. His voice was soft, his speech elegant. His eyes were black, his nose was hooked, and he had fat on the fleshy portions of his ears. His hair was curly, and his eyebrows met above his nose.

The sun hung low in the sky, casting long shadows across the arid plains of Al-Andalus. General Ben Yusuf stood before the assembled emirs, his voice thundering like the distant roll of war drums.

"Emirs of Al-Andalus!" he bellowed, his eyes ablaze with fervor. "Have you forgotten our sacred mission? Our destiny is to unite the Islamic world, yet here you sit, drinking the poison of peace with Christians! This betrayal will not stand."

"Just how long will you live in this fake glory? When men speak of you, they speak of poets... music makers, doctors, scientists," Yusuf's body trembled, his eyes red, and his voice carried a different kind of power.

"Where are your warriors?"

The gathered emirs looked at each other as a moment of silence was maintained.

"You dare call yourselves sons of the Prophet?"

"Women! You have become women!"

Yusuf believed that women were useless in war, and thus, called the emirs that as an insult, which worked perfectly as a few of them were seen clenching their fists and biting their lips.

"Are you angered by my words? Does it make you feel insecure?!"

"Tsk, I merely speak the truth! You have become weak! You can't gain glory like this!"

Hearing that, one of the emirs stood up, his body vibrating vigorously due to the continued insult. He wanted to spring forward, retort to what Yusuf said; unfortunately, he couldn't do so. He was bound by shackles... the shackles of truth and fear. Truth because whatever Yusuf said was the truth and fear because the hilt of a sword was visible on Yusuf's waist. Furthermore, his guards remained close by. One step could lead to his instant death!

Fearing all this, the emir sat down, following which, Yusuf continued with a thunderous roar, much louder and more energetic than the previous!

"Burn your books."

"Make warriors of your poets."

"Let your doctors invent new poisons for our arrows."

"Let your scientists invent new weapons."

"And then, kill!"

As these words echoed, a few more emirs stood up, this time their blood boiling with what they heard.

Yusuf walked close to them, staring right at their faces.

"Infidels live on your frontiers. Encourage them to kill each other."

His voice then lowered as he turned back, walking back to his initial position, "And when they are weak and torn…"

"I will storm up from Africa... and thus the Empire of the one God, the true God Allah..."

Hearing his words, almost all emirs were now standing, raising their hands. Each of them screamed with all of their might, "Allah is the one God," which synchronized with Yusuf's voice.

"…will spread."

"First, across Spain."

"Then, across Europe."

"Then, the whole world!"

The soldiers who stood in the background could hear this mighty roar. They were pumped with energy as they clenched their fists, ready to go out to the war anytime.

…

Allen opened his eyes, blinking a few times as he noticed that he had possessed yet another body, this time of a young man with blonde hair, wearing a rather normal outfit that resembled to be quite old but somewhat expensive, resembling the medieval times. 

This possession felt somewhat familiar and at the same time, somewhat different. The familiarity was with the Death Knight's body, and the difference lay in the fact that, unlike the Death Knight, he couldn't control this body. All he could do was watch from two different views - the body's eyes and from a 3rd person perspective which made him appear like a spirit standing next to the person.

He turned around only to look at a destroyed village. The buildings had turned into rubbles that were on fire, the road tainted with blood, and even the church had been destroyed. The man stood in front of a cross that was tilted to the side with many arrows pierced to it. Close to it stood a man who wore a white robe. He was half bald with a tiny amount of white hairs, resembling how old he was.

"Heavenly Father, we are lost and in darkness," an old and hoarse voice escaped the old man's mouth as he took support of the stony platform that barely supported the cross. One could feel agony in his voice.

"Once again, they destroy our homes, take away our people, torture them and kill them…"

"Please help us, Father."

"Send us someone…"

"Someone who will show the light…"

"Someone who will take us to the light."

"Someone… anyone…" The old man knelt on the ground and touched the platform with his forehead, his face drenched with tears. 

'Quite pitiful,' Allen thought to himself, and so did the body of the young man. 

The young man couldn't witness the scene any longer. With measured steps, and sheathing the sword, he walked towards the old man and gently tapped his back.

"Father…" A deep and gentle voice escaped the man's mouth as he slowly supported the old man, helping him and lifting him up slowly. The old man was on his feet thanks to the support. After standing, he looked back momentarily, looking at the arrow-pierced cross. He noticed the flames that slowly came towards the statue.

"The Cross…"

"The Cross…" The old man gestured towards it with a humble plea.

"Right, the cross." With a short smile, the man walked towards the cross and unsheathed the sword, cutting out the arrows and pulling the arrowheads away. 

After that, sheathing his sword, he grabbed the wooden cross with both his hands and used his power, lifting it in one go - which should usually be an impossible feat for a single person!

"Let's go, Father," he said as he placed the cross on his shoulders and approached the Father close behind.

"Yes…"

They made a swift escape from the spreading flames, moving away from the place. As the young man carried the cross, the old man gently placed his arm from below, as if supporting the cross. Although his efforts didn't help, it was a nice gesture seen from an old man. 

With a few steps, they soon arrived at the center of the city where many soldiers, some villagers, and a few captives were present.

The young man placed the cross gently on the ground as the old man walked to his side and carefully observed the scratches on the cross. 

The young man with a sorrowful and deep voice said, "Forgive me, we couldn't save your village… All we could do was capture their leaders."

Hearing that, the old man raised his gaze and wiped his tears with his cloak-like shawl. Now with a curious gaze, he stared at the man and asked, "W-who are you?"

"Rodrigo."

"I am Rodrigo Diaz of Vivar."

"…"