xymnovel Chapter 97 It wasn't me who ruined you, it was Gerald who ruined you.
Chapter 97 It wasn't me who ruined you, it was Gerald who ruined you.
"That's impossible!" Guy roared, veins bulging on his forehead. "I never authorized anyone..."
“Of course not, Sir,” Lyon interrupted him, a hint of pity in his voice. “You are merely a facade he uses to deceive others. He uses your name, under the pretext of ‘supporting the future king,’ to cheaply acquire the properties of minor nobles whose lives are hanging by a thread under Saladin’s threat, to win people over and form a small group loyal only to him. And the profits…”
Lyon's finger moved to several large sums of gold coins: "Most of it went into his secret accounts in Venice and Genoa. In his eyes, you may be a useful flag, but more so a tool that can be sacrificed at any time, a tool stained with disgrace."
"Gerald has always been fond of amassing wealth, I've always known that. His actions... might not necessarily be considered betrayal." Guy gritted his teeth, still stubbornly insisting, "Your Highness, perhaps..."
"Don't rush, there's more to come," Leon said in an even lower voice, as if he were recounting a secret. "About the former Grand Master who was captured three years ago at the Battle of Jacob's Shoals and then died unexpectedly in Saladin's prison... Don't you find it strange? Saladin was known for his chivalry and rarely mistreated or even killed prisoners of high status, especially a Grand Master of the Knights Templar."
Lyon pulled out a smaller, unusual papyrus from under the scroll. It contained fragments of a contract written in secret and a wax seal resembling the tip of a dagger—Guy suddenly remembered that this was the symbol of the Assassins.
"We obtained this through some means from an intermediary who...prefers to remain anonymous. The contract required ensuring the former Grand Master's 'permanent silence,' and the source of the payment, after layers of disguise, ultimately pointed to...a 'special operations fund' of the Knights Templar in Jerusalem, approved by Gerald, the then-vice Grand Master who was eager to take over."
The room was deathly silent; Guy could hear his own heart pounding.
Gerald, the man who claimed to be fighting for the glory of God and the Knights, the man who seemed to be his brother, actually paved his way to power by murdering his superiors, embezzling property, and framing his allies.
What exactly was Guy of Lucinnan to Gerald? A plaything he manipulated, a shield for his dirty deeds?
A chill, a mixture of betrayal, humiliation, and fear, instantly swept over Guy.
He remembered Gerald always telling him that "the throne should belong to you" and "Lyon is a threat from nowhere," urging him to fight for it. Now he understood that what Gerald needed was not a real king, but an easily controlled puppet who could bear the blame for him and be discarded at any time when necessary!
Suddenly, Guy downed the wine in his glass in one gulp and slammed the silver glass down on the table with a loud thud.
"Liar... Shameless thief! Bloodthirsty jackal!" Guy's growl was squeezed out from between his teeth.
At this moment, he was no longer the dejected wounded man he once was, but rather like a trapped beast that had been thoroughly enraged, struggling to stand up. However, due to his leg injury, he staggered and had no choice but to slam his fist heavily on the armrest of the soft couch.
"I considered him my closest confidant... and I actually believed every single word he uttered! For those filthy dinars, he tarnished his knightly oath! For that Grand Master's position, he dared to murder... murder someone more deserving of that honor than himself!"
After a long silence, Guy finally asked Lyon in a voice so tired it was almost inaudible, "Why are you showing me this?"
"It's simple, because I need allies. Politics is about making more allies and fewer enemies," Lyon said sincerely. "And you, Guy of Lucignan, I believe we've never been enemies. You are an ally that can be won over and trusted."
"Of course, you might feel that I already have enough allies, making you seem insignificant. No, you have no need to belittle yourself." Lyon looked him straight in the eye. "Because compared to Saladin, Jerusalem is still too weak to withstand another internal upheaval and infighting. Who sits on the throne is, in some ways, less important than whether the kingdom can unite against Saladin. His Majesty and the nobles of the kingdom will not allow the forces protecting this holy land to be corrupted and exploited by a schemer who murders his comrades and plunders his subjects."
Lyon stepped forward, his tone earnest: "Sir Guy, you are a noble knight from Poitou. Three years ago, you proved your bravery and honor with your sword in the battle, only to be denied reward for the defeat. Now, your honor should not be built on lies, betrayal, and the blood of the innocent. Gerald has led you down a precipice. What the kingdom needs is your sword and your loyalty, used in a righteous and honorable way."
Guy slumped back, closed his eyes, as if struggling with an internal conflict.
Guy opened his eyes, looking at Lyon with a complicated expression: "Your Highness... what do you want me to do?"
"It's not my choice, but rather how you intend to choose, Sir," Lyon said sincerely. "The war with Saladin is only temporarily over. Once winter is over, Saladin will surely return. At that time, you can certainly be awarded the title of centurion by the King based on your unmentioned and unrecorded victory three years ago, and each of you, along with Balian of Ibelin, will command a thousand knights of your kingdom. I look forward to seeing you recapture the glory of the Knight of Poitou in future battles."
Guy took a deep breath, as if trying to expel all the filth from his chest. He struggled, supporting himself with his arms, and pulled the longsword from the weapon rack beside him, raising it to his chest and leaning slightly towards Lyon.
"I swear by the family sword of Lusignan and my own honor that Guy of Lusignan will be loyal to his lord until death—Baldwin de Anjou, King of Jerusalem, and…" Guy paused, scrutinizing Lyon, "and his rightful heir apparent. He was, he is, and he will be."
Guy sheathed his sword, sat heavily back in his chair, and closed his eyes tightly. He tried to regulate his breathing and make himself look less embarrassed. "You have achieved your goal. Goodbye."
Just then, a light, slightly hurried footstep sounded outside the door, accompanied by a maid's joyful announcement: "Sir, Your Highness, Princess Isabella's carriage has arrived at the gates of Jaffa!"
The heavy atmosphere in the room was instantly broken.
"It seems the time for celebration has arrived." Lyon smiled slightly and extended his hand to Guy. "Can you stand up, Sir? We should go and greet the future Queen of Rome."
"Actually... your leg has been healed for a long time, right?"