People in the Middle Ages, draw cards to get promoted

Chapter 891 Abandoned Son
Hit! Hit! Hit it for me!
Looking at those golden magic-blocking crossbow arrows in a triangular shape, he predicted the various angles at which the magic dragon would dodge.

Malik's heart rose to his throat for a moment. In a trance, he seemed to see the arrogant dragon-riding demon king falling from the sky, the huge dragon being stepped on by him, and all his subjects crawling at his feet and cheering.

But in a flash, this imagined picture was shattered by reality.

The seemingly huge dragon easily passed through the crossbow blockade in a sophisticated manner that was totally inconsistent with its size. It seemed that it was only a hair's breadth away, but this hair's breadth was the distance between heaven and hell.

Malik knew very well that this terrifying enemy would never give them the chance to fire a second round of crossbow arrows.

Roar!
With an angry dragon roar, the three huge dragon heads of the magic dragon opened their huge mouths full of white fangs at the same time, and the temperature in the air instantly climbed to the extreme.

boom!
The three-colored dragon flames poured down onto the city walls like giant pillars supporting the sky.

In an instant, the tower collapsed and flames burned the city.

It was as if they were in an endless hell of fire. Countless figures, without even having time to scream, were burned to ashes in the scorching dragon flames.

The firelight turned his face orange.

He was stunned for a long time, and even forgot to consider how many people they had lost in this offensive, and how terrifying the next offensive of the Frankish barbarians would be.

"Holy Fire!"

Mujit, who was standing by, was so frightened that his face turned pale and he kept reciting scriptures and praying.

He is the guard officer of Damascus and has been stationed in Damascus. Although he has heard many legends about the Frankish Devil, he always has a trace of disdain in his heart, thinking that it is an excuse for losers to find for themselves.

"He really has such terrible power!"

"This is the opponent who made my father so worried and sleepless that his old illness relapsed and he was bedridden. How could I be so arrogant as to think that I could turn the tide?"

Malik sighed somewhat dejectedly. As an enterprising heir to a dynasty, he was not like ordinary people who would pin their hopes on illusory beliefs.

But at this moment, apart from praying for the protection of the holy fire, he seemed unable to do anything effective.

The helplessness in his heart was intertwined into a bitter thought: You have such terrible power, why are you still attacking the city honestly?
Why didn't it just take our lives when it flew over our heads that day?
No wonder her father never interfered in the city's military affairs since the Crusaders began to siege the city. Perhaps in her eyes, all her efforts would be in vain in the end.

"enough."

Lothar patted Ladon's head gently. He was not a destroyer of civilization like the Tatar who wanted to turn the whole world into a pasture. Damascus would be in his hands, so he would naturally not allow Ladon to wreak havoc.

The dragon flame gradually died down, but the morale of the defenders on the city wall quickly plummeted to the bottom.

boom--

A huge siege tower was built on the city wall. The Flemish flag team and the Swiss halberd flag team, armed with short-handled weapons such as battle axes and hammers and shields, rushed out of the siege tower and began to advance in a tacitly coordinated manner.

They formed a shield wall and advanced in unison, constantly squeezing the enemy's living space on the city wall, leaving ample room for subsequent troops to climb the wall.

More and more Crusaders began to climb onto the city walls. The morale of the Saracen defenders was greatly shaken and they were simply unable to contend with them. Even the most elite Kassagi Guards were at a loss in this situation.

"Your Highness, the first wall can no longer be defended."

Mujit urged Malik anxiously, hoping that he could leave the city wall immediately and retreat to the inner city.

But Malik seemed to have lost his soul, and his eyes no longer had the vitality they had before.

"Your Highness!"

"Mujit, do we still have a chance of winning?"

Mujit hesitated for a moment, but still said: "Of course, His Majesty must have a backup plan. As long as we hold on firmly, there will definitely be a way!"

"Forget it, don't lie to me."

"Mujit, you are my father's most loyal confidant. Can you tell me now where the treasures and weapons that were lost in the account have gone?"

Mujit's expression changed slightly.

Looking at Mujit's expression, Malik chuckled and said, "Now, these things should have reached Aleppo, in the hands of my useless brother, right?"

It was not until now that he finally realized his father's true thoughts. All those who remained in Damascus were abandoned.

Perhaps Aziz was a coward, or perhaps it was because he saw through this that he chose to abandon the city and flee.

"I just don't understand why my father would place the last hope of the family on Zahir. Can he handle this important task?"

Mujit was silent for a moment, and then he said, "Your Highness, His Majesty has never placed his hopes on His Highness Zahir. In Aleppo, there is General Takieddin, who secretly controls a group of elite royal troops."

He paused for a moment, then continued, "He will escort some of your young nephews and lead the army northward, through the territories of the Seljuk states, and into the Caucasus Mountains."

"I see."

Malik smiled bitterly. He really didn't expect this result.

Takieddin was indeed very talented, but when he was governor of Egypt before, he did a lot of ridiculous things, and someone even accused him of colluding with Christians.

When Saladin reprimanded the fat man in front of everyone, Malik once thought that this man had been exiled from the core of power as Zahir's deputy.

"I didn't expect that the person my father trusted the most was him."

Malik smiled bitterly and drew his weapon from its sheath: "General Mujit, go and protect my father. Let's say that his eldest son and heir died on the walls of Damascus, fighting against the infidels to protect his country."

"Your Highness!"

Mugit raised his voice, but in the end he just watched the prince's back silently and did not continue to dissuade him.

Just as Malik said, now, all those who remain in Damascus have become abandoned pawns, and the best fate is to die fighting the infidels as Malik chose.

More than a dozen Kasaji guards followed in silence. They were the most loyal warriors of the royal family, and at this moment they chose to follow Malik's footsteps.

"Come on, you bastards!"

Malik led these dozen elite soldiers and rushed towards the oncoming Crusader infantry knights.

These foot knights all wore barrel helmets, chain mail and smocks, and wielded two-handed swords, and their combat power was extremely fierce.

Most of them were poor Germanic knights who could not afford new armor and still used old equipment, but one thing they were better than their Gallic counterparts was that they were better at fighting on foot.

In the classic game that Lothar often played when he was a child in his previous life, the famous army called "Teutonic Knights" was inspired by these Germanic knights who were good at infantry combat.

But these Teutonic warriors, who were full of murderous intent and covered in blood, were immediately at a disadvantage when facing Malik and his guards.

Even among the Kasaji Guards, there are differences in strength. The guards under Malik are naturally the elite among the elite. They have all taken potions prepared by spellcasters such as Shemaier, and their combat effectiveness has exceeded that of ordinary soldiers.

"kill!"

Malik stabbed his sword into the gap of the Teutonic warrior's helmet in front of him, and the blood sprayed all over his face. He didn't feel sick, but felt that this was the most satisfying moment of his life in these days.

This group of Teutonic warriors was quickly wiped out by them, but soon afterwards, a group of foot knights wearing red robes with octagonal cross emblems painted on their chests appeared again in the distance.

Malik knew that this was the most valiant and warlike knight of the monastic order among the Franks, but his attire was unfamiliar, so he should not be from the two most difficult knight orders.

"Kill all the infidels!"

"For the eternal burning of the sacred fire, in the name of Ayub!"

He roared and led his men to charge forward again.

But this time, his opponents were no longer ordinary people.