He pushed up his visor and clasped his hands together with whatever was left of his rosary bound tightly in his mangled fingers. His tears were trailing through the mud, blood, and sweat on his face and running down his scarred chin. Caught between the chaos, in this land rife with heathenry and unholiness, he prayed to his Lord whom he desired with all his heart, as if he desired to return home to his mother.
Shaking, he muttered a prayer, an act he had not committed since his deliverance into this world. "Lord. Oh Lord? I am here! Have you listened to my cries? Forgive me for I'm of great sin! But I pray to you for the souls of my friends who suffer at the hands of the devil. Lord help me! Grant me the strength to carry thy sword and banish the evil that torments this world. Grant me the courage to protect them, Lord! Amen! Amen!"
1409 A.D.
Under the moon of Lithuania, a group of knights set themselves upon a quiet fishing village like wolves. They came riding from the north down the slope of a hill, their white capes flapping in the cold wind with great menace.
The watchmen of the village rang bells and alerted the folk to run. But, by the time the entire village heard of their coming, the villainous horsemen surged through the gate, shouting and flashing their steel. So the watchmen, who were outnumbered and outmaneuvered, saw no reason to fight and surrendered their will. They threw their spears down and unlatched their helmets, no longer soldiers but mere fathers and sons, groveling before their enemies who were of the Teutonic Order. Without resistance, the Teutonic Knights set forth in their looting, their pleasures, and their murder.
Of these horsemen was a young and sparse knight, 17 years of age. He jumped down from his horse and broke into a women's house with his warhammer. He came out with bread and dried sausage links which dangled from his arms, and like a dog, stuffed his mouth full. His name was Anselm Konrad. A wayward son of a father that of ill-repute.
Anselm starved through the days before this pillaging and only sought meat and bread. His group was part of the vanguard which sought to disrupt resources and labor alike from aiding the Polish King Wladyslaw II. But most of their pillaging rewards were given to men of higher nobility, while Anselm's group was subjected to grain and gruel. But because there was not enough for the rest, not even he was given time to eat. Until now, where their work was approved and they were given free reign to sustain themselves in any way they could.
Among the chaos, a Lithuanian monk in ragged robes taunted the knights, a large cross dangling from his neck as he waddled through the looting.
"German devils! All of you stink to high hell of sin! I pity you all! Do you not know that this is a place of the Lord?! Fools the lot of you!"
Anselm could not help but stare. The monk was more of a hermit. His skin loosely hang from his bones, his beard was long and ragged, and his sunken eyes were red. He stopped to where Anselm stood and all sorts of mannerisms in the hermit then changed as he stared at the young Knight with large, bulging, eyes.
"Go back to your hut old fool! Or by god you may get a blade through your throat!" Anselm said to the hermit, before swallowing his meal whole.
But the hermit was undeterred by him. Instead, he only stared into Anselm's eyes with intense sadness and grief, the likes of which irked Anselm that his desire for his food was stemmed.
The hermit's hands, frail and thin, hovered over his chest as he crossed himself. "Christ… Oh Christ have mercy on this child."
Anselm's chewing slowed to a halt and he suddenly found himself gripped by a fear never felt before. Threats were nothing he wasn't used too, yet these words of the hermit struck him harder than a lashing from his commander could ever do.
The young knight was no longer chewing, pieces of sausage and bread fell from his teeth when the hermit clasped his hands together.
"God be with this young man… Do not forsake him!"
The hermit then closed his eyes. Anselm heard him murmur a prayer in Lithuanian, either for him or for his own sake, as Anselm's commander rode behind the priest and slew him with his sword.
Laughing and screaming under his great winged helm, his commander shouted to Anselm. "Anselm you savage pup! Leave the food to the rest of your brothers!"
He did what his commander bid him to do. He dropped the food on the ground, but it was done more out of spite rather than obedience, as he tainted the meat in hoof-placed mud and speckled the bread in dirt. The priest's words, though small and quiet, still rang through Anselm's ears immensely and he could do nothing but stand there.
They struck true to him in some way. The priest cared for his soul. But why? Anselm knew it himself that he stank of sin. He thought he was too far gone and only ever yearned for his sufferings to end by the blade. So why did this priest who he never met, waste a prayer that the Lord be with him?
He swept aside such questions. He was a hermit. He was no priest or bishop. Perhaps it was nothing more than the musings of a mad man.
After another hour of looting, the Teutonic Knights took the village as a temporary encampment. They strung together a great bonfire to warm themselves in the middle of night, feasting from their rewards. They forced a Lithuanian eccentric to play them a tune from his Ocarina, while knights laughed in their humiliation towards him and kicked at the man.
But Anselm did not participate in the feast, even if it was against his stomach's desire, and instead carried the body of the hermit far from the bonfire. He was so light that Anselm felt as if he was holding nothing but a bundle of sticks in his arms.
And I thought I was already dying of hunger? How many days had he gone without any bread?
He sat down the hermit to a clearing in the nearby forest, near the river where the water was rushing and the song of a turtledove echoed in the night. Morning was already coming.
He dug out a hole for the hermit to be buried in, and with haste, constructed a cross out of two dead branches and sharpened its end so it would stab into the earth.
But before he lifted the body into its grave, he went back to the bonfire where his comrades were finally still and exhausted from the feasting. He looked for brother Bernard, a pot-bellied knight who was well-versed in Latin prayer. He would be the one to pray for the hermit when he faced the Lord.
Anselm found him snoring on his back, clutching a wine cup to his chest with purple stains over his surcoat.
"Brother! Bernard! Wake up! Come on you fat man get up!"
A simple kick was enough to spring the white-bearded man awake from his slumber. He rubbed his eyes, licked his lips.
"Ehhh." Bernard groaned but his lips curled into a smile when he saw Anselm. "Ah! Anselm! If you wanted wine, I'm afraid its all gone! Me and Eric had a 'small' competition! Hehehe!"
"Bernard. I need you to pray for a burial."
He dusted breadcrumbs off from his tabard. "For whom? Did we lose a brother?"
"No, it's for…" Anselm stopped. It was at this point he took a moment to realize why he was doing this for the hermit in the first place. The whole night, he had carried the body, dug the hole, and even assembled a cross all without reconsideration until now. It felt as if he were not even present when doing all of that. His thirst and hunger for food was even absent ever since.
He really did not know why he was doing all of this.
'God be with this young man… Do not forsake him!'
"Just help me, I'll make sure to cover for you on the next watch." Anselm said.
Bernard stroked his beard and smirked, his cheeks still red from last night. He never liked the night watch. "Hmph. Very well! Let us go then! Though, I am still hankered from last night so do not expect a holy performance."
He grunted getting up. He always made a noise when moving.
"Just say the words. I will pray as well but I can't afford a silent burial for this man."
Bernard thought of asking again who exactly they were burying. But whether he knew him or not, he guessed didn't matter. He just wanted to sleep during the night watches. So, he went ahead with Anselm furthermore just to get this chore over with.
When Anselm finally came back to the hole, he noticed the calmness of the body was present. The hermit, who was always raving and taunting was asleep, carried a cold but neutral expression. The serenity Anselm felt from his face was almost too much to bear as grief and guilt slowly crept into his heart.
He swallowed, and knelt on one knee, clasping his hands together, sternly closing his eyes. He both prayed to himself for the entrance of the hermit's soul to be received by the lord, and then waited for Bernard.
And then he waited again. Again. And again before finally breaking from his prayer. Dammit all! The wine-drunken fool must've fallen asleep!
"Christ! Are you even awa-"
When he opened his eyes, Anselm saw that the body of the hermit was gone. The hole was nowhere to be found as well and even Bernard was absent. The forest which he stood in was now of brick and stone. He could not see any of his brothers, but saw a bustling crowd of people walk to and fro in front of him, made up of beastmen and folk he could not recognize.
I see. I'm too late.
I am in Hell.
I really needed to get this out of my head. Obviously, this is heavily inspired by Masked Spider's "Re:Zero A New Crusade" which I wholeheartedly recommend that you read before reading this. It is full of detailed writing and even does a good way of changing the story around the character itself rather than making them Subaru but with armor and a sword. I also wrote this out of my love for History and also because I always wondered how would our historical friends react to such worlds? We see how the average 21st century NEET (Such as Natsuki Subaru) would fare and grow in a brutal world such as Lugnica. But then how would it shape the convictions and morals of a 15th century warrior from Northern Europe? Hopefully it would make for a good story. Also, do feel free to leave a review of your thoughts. What could be improved? What would you like to see? Most importantly, is it good? Anything works and will help me write even more.