War of Faith

page views:1 Publication date:2023-03-24

As a female knight of the Knights Templar, Ellie de Brion and her companions faced an extremely cruel and ruthless fate.

Yesterday, July 23, 1148, they were defeated outside Damascus, and seventy-eight female Templar prisoners of war would be executed by Islamic law at noon today for their heresy, which was considered an offense against Allah.
The Saracens (a general term for Arabs in medieval Europe) did not massacre infidels like the Christians, but the Muslims' mercy was limited to the basic respect between men. Unlike Europeans, they did not possess the extra chivalry to spare women—in the eyes of the Saracen warriors, those female Christians who came to the battlefield were morally corrupt and unworthy of being treated as prisoners of war.

Captured Christian male warriors, if they were willing to convert to Allah or pay ransom, could usually escape unscathed and receive friendly treatment. They could board Venetian ships in Acre and return to Europe. But women were not so fortunate; they had no say in their own destiny. According to Islamic law, women were perhaps even closer to being unclean animals than humans.

But who could be blamed for this? These young women, seeking the freedom of riding swords on horseback, to escape the constraints of their homeland's customs, and to revere their God, risked everything to join the Knights' Order, arriving in Palestine as nuns, and transforming themselves into heroines. They resolutely threw themselves under the banner of the Crusades—which meant they should have been prepared for the fate of women on the battlefield… Ellie

was tall and athletic, standing at five feet eight inches, more impressive not only among women but even compared to most underdeveloped, impoverished serf men of her time; this was due to the excellent knightly bloodline of the Earl of Champagne (albeit a illegitimate collateral branch) flowing through her veins, and the diligent and long-term martial arts training she received in the Knights' Monastery.

Although she had shaved her head to become a nun upon joining the monastery, after joining the Crusades and arriving in the Eastern battlefields, Ellie gradually grew her hair back to its original, dazzling golden color, a mark of Charlemagne and the glorious bloodline of her people. Even without any special preparation, it was still captivating.

Ellie gritted her teeth as she watched her friends being led by the Saracens to the stakes with chains, like dogs on leashes—a truly humiliating sight.

A young female attendant beside Ellie shook her head indignantly and sighed, "Ah, if only that damned King hadn't abandoned us..."

Twelve-year-old Lisanna, ten years younger than Ellie, was her personal horse-riding attendant. This clever girl, with her quick and sharp eyes, was quite sensible and had a clear and swift mind. Although somewhat lacking in tact, the knight's treasurer and clerk praised this bright child highly and always hoped to take Lisanna in as her treasurer's apprentice.

"Stop talking, it's no use saying these things anymore. All we can do now is pray to the Lord to welcome the final moment." After comforting Ellie, Marian was also grabbed by the collar by a Saracen soldier. She smiled bitterly at Ellie and said, "It's time! In the name of the Lord Jesus Christ, we will meet again in the Lord's thousand-year kingdom."
Marian was the first to be tortured. With the name of the Virgin Mary, she also had a face as white and dignified as the Virgin Mary in a church mosaic window, a tall and slender figure, and a head of tea-brown hair. Even though this sword-wielding friar knight, only nineteen years old, had lost her virginity to Saracen soldiers when she was captured, she still gritted her teeth and endured until now.

The Saracen warrior, acting as the executioner, differed from the other savage soldiers with lewd smiles. He wore a finely dyed cotton robe, had a meticulously trimmed mustache, and his face was clean-shaven. His calm and composed demeanor suggested he was a well-educated nobleman. This Saracen nobleman, his hand on his sword, stared at the female prisoners dragged before him.

His gaze swept over them, and he suddenly frowned. A few words escaped his lips in Arabic, and the soldiers escorting Marian softened their grip, ceasing their lewd advances towards her.

"Frankish woman, pray to your God," the Saracen nobleman said awkwardly in Latin to Marian, who was kneeling on the ground, drawing his sword.

(In contrast to the Saracens, Muslims in the Middle Ages referred to Europeans as "Franks," a term that might sound closer to "Frangki" in Arabic. This is also the origin of the nickname for European cannons that entered China.)

Marianne stopped struggling. She took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and murmured a few words.

Just as the murmur ended, the scimitar flashed past, reflecting the sunlight, leaving a dazzling light as it cleanly severed her neck with a soft "crack," leaving a trail of blood on the ground. Her head was cleanly and decisively severed.

Headless, Marianne struggled weakly. Bright red blood gushed from her severed neck like a fountain. Her trachea, esophagus, and spinal cord contracted inward due to nerve reflexes, gradually slowing the blood flow. She slowly bent over and finally lay face down on the ground.

No one uttered a sound until the Saracen nobleman turned away to wipe the blood from his blade with a linen cloth. Only then did the Saracen soldiers rush forward with glee. They tore Marianne's white robe with a red cross, stripped off her chainmail, and ripped off her riding boots and golden spurs. For some reason, however, her silk stockings were left intact; perhaps the Muslim soldiers wanted to enjoy some pleasure later when they toyed with Marianne.
The strong-willed Marianne no longer had the strength to resist. Her headless body was caressed and kneaded by the savage infidels. Her once pristine skin was now even paler from blood loss. Her soft, pitiful body was carried outside the execution ground. Before being disemboweled and turned into flesh, Marianne's body would likely be raped by the soldiers for quite some time.
As for her head, its eyes were slightly open, staring blankly and dazedly at her body that had been taken from her, until it was finally pulled by the hair by a Saracen nobleman and thrown onto a wooden box beside him, disappearing from Ellie's sight.
The next one to be led away was Eska from Tripoli. Twenty-one years old, she was a descendant of Lebanese who had converted to Christianity, with short, slightly curly, dark brown hair, and handsome, refined features, like a Saracen youth before he grew a beard.

The Saracen soldiers watching sighed with admiration and regret, and even the nobleman executioner with the knife seemed somewhat hesitant. He approached Eska and asked in Latin, "Woman, you are not like a Frank. If you are willing to convert to Allah, I can let you go."

If Eska nodded in agreement at this moment, none of her sisters and comrades would blame her. But she didn't. She sniffed, then shook her head. With her handsome Eastern face, she gave the Saracen nobleman a slight smile—a smile both sorrowful and beautifully elegant.

"I'm sorry, I prefer being a knight. If I were to become a Muslim, I wouldn't be able to carry a sword."

Many of the other female prisoners kneeling on the ground wept. They were moved and saddened by Esca's chivalry. Someone as good as her should have been a devout Christian wife or a gentle nun raising children, not died in this barren Palestinian desert.

"...Please close your eyes."

The Saracen nobleman took a deep breath, suddenly raised his scimitar, and swung it down. Another young beauty's head flew off, blood splattering in the bright sunlight, landing on the sand, and then quickly being absorbed. What

the Saracen nobleman didn't have the courage to say was that Esca's appearance was very similar to his sister, who had been killed by the Crusaders in Tyre.

The noble swordsman carefully picked up Escargot's head. As he gazed at her innocent face, so similar to other Saracen girls her age, several unromantic Saracens dragged her away from the execution ground by the feet. Although the act lacked the exoticism of Western European women, the flesh was still undeniably lovely and flawless.

After composing himself, the Saracen nobleman returned to continue executing the female prisoners of war, deciding to speed things up to make up for his earlier dazed and melancholic state.

Besia, the standard-bearer, was a tall, blonde Germanic woman. Her decapitated body suddenly rose, startling the Saracen soldiers. Only the Saracen nobleman, wielding the sword, calmly kicked the headless, still taller than him, from behind, stomping on her buttocks until the blood had mostly drained away and her strong, sexy legs stopped kicking. However, once the twenty-year-old Besia's head was severed from her neck, her childlike double braids made her look no different from an ordinary village girl.

The Saracen nobleman, holding her head, couldn't help but laugh. Ellie, who knew a little Arabic, half-jokingly remarked as the executioner tossed Bessia's head before the skull box, "She really was born in the wrong body, this Frankish girl!"

In contrast, Cynthia and Ovira, the direct messengers, were rather thin and frail. They were executed one after another. Unlike most of the sisters in the knightly order, these two women from Flanders calmly faced their execution in nun's robes. So, after their beheadings, their fresh bodies, still dripping blood from their necks and trembling slightly, were quickly stripped naked and carried out by Saracen soldiers.

Meanwhile, Charlotte, the knightly order's treasurer and clerk... Virahadu, having endured severe torture, still refused to divulge any secrets, and was thus brought here in a near-death state. Perhaps due to the unique charisma and beauty of the chief scribe, the Saracen interrogators skillfully avoided torturing her face, making her appear no different from the other prisoners.

Although this blonde beauty, nearly exhausted, could only half-open her eyes, her emerald green eyes shone with an indomitable light. The Saracen soldiers dared not look directly at her, turning their heads away to avoid her gaze. The Saracen nobleman, however, seemed to admire this charisma, approaching her with great interest and conversing with her in Latin.
After a ceremonial re-examination, the young Saracen nobleman nodded in praise, saying, "Such is the way of a warrior!" Then, he swung his sword and beheaded Charlotte. A serene, relieved smile graced the blonde knight's face, perhaps the expression she showed to her husband who had died on the outskirts of Damascus.

The Saracen soldiers stripped off her robes, only to find Charlotte covered in wounds. But the men, eager for their own release, wouldn't complain too much about the minor injuries. After all, the headless bodies of these young female knights, devoid of self-awareness, probably wouldn't complain much about the wicked men who were toying with their bodies.
Lacking the rational mind full of maturity, intellect, and witty remarks, Charlotte no longer resisted the pagan men who craved her voluptuous body. Instead, she opened her arms to welcome their licking and caresses, letting them lift her up. Her headless, wounded body seemed to take flight against the yellow wind…

The Saracen executioners were highly skilled, and the number of female knights and nuns killed increased rapidly. Each one had their neck severed with a single stroke, their heads rolling to the ground, ending their short lives in an instant. It's lamentable that these were all devout, chaste heroines, young women in their late teens and early twenties, in the prime of their youth, yet they had to pay the ultimate price for the defeat of their kings and generals! Their

heads, still breathing, were lifted by their beautiful long hair and casually tossed into a nearby wooden crate; soon, the heads of the female Templar Knights piled up into a small mountain. Ellie grieved for her fallen and soon-to-be-death comrades, yet also felt fortunate to face death quickly and painlessly.
After all, not every Saracen was like this cultured noblewoman; the barbarity of these uncultured lower-ranking soldiers was indiscriminate, regardless of whether they were Christians or Muslims. Compared to rape followed by murder, killing first and then raping might be considered a relatively merciful treatment—at least, that's the only way Ellie could force herself to accept it.

Then another troublesome figure appeared, extending Ellie's life by a few minutes: Anna, the female doctor who volunteered to care for the Knights. Medici, because of her noble lineage, was not wanted to be killed by the Saracens. They only hoped she would temporarily convert and that her father in Florence would pay the ransom. However, like the men in the Medici family, the young lady of the Medici family was determined to die for money and dignity.
This eighteen-year-old Italian girl, with naturally reddish-brown hair, a pair of intelligent and captivating emerald eyes, a cute pointed chin, and small red lips, twisted her body, bound by ropes and shackles, in fierce protest.

"Don't be ridiculous! The Medici family will never produce an unrighteous person who betrays their Lord!"

Perhaps due to business dealings, she seemed quite familiar with this Ayyubid Arab warrior. The Medici lady cursed in fluent and perfect Arabic, while the Saracen nobleman replied somewhat flusteredly,

"But we don't want to kill you at all. Frankly, I also want a share of the ransom, and I hope you'll cooperate." "

I don't want to waste my father's money. Ahed, if you don't kill me with one blow, I'll bite my tongue off! Can you bear to watch me slowly bleed to death?"

"...I understand." Although he should have been the executioner of the victor, the Saracen nobleman's expression was like that of a defeated rooster, forced to accept the willful young lady's instructions, waving his hand for her to extend her neck for execution.

Anna's expression as she was beheaded was not that of a loser at all; her smile was frozen with the unique pride of a Medici family member, as if mocking the beleaguered young warrior Ahed.

Anna. Medici's body was carefully stripped of its clothes by the Saracen soldiers, even her silk undergarments were carefully hidden away. It seemed that even the uninformed Turks or Bedouins knew that the young lady's clothing was of high quality.

Born into a wealthy family, and carefully cared for by numerous servants and parents, the girl naturally possessed an extremely exquisite and beautiful appearance, like a work of art. Anna's flawless, milky-white skin was dazzling in the sunlight, her round breasts, the size of apples, stood erect on her chest, and her pink nipples stood erect from the stimulation of the decapitation. Between her long, smooth legs were small tufts of pubic hair, the same carrot-red color as her hair. The many Saracens who watched were simply amazed by this beautiful headless female body, and for a moment they forgot to defile her.

The bold young Bedouin was the first to lift Anna's delicate body. He sniffed it and exclaimed in surprise, "Hey, this Frankish woman has a strange fragrance." "

You ignorant fool, it's the scent of almonds! No wonder she's a lady of the Medici family, she has such a refined air." Several Islamic warriors who followed suit also sniffed it before laughing and teasing each other. Even

the Saracen nobleman carrying out the execution had no choice but to look at Anna. Medici glanced at her sideways, because even he, born into a wealthy tribe and bound by strict religious doctrine, rarely had the opportunity to see such a beautiful woman naked.
The most beautiful woman he had ever seen was Princess Kessia of the House of Baldwin in the Kingdom of Jerusalem. She had been captured by Islamic troops in Beirut last month, and because she recklessly fled without waiting for her father's ransom, she was beheaded from behind by pursuing Saracen cavalry. Kessia was only fifteen years old when she was killed.
The princess of the Kingdom of Jerusalem was then stripped naked, her beautiful headless body impaled on spears and displayed on the walls of Damascus to dry in the wind. Her head was salted and sent back to the Kingdom of Jerusalem. This was undoubtedly a cruel end for a beautiful young woman in the prime of her life.

Every time the Saracen noble warriors entered or left Damascus, they would look up at Princess Kessia's corpse, watching her humiliatingly spread legs, allowing the spear tip to pierce through her genitals and exit through her neck and esophagus. But for some reason, the Saracen nobles were deeply fascinated by this grotesque sight—what a beautiful and pitiful body it was!

Back in the present, beneath the walls of Damascus, the Franks who had foolishly come to avenge the princess would also follow in the footsteps of the Jerusalem princess, becoming blood sacrifices under the crescent blade in the name of Allah. The Saracen nobles brandished their swords again, and the heads of the female Templar Knights rolled to the ground like watermelons. Their headless bodies were carried aside by soldiers, stripped naked, raped, and finally dismembered for food.

After the massacre, only a few young girls remained among Ellie's comrades, mostly twelve or thirteen years old, young attendants who tended the knights' horses and carried their swords. They initially tried to hold back their tears, then burst into sobs; now their expressions were somewhat numb.

"...My God, those barbaric infidels."

Twelve-year-old Lisanna turned her head, her thick, pale blonde eyebrows, matching her hair, taut, drawing Ellie's curious gaze from the execution ground to the pile of corpses on the other side.

She saw several headless, pristine white bodies of young girls, their legs gripped and their private parts spread wide by Saracen soldiers, swaying and rocking with the thrusts of the Islamic warriors.
Although their heads had been chopped off, making identification difficult from the neck down, Ellie recognized Marianne, for she was still wearing white stockings with red crosses protecting her thighs when she was carried away.

Marianne's beautiful legs, clad in stockings, were being roughly spread apart by the infidels, her ankles seized, and mercilessly and violently violated. Ellie felt a sudden ache in her lower body and awkwardly tightened her legs. She had the illusion that Marianne's lifeless body was dancing and swaying with the infidels' thrusts. Perhaps it was this dangerous and rebellious fantasy that made her, lacking sexual experience, blush and her heart race.

The loss of her head seemed to accentuate Marianne's slender figure, while excessive bleeding made her skin alluringly white. Only a pair of stockings adorned her legs, further enhancing the sensuality of this nineteen-year-old knight's slender, well-trained body. The

Islamist soldier, who hadn't encountered a woman for some time due to his campaigns, unleashed his pent-up lust on the shapely, athletic knight's body. Because Marianne had only recently died, her body still retained a trace of warmth, and her vagina was moist. The sensations aroused the Saracen man immensely; the pleasure of a virgin in the holy war's paradise was nothing more than this.

As the climax approached, the Saracen man freed his hand from Marianne's right ankle, lifted her back, and brought her headless, voluptuous upper body closer, then passionately kissed her shoulders and small, firm nipples. This unconscious caressing was a position the Saracen man often used with his first wife, but she had died in childbirth with their first child before the war.

No matter how gently and delicately the Saracen man manicured Marian, the semen he ejaculated into her vagina the next moment could not conceive a new life. He withdrew from Marian's body, thick, white fluid flowing out, and the Saracen man slowly released her with a satisfied expression.

His colleague, who had just finished with Marian, complained impatiently, then pushed aside the previous player who hadn't even finished putting on his pants, eagerly taking Marian's body, ignoring the fact that her vagina was still smeared with other men's semen, and began thrusting again.

After the initial excitement, reason gradually returned, followed by a feeling of dizziness and nausea. Ellie turned to Lisanna and gave her a bitter smile: "On the bright side, thankfully it happened after we were beheaded."
"Perhaps... Lord, I can't believe we're going to fall into the hands of those pagan barbarians and be treated like this. Even Senior Escarina..."

She too was headless, but her bronze skin made her easily distinguishable. A Tripoli girl with a healthy complexion and a beautifully sculpted, strong body, she stood out among the many white girls.

Escarina's chivalry clearly only moved the Saracen nobles, while the soldiers, who disliked white women's bodies or spread rumors that all white women were prostitutes and were therefore afraid of contracting sexually transmitted diseases, all chose the Lebanese girl's body. Therefore, her tanned, healthy skin was very popular. Ellie glimpsed three Saracens raping her at the same time.

It was a truly breathtaking scene: a Saracen lying on the ground, penetrating her vagina; another kneeling, embracing Escargot's buttocks, thrusting into her anus; and the last one penetrating her recently severed trachea—since Escargot was an absolute virgin, all three orifices were mangled and bloody, a sight too painful to behold.

Fortunately, no matter how roughly the Saracens played with her, Escargot no longer cried out in pain or complained. She simply and obediently used her soft, supple, and healthy body to kindly and cooperatively please these Saracen men, who perhaps shared the same ancestral blood as her. This was the best work Escargot was doing at the moment.

Bessia's colossal body was awe-inspiring. The Saracens only dared to play with her enormous breasts, as if afraid that this giantess would suddenly sit up and grab them. After all, even after death, stripped of most of her clothing and armor, this imposing woman was already very intimidating simply by lying there.

Bessia became the first girl to be carried to the dismemberment table. A tall, thin, middle-aged Saracen stepped forward and scanned Bessia's body with the sharp eyes of a surgeon. Then, he pulled out a tiny blade, almost like a bread-cutting knife, and with surgical precision that left the survivors, including Ellie and Lysena, ripped open Bessia's body from neck to genitals, exposing various organs of different colors due to the pressure.

Of course, Ellie would never guess that this Saracen scholar, acting as a butcher, was also a surgeon. In his school in Baghdad, he often used prisoners and women convicted of capital crimes as practice subjects for his surgeries. Their understanding of the human body far surpassed that of other peoples of the same era.

Clearly, like Europeans, the Saracens' doctrine considered internal organs to be filth and inedible. So the butcher ripped out Bessia's entrails one by one, shocking some of the female captives; some even began to vomit. But Ellie found herself remarkably calm. Born into a Frankish country estate, she possessed some knightly blood, but she had helped her father slaughter pigs and chickens before.
However, the Saracens didn't seem particularly concerned with killing and eating women. Perhaps for them, taking female slaves and foreign women as wives or concubines, or even cooking and eating them, was already commonplace; this was simply a matter of subjecting these European women to the same treatment.

Cut off the chicken's neck, hang it upside down to bleed it, and use it as a base for pies or stews; gut the pig, remove

the offal, and smoke it into various parts to make bacon—Ellie felt her stomach start to rumble. She had been thinking that these infidels seemed to have forgotten something, and now she suddenly realized that these headscarve-wearing men had forgotten to prepare their last meal.
The French girl couldn't help but smile bitterly at her own gluttony; perhaps this was the power of dark humor!

In short, these Saracens, who were terrified of Besia's imposing figure, somewhat guiltily chopped off her limbs first, as if thinking that this would make her less conspicuous. Besia, first beheaded, then gutted, and then dismembered, now looked no different from a piece of pork.

Ellie watched the Saracens stuffing Besia's abdomen with stuffing, which almost made her forget the fear of death and instead brought back memories of helping her mother roast pigs on the farm when she was a child.

This surreal fantasy continued until Lisanna, sitting next to Ellie, was dragged away by the Saracens by her thin wrist. Lisanna twisted her body anxiously, letting out a sharp, delicate cry of girlish despair: "Senior! No! I don't want to be with those heretics..."

"Don't be afraid, Lisanna! We'll meet in heaven!" Ellie tried to calm herself, adopting a composed expression as she spoke to the young squire.

This action seemed to truly soothe the girl's chaotic mind, calming her down. She straightened her thin back, suppressing the fear of death that had just welled up within her, and adopted the imposing aura befitting a Templar Knight, even if it was merely a forced composure.

Lisona's patience lasted until just before the Saracen executioner's blade struck. She opened her mouth in fear, but the blade fell too quickly; the blonde girl didn't even have time to utter a sound before her vocal cords, trachea, esophagus, and spine were severed. Her small, childlike face spun upwards before the Saracen nobleman grabbed her by the hair and casually tossed her onto the box piled with the girls' heads.

This little squire, who never lived to be knighted, ended her life with a frozen, terrified, almost tearful expression.

Her body reacted even more dramatically. As her head was severed, Lisona's body fell to the ground on its side, gushing blood from her neck like a fountain, writhing violently like a fish just pulled from the water—a struggle that likely lasted for several minutes.

The Saracens were astonished by the little girl's vibrant life force, and they whistled at the dying body of Lisona. Ellie overheard a Saracen soldier jokingly telling the others, "When she's exhausted, before she's completely dead, I'm going to deflower her!"

A burst of laughter erupted from the Saracen soldiers. Before the laughter subsided, Lisona was dragged off the field by her legs by the boastful Saracen.

Ellie stared blankly as her longtime follower, this heretic, became the "Prince Charming" Lisona always spoke of, thrusting his thick, erect penis into the taut flesh of the twelve-year-old girl, allowing her to finally experience womanhood even in death.

She wanted to cry, but couldn't, for she was next. Ellie consciously hardened her face, trying to appear strong. Before the Saracen soldiers could tighten the noose around her neck, she stood up and walked towards the stake already stained with the blood of her sisters.

The Saracen nobleman watched Ellie calmly walk towards the execution platform. He rested his sword on his shoulder, and though he didn't speak, he looked at the Christian woman with admiration and respect.

Perhaps their going to war was against Allah's will, and therefore they had to be executed, but for the young Saracen nobleman, his personal stance was that he had absolutely no intention of making things difficult for these girls, who were even more courageous and fearless than genuine male Frankish knights, or even the best Islamic warriors.

As if by ritual, the Saracen nobleman began, "Franken woman, pray to your God."
But Ellie's reply surprised him greatly. It was Arabic, slightly accented but perfectly accurate: "No, Saracen, I will not pray, but I only wish to give you some final words."

"Thank you for giving me and my companions a good death, truly, I am very grateful." Ellie closed her eyes, took a deep breath, then opened them again, flashing a smile at the Saracen nobleman: "But if I could live again, I would still be a Frankish knight, fighting for God, without any regrets!"

"...I wish I could have fought you on the battlefield instead of at the execution ground. Close your eyes, Franken woman, I allow you to be spared from kneeling for your punishment." The Saracen nobleman showed the utmost respect he could, and Ellie straightened up, gazing at the cloudless blue sky, her focus gradually shifting to the horizon beyond.
The next moment, the female knight, who was five feet eight inches tall, shrank by five and a half inches. Her golden hair and head, dripping with blood, rolled onto the dusty ground. Although her headless body was still trembling and bleeding, it stood firmly upright, not falling.

The Saracens who had gathered fell silent. Some saw it as an ominous sign, while others whispered a few prayers to Allah. Finally, a gust of hot wind blew, causing Ellie's body to fall straight forward to the ground.

Then, one by one, the remaining women were brought forward. Whether nuns or novice knights, these devout Frankish women all met their sorrowful end by being decapitated.

As the young Saracen warrior Ayed continued his sweat-drenched hacking and slashing at the remaining women, the boisterous soldiers were toying with the women who had just been beheaded. Ellie, following her colleagues who had gone ahead, joined the celebratory feast filled with merriment and debauchery.

Like most of the female knights, to protect herself from arrow wounds and for comfort, Ellie wore a silk garment she had bought from a Venetian merchant under her chainmail. However, this exquisitely crafted undergarment couldn't protect her from a fatal blow to the neck; it was quickly removed along with the chainmail and became a prize for some Saracen warrior. This Saracen warrior might have been captivated by the lingering scent of the young woman's sweat on the silk, but he could never quite understand why it smelled that way.
Interestingly, when the Saracens raped Ellie, they did the same thing they did with Marian: they ripped off the girl's underwear, but ignored the stockings she wore to protect her buttocks. Perhaps they also found them sexy on girls?

If Ellie were still alive, she probably wouldn't scream and struggle in resistance; she would only purse her lips and shed a few tears as her virginity was violated by strangers from Saracens with such a lack of tenderness. Then, she would observe it all with great interest, comparing the reactions of each Saracen man with the reactions of her friends who were being ruthlessly violated—of course, now Ellie no longer had a neck or anything above her head and couldn't engage in such intellectual thinking; she could only passively accept the thrusting of penises inside her and dance along.

No, saying she was completely passive wouldn't be quite right either. Ellie's body still retained some warmth, and her spinal cord continued to make some reflexive movements. This remaining bit of life energy responded to the Saracen man embracing her, gradually tightening her vagina. The Saracen man let out a long, low growl, tightly holding Ellie's headless body, and ejaculated a large amount of semen deep inside her.

This Saracen man did not give Ellie to his other comrades; he merely nestled against Ellie's chest, suckling at her lovely nipples that had never nursed a child. After a few minutes, he regained his vigor and quickly continued to thrust into Ellie.

He learned to discover new, alluring sensuality in Ellie. Though her head was severed, a lingering fragrance remained on her shoulders—myrrh, such a captivating subtle scent. Thinking this, the Saracen warrior flipped Ellie over, straddling her in a beastly position, burying his face in her back. The complex aroma, a blend of myrrh, sweat, and blood, stirred the deepest, most primal hormones within him, his most fundamental desires.
And so, he ejaculated a second time. The man held Ellie tightly, feeling each other's warmth. Even though one of them had no heartbeat, Ellie gently, tenderly, and understandingly comforted the far-from-home Saracen warrior. The Saracen wept during this second climax.

Meanwhile, as the necrophiliac gathering continued outside, the last female Templar Knight was also slain—the Grand Librarian Michelle. As the second-highest rank among those executed, Matherville's head would be separated from Charlotte, the chief treasurer; both would be used for other purposes later.

After all the women of the Knights Templar were executed, their white uniforms with red crosses were either torn to shreds or became spoils carried by the Saracen warriors. Much of the female knights' armor, swords, and protective gear was divided up on the spot by the Saracens.

The heads of those beautiful girls would be preserved in copious amounts of salt. The vast majority would be sent to Cairo for the Fatimid Caliph to inspect their military achievements; a smaller portion would be used to proclaim the victory of Islamic power to surrounding cities and tribes. For example, Charlotte, the treasurer and clerk of the Knights, had been quite successful in converting Bedouins and Lebanese to Christianity near Palestine. A tour of the Jordan River with her head would surely disillusion many tribes, leading them back to the Caliph and Allah's teachings.
As for the headless female bodies, stripped of their armor and heads, not a single piece would be wasted. Women's flesh was a rare food not strictly restricted by Islamic doctrine. Although the quantity was less than that of horse or beef, its flavor far surpassed that of cattle and horses—it is said that in the hands of a skilled chef, women's flesh could taste even better than chicken or lamb. Any leftovers would be smoked and preserved in wooden barrels, allowing them to be stored for up to a year.

The next group of female knights, clad in black robes with white crosses, were brought in one by one in several columns. They were female members of the Knights Hospitaller, and soon, under Ayed's guidance, they too would embark on their journey to heaven.

The sensitive and intellectual young Saracen nobleman, drenched in sweat, watched the Hospitallers. His turban and scarf were soaked, and sweat dripped down his curly black hair from his cheeks.

"God, are you watching?"

Ayed raised his blood-stained sword to the sun, sighed deeply, wiped the blood with his sleeve, sheathed the sword, and walked towards the next group of young European women who would soon receive his blade with their slender necks.
The sun gradually sank in the west, while a crescent moon rose in the east; but this bloodshed would not be forgotten, and the Holy Land thirsted for the blood of more men and women as sacrifices…

[The End]

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