A Crusader with System in the Middle Ages

”You sound very dissatisfied with the Emperor.”

”He’s a good emperor for the Empire, that much is true. But for the Empire’s citizens and Priests, there could be no one worse.

He has turned this Empire into his private property—half for the Komnenos family, half for the Dukas family. If there was some restraint before the Dukas Emperor, now, it’s safe to say there is none whatsoever.

Using debased currency, seizing the property of citizens, confiscating monasteries, enclosing Church lands, destroying the abodes of God, and stealing God’s wealth.

He ignores the principles of the Empire, brazenly granting regional tax-collecting rights to his kin. This is unprecedented. Before him, no noble could so openly live off a city’s taxes.

He forces everyone to remain silent, especially here in Constantinople. Advising the Emperor is an ancient privilege of the citizens of Constantinople, but now? Now, that privilege is less useful than a cleaning stick in the Imperial Palace latrine.

When you cast aside all principles and destroy every ancient tradition, I must ask: what is the point of such an Empire?

Why should people grieve and worry about such an Empire being conquered by Heretics?”

”At least he built a magnificent orphanage. That’s unprecedented, isn’t it? It used to be much smaller, and the provisions given out on regular days, outside of holidays, were also quite limited.

But now? This orphanage has a Church, a Monastery, and even a school. Orphans can get an education here too.”

Eric turned around and pointed to the magnificent building not far away, the masterpiece of Emperor Alexios Komnenos, a symbol of the Emperor’s supreme benevolence—the orphanage.

The building Brinyos was always going on about: the Emperor’s masterpiece. The great Emperor Alexios, with a heart full of unparalleled benevolence, had built the most splendid structure in the history of Constantinople to comfort his subjects.

”Young man, you believe what you see. Though this orphanage is magnificent, perhaps peerless, have the beggars of Constantinople disappeared?

You know, that is the place I hate most. All you can learn there is how to live on scraps, and even those are tainted with the foul taste of the Komnenos. He’s trying to turn everyone who enters into his puppets.

Honestly, I’ve always found building a Church there to be surprisingly ironic. If I had been by the Emperor’s side at the time, I would have certainly given him some advice: don’t build a Church, build an Imperial Palace. Because that place doesn’t teach people to revere God; it teaches them to worship the Emperor.”

The old man gazed at the magnificent orphanage in the distance. His tone was level, but his words were blunt and filled with loathing.

”I feel you’re full of prejudice.”

”There’s nothing wrong with prejudice,” the old man sighed. ”In these bleak times, harboring false hope is true foolishness.”

Just then, the street erupted into a commotion. Eric heard shouting and cursing.

The crowd on the street began to surge in one direction, apparently eager to see what the commotion was about.

Soon, warning whistles sounded in the street, and a group of city guards appeared from nowhere, running towards the noisiest direction.

The citizens scrambled to clear a path. Any who were too slow to realize they were blocking the way were met with the guards’ clubs.

”What’s happening?” Eric asked.

”Nothing, just those brats from the University of Constantinople causing trouble again,” the old man shrugged.

”A bunch of students?” Eric looked toward the commotion. It looked like someone was attacking the city guards.

”Don’t underestimate them. Their talent for causing trouble is by no means weak.

They’re always forming cliques based on region or ethnicity, trying to feel superior over some trivial youthful matter, or pranking their professors to satisfy their childish impulses.

Thracians mock Epirotes, Achaeans mock Anatolians. The people of Constantinople usually have the upper hand; they can easily mock everyone.

When geography isn’t enough for them, they turn to bloodlines. At times like that, if you have even a hint of Saracen features, you’re in for a world of trouble.

It doesn’t end there. Students with no experience in love are mocked by the others. Unfortunately, one of the hardest things for a student to get close to is a woman. You rarely see female students here.

Bought love is very expensive and can’t be enjoyed often, so they can only try to woo the few pretty, curvaceous waitresses at the taverns, or a common girl living in the same district. But there are always more students than young girls in this area.

Only by wandering through Constantinople with a leisurely air and a scoundrel’s eye can they hope to seduce a lady from a good family.

The wives of the butcher shop owners in the Sand Beach Square are the most coveted. These men, having made their name in the trade, now manage the meat market and no longer need to slaughter the animals themselves, so they carry themselves like lords.

With husbands who control the beef market, and being at a free and mature age themselves, these wives are very sensitive to the Charm exuded by handsome students.

But they wear overly ornate, fur-trimmed clothing and fasten their waists with silver or jeweled belts. At a glance, it’s hard to distinguish them from the high-class courtesans who, despite being outlawed, still brazenly flaunt themselves in the same attire.

In any case, it always ends in a brawl. If someone finally succeeds in conquering a lady, or even a maiden, her husband or father will find out sooner or later, and the result is either a fight or a duel.

Usually, the one who ends up injured or dead is the husband or father. And then the brawl with the city watch has to start all over again.

Seducing a commoner girl isn’t a daily occurrence either. It requires lying in wait at a window day after day, waiting for an opportunity, all at the expense of their studies.

This sort of thing usually becomes dull, so they give up their dreams of courtship. Then they’ll splash water on passersby, shoot beans at women with blowpipes, or prank a professor passing below. A noisy crowd of them will chase the professor all the way to his home and then throw stones at his windows.

After all, these students are the ones paying, so they have certain privileges,” the old man said slowly.

”So they aren’t worried about graduating at all.”

”Graduate? Are you joking, young man? This is a new era. If you’re not from the Nobility, the best you can hope for is a job as a scribe. And if you are from the Nobility, you’ll get a position no matter what.

It wasn’t so obvious before, but the University of Constantinople isn’t as important as it used to be,” the old man shrugged.

”You seem to know a lot, but you just look like a stall-owner selling baskets,” Eric said with a smile.

”Of course. Because I’m the headmaster of the University of Constantinople. No headmaster doesn’t know his own students,” the old man said nonchalantly.

As if this were a perfectly ordinary matter.

”So you, the headmaster of the Empire’s highest institution of learning, are here selling baskets?” Eric looked with great interest at the ’headmaster of the University of Constantinople’ before him.

(Mikhail Psellos, a monk, scholar, writer, philosopher, politician, and historian of the Byzantine Empire, headmaster of the University of Constantinople, private tutor to Emperor Michael VII, reviver of Neoplatonism, and holder of the honorary title ”First of the Philosophers.”)

The man was very old, with wrinkles creasing his forehead. His hair was completely white but disheveled, appearing partly gray in the light.

There were several holes in his gray robe. His beard showed no signs of trimming and had something stuck in it.

”Why would you think I’m selling baskets? No, I’m selling apples. See? Apples.” The old man who called himself a headmaster seemed to have thought of something and suddenly looked at Eric with a smile.

”Are there? But there’s nothing here.”

”Why do you say there’s nothing? Just because you can’t see them? Can’t you smell them?” the old man asked, lifting an empty basket in front of Eric.

”Isn’t that reason enough?” Eric knew the old man was about to show off, but he didn’t mind.

”Young man, I’m selling a new kind of apple. It just so happens that it can’t be seen or smelled. What do you think, young man?” The old man pretended to take an apple from the basket. In reality, his hand was empty, and so was the basket.

”But I can’t touch it either.”

”Yes, yes, I should also tell you that this new apple has a quality of being untouchable to ordinary people. Only a select few can touch it.”

”I think this question is meaningless. But I can give you an answer.”

”Meaningless?” The old man laughed and put the basket down.

”Yes, because the concept you’ve introduced does not aid in thinking. I believe all thought should follow a principle: when we have two explanations, we should choose the one that makes fewer assumptions—the simplest one.

Furthermore, before introducing any hypothesis, I must first consider if it’s verifiable and if it’s necessary at all.

I call it: ’Entities should not be multiplied beyond necessity.’

(Ockham’s Razor Principle, also known as the principle of parsimony, used to eliminate the increasingly out-of-control assumptions of scholastic philosophy. Proposed by the 14th-century Franciscan Cultivator William of Ockham.)

Therefore, in this situation, the explanation that there is no apple is more reasonable. It doesn’t require us to believe in an invisible, imperceptible existence, nor does it require introducing additional complexity.

Since we have no substantial evidence of the apple’s existence, assuming it doesn’t exist is the most logical explanation,” Eric said.

The old man furrowed his brow. It was a moment before his expression smoothed out and he said, ”An interesting idea.”

”Honestly, your ideas are dangerous,” Eric said, feigning a threat with a smile. ”I don’t believe God would create something so dreadful.”

”Who can know the mind of God, young man? Logic is just that interesting.

I am even willing to pray to God to forgive Plato and Aristotle. Even though he was a heretical scholar.”

”Your ideas are dangerous,” Eric said.

”Perhaps you are more dangerous than I. Introducing that principle of yours could mean you intend to abandon God.

Because many Theologians have made too many unnecessary assumptions about Him. Once this principle is established, many theological theories will be eliminated, and theology itself will become riddled with holes, young man.” The old man laughed.