Prologue

 His hands were tied behind his back. He was forced to kneel and look into the eyes of his captors. One look at their clothing was enough to tell him that they were important people. Their gold necklaces and intricately adorned turbans set them apart from the ordinary soldiers. He looked around. He was inside the enemy camp. The huge tents, which housed both soldiers and weapons, looked completely different from the inside than they did from the outside. A while ago it would have been hard for him to imagine himself being in the middle of the Saracens' camp as a captive. But here he is.

He was surrounded on all sides by members of the opposing army.

One of them regarded the captive and posed the inevitable question.
There was only one answer he could give.
“No,” he replied firmly, his voice hoarse from not having drunk anything for nearly a day.

“If he doesn’t convert, he won’t be of any use to us,” said one of the captors.
“What about ransom?” asked the other, who was dressed in white clothes decorated with gold.
“Right. After all, he is a noble knight. The ransom for him will be high.”
“In that case, since I apprehended him with the assistance of my men, I should be entitled to get it…”
“How dare you?! You are of lower rank, yet you are asking for something that belongs to your generals!”
“You are both wrong! We should give the ransom to the Sultan!” the third one joined in.
“The Sultan will order him to be killed, and there will be no profit!”
He didn't understand their language very well, but he could still somehow tell what they were talking about. He knew how important he was even now. Even though time has taken away his black hair and his eyes lost all the light they had because of all they saw. He was an old knight whose glory was still clinging to his shadow.

He took a deep breath.

Somehow he knew that it will lead to nothing.

They were supposed to fight against Saracens but it didn’t go the way they thought it would. As he had anticipated, the king misjudged the strength of his forces, forcing them to retreat. As a talented knight his role was to cover the rear of his king's retreating army. Unfortunately, this task was not made any easier by the approaching wave of Saracens.
The king didn't look back. He crossed the river as quickly as possible. As the ruler of a country, he was very aware that his own safety should be a top priority. However, he still cherished his best knight. Once he felt secure on the opposite bank of the Danube, the king sent a boat for his knight, but he declined it.
He could not accept it.
He could not abandon the men who had fought alongside him at the rear of the army.

How could he, a knight renowned for his chivalry, abandon those who are dying here? How could he feel secure, drink wine and eat something warm when he knew he had left all those faces behind?
He was old and would die sooner or later anyway.

Many of them were young with bright futures ahead of them. He didn’t want to abandon them to the despair of war. He tried to do as much as he could.

Despite all his efforts, exhaustion overtook him and he could no longer defend himself or those who hadn’t failed to save their own lives yet. The Saracens captured him, and now they are arguing over who deserves his head.
All he could do was laugh.
He looked up. Despite being so far from his beloved homeland, the sky was just as blue. White clouds slowly drifted across the blue seas of the sky, creating a serene and tranquil atmosphere. The sight brought back many memories: the games he played with his younger brother, the title he accepted, the war with the Teutonic Knights...
Is my life flashing before my eyes? Hah!
“If I can't have him, then nobody will!” shouted one of the Saracens.
The sound of the blade striking not only traversed the air, but also cut through the old knight's head, which was raised towards the heavens.

The knight's face was calm.
He thought it was the end.