The smell of scorched flesh clung to Taimur like a curse as he walked beside Yusuf ibn Ayyub's retinue, passing through the outer perimeter of the Zengid camp. The soldiers muttered behind cupped hands, their gazes drifting warily between the bloodstained stranger and the young commander who had personally escorted him in. Taimur didn't need a system prompt to know their thoughts. He looked like a butcher, smelled like a battlefield, and walked like someone who belonged in neither place.
"You'll rest here," Yusuf said, halting beside a spare campaign tent at the edge of the officer's quarter. The lamplight flickered against his face, drawing long shadows across the fresh scar that ran down his cheek—a souvenir from the night's chaos.
"We'll speak at dawn."
Taimur gave a weary nod, stepping inside. The tent was sparse—just a pile of coarse goat-hair blankets and a travel lantern burning low. The moment the flap closed behind him, his knees buckled. He collapsed onto the bedding with a grunt, hand pressed to the bruises along his ribs. A mace had struck him earlier, just as he'd intercepted the assassin. The pain pulsed like a drumbeat beneath his skin, a painful reminder that this was no dream. The blood crusted on his sleeve, the copper tang in his mouth, the tremor in his bones—it was all too real.
"System," he whispered, his voice no louder than a breath.
[User acknowledged]
The reply was instant and emotionless, the voice neither male nor female. It sounded like cold steel dragged across granite, chilling and inhuman.
"What are you?" Taimur asked, not with fear but with the sharpened curiosity of a man trying to piece together his own fate.
[Designation: Ultimate Military Advisor System.]
[Primary function: To optimize user's strategic capabilities within historical parameters.]
"And how did you get in my head?"
[Relevant data not found in system archives.]
Taimur sighed. Of course. He should've known better than to expect answers wrapped in neat little boxes. He'd grown up in a world that never gave easy explanations.
[Merit Point Protocol initiated]
A pale blue screen flickered to life in his mind's eye. It was translucent, like glass lit from behind by moonlight. Names, numbers, and categories scrolled across it.
Achievement | Merit Points
Become Official Military Advisor – Pending
Foil Assassination Plot – 500 (Unclaimed)
Win First Battle – 1000 (unclaimed)
"Pending?" Taimur muttered, jaw tightening. "I just saved Salahuddin's life."
[Clarification: Merit points are awarded solely for achievements as a designated military advisor. Current status: Unaffiliated]
"So I get nothing for bleeding all over the desert?"
[Novice Gift Pack available. Claim Y/N?]
Taimur blinked. "Claim."
Three leather-bound tomes materialized before him with a low hum, as if the air itself had been sliced open to make room. Each landed softly on the tent floor, smelling of old ink and sandalwood. Taimur stared in disbelief. He reached for the nearest volume, the embossed lettering shimmering in the lantern's glow.
The first was a cavalry manual unlike anything he'd seen.
It promised to distill the finest cavalry doctrines in history—Parthian horse archers, Mongol skirmishers, Mamluk lancers, and more—into one unified system. Every tactic, every formation, even equipment designs were laid out in obsessive detail. The book was divided into Heavy Cavalry and Light Cavalry volumes, both written with eerie precision.
The second tome brimmed with dark wisdom.
Disguises, infiltration, assassination techniques, counter intelligence operations. it was all there. It wasn't just a book. It was a blueprint for crafting a spy network that could bend empires. Taimur felt the weight of it in his hands, like holding a serpent that whispered power.
The third was thinner but no less important. An intelligence dossier that outlined key figures among the Crusaders and Zengid rebels. Their plots, allegiances, strengths, and vulnerabilities—all mapped out like exposed nerves. The data was current only to the year 1168, but that was enough. For now.
"This... is power," Taimur whispered. Not brute strength, but the kind of power that moves armies without lifting a blade. The power of knowing.
[Supplemental function unlocked: Real-Time Tactical Map]
A projection sprang to life above the manuals. A three-dimensional map of the Zengid camp and surrounding terrain, peppered with colored dots. Red for enemies. Blue for allies. Gold for key positions.
"Zoom in on the eastern ridge."
The map shrunk and shifted. Three crimson signatures flickered into view—human shapes crouched behind boulders, positioned like hunters waiting for a signal.
"Assassin lookouts?" he asked.
[Affirmative, host.]
Taimur's eyes narrowed. Even after the attempt on Yusuf's life, the enemy hadn't retreated. They were watching. Planning.
"What's the use of merit points?" he asked.
[Merit Points: Hard currency in the system mall. Can be used to purchase knowledge, manuals, weapon blueprints, props, and special abilities.]
"And where is this mall?"
[System Mall: Locked]
Taimur frowned. "When will it unlock?"
[System Mall unlocks after the host earns his first merit points.]
"So I need to officially become the advisor."
He waited until the camp's noise faded to a lull. The lanterns burned lower. Snoring replaced speech. With the stealth of a jackal, Taimur slipped into the night. The curved dagger in his hand gleamed like a fang.
The first assassin never saw him coming. A muffled gasp, a sudden jerk of the blade—then silence. The second turned just in time to catch a whisper of steel across his throat. The third was a boy, barely sixteen, with eyes wide as moons and a hand frozen around a signal whistle.
Taimur didn't kill him.
He pressed the flat of the dagger to the boy's cheek. "Tell your masters," he said coldly, "Yusuf ibn Ayyub has a hound now. One that sees in the dark."
Then he let the boy run.
At dawn, Taimur pushed into Yusuf's command tent uninvited. The Kurdish officers stiffened, hands drifting to hilts. Yusuf, sipping dark tea, raised an eyebrow.
"Your eastern ridge was compromised," Taimur said, tossing two blood-soaked headscarves onto the strategy table. "The third ran to spread fear."
Yusuf's cup froze midair. "I posted no guards there."
"Exactly." Taimur's voice was calm, unhurried. "You need someone who sees what others don't."
A heavy silence followed. Then Yusuf set down his cup.
"What do you want?"
"To be your military advisor."
Yusuf studied him for a long moment, then gestured toward a wooden board nearby. It was an old chess set, pieces carved from ivory and ebony. The kind of game you didn't play for fun.
"Beat me," he said, "and the position is yours."
Taimur didn't hesitate. He took the seat across from Yusuf, rolled his shoulders, and surveyed the board. Within a dozen moves, he had already taken control of the center. Within twenty, he had cornered Yusuf's strongest pieces. By the thirtieth move, the outcome was sealed.
"Checkmate in six," Taimur said quietly.
The tent was silent. Even the officers who moments ago had sneered at him now looked uncertain. Yusuf stared at the board, then at Taimur, as if weighing the weight of something heavier than victory.
"You play like a man who's seen the end before the beginning."
"I play to win," Taimur replied.
Yusuf's jaw clenched. Then, with a sudden burst of frustration, he swept the board aside. The pieces clattered to the floor.
"Trust is earned with blood," he said. "Not cleverness."
Taimur bent, picked up a fallen rook, and placed it gently on the table.
"Then let me earn it. Starting with the assassins you didn't know were watching us last night."
Yusuf didn't smile. But he didn't argue either.
"Welcome to the war," he said. "Military Advisor."
[Milestone Reached: Military Advisor Status Secured]
[Merit Points Awarded: 2000]
[System Notification: System Mall Unlocked]
Taimur stood straighter as the officers argued around him. He could feel it. The world was shifting, and this time, he was not just a player on the board. He was the one moving the pieces.
Let history try to stop him now.