“My lord,” Al-Rashid whispered, unrolling a massive, meticulously drawn parchment. “I have finished the calculus of blood.”
“Exactly!” Al-Rashid’s eyes gleamed. “But the counter is not what you think. You would send archers. But archers have a pierce value of only 20. A Templar’s armour negates it entirely. No. The true killer of a Templar is the Maceman .”
The library fell silent. The Emir looked from the parchment to his own war tent, where he had just lost a siege because he sent 50 Templars into a chokepoint defended by 30 Macemen and 10 Crossbowmen on a tower. stronghold crusader unit stats
The Emir sat up, suddenly interested. “You’re saying a rabble of peasants with clubs can beat my holy knights?”
The Emir, a fat man more interested in his hashish pipe than warfare, sighed. “Speak, little mouse.” You would send archers
And that night, the siege began not with a horn, but with a multiplication table.
The flickering torchlight of the Arabian library cast long shadows on Al-Rashid’s face. He wasn’t a lord, a general, or even a soldier. He was a scribe —and his latest obsession was driving his Emir to distraction. The Emir sat up
The Emir chuckled. “So? My Hashishin will stab him in the back before he raises his sword.”