Saladin stopped his horse before the throne, his white steed already stained crimson with blood. Blood dripped from the horse's legs onto the ground, quickly forming a pool of blood.

Saladin dismounted, looked at the throne that was so close to him, and walked forward step by step to sit down.

Looking up at the hall outside, the crimson that filled his vision caused Saladin to close his eyes in anguish.

He waved to the attendant beside him.

Soon, the emperor's guards unfurled a tattered banner in the palace square, pointing to the Holy Cross emblem on it and shouting to the crowd: "The great Caliph, the invincible Saladin the Great, has conquered the Holy City!"

At first, there were only quiet doubts, then loud clamor, and finally, a chorus of cheers.

As the crown of King Payez, the sacred cross of the Holy Order, and other spoils of war were displayed one by one, the cheers of the people grew louder and louder, with words like "God is supreme" and "Long live the Caliph" echoing over the palace.

The herald in the guard waited for the crowd to calm down, then pointed to the corpses on the ground and said, "The great Saladin was God's agent, the true Savior! The fact that the Holy City, which had fallen into the hands of infidels, has returned to God's embrace is the best proof! And these evil people who took advantage of the Caliph's absence on his holy war to start a rebellion have lost God's protection and will face the cruelest punishment!"

Listening to the clamor outside the palace, Saladin, sitting on his throne, stared motionlessly at the small, thin corpse on the steps, as if he were in a completely different world from the one outside.

After an unknown amount of time, someone came to Saladin's side and whispered, "Caliph, you should rest now."

Saladin turned his head and saw an old mullah wearing a white turban looking at him with concern.

"Zaratahan, my strategist, what is the situation in the city?"

The old man nodded and said, "Ilam, with his guards, has taken control of all the city walls. The people who attended the gathering earlier must have already brought the news of your recapture of the Holy City to the city. I believe it won't be long before the hearts of the people of Baghdad are back under your control."

Saladin shook his head: "No, even if I reclaim the Holy City, the followers of the Abbasid Caliphate will not disappear. Right now, what worries me most is not the people of Baghdad, but..."

"Or are those former Abbasid troops in your army?"

Saladin nodded slightly at Zaratahan's answer.

“After we captured Baghdad, about 50,000 Abbasid troops surrendered to me. These 50,000 men are now like a throbbing, painful itch; you can’t touch it, and you can’t ignore it.”

Zarata Khan stroked his gray beard and said, "These old subordinates must be behind this rebellion in Baghdad. I'm sure that if the rebels retake Baghdad, these soldiers who surrendered in battle will choose to betray you immediately."

Saladin pondered for a moment, then said, "The key is how to deal with these old empire's armies? Disbanding them all is unrealistic, and disrupting their organization is impossible..."

Zaratahan said helplessly, "Caliph, this problem may not be able to be solved for the time being. Perhaps we can put it aside for now. There are a few things that urgently require your decision."

"What's up?"

"You led your army to conquer the holy city, and a large amount of wealth within the city is being transported back to the south. We need you to come up with a plan on how to reward the soldiers for their merits."

“Let’s follow the usual practice: those who do good will be rewarded, and those who make mistakes will be punished.” Saladin looked at Zaratahan: “As for my share, you know what to do.”

The latter nodded: "I understand. All the rewards that belong to you will be divided equally among all the soldiers who participated in this battle... except for one thing—all the books and records of the Holy City will be transported to your palace intact."

Saladin said approvingly, "That's right, exactly."

"Speaking of rewards for those who have rendered meritorious service, this leads to the second matter." At this point, Zaratahan hesitated for a moment: "The rewards for all participants have been confirmed and are ready to be distributed, except for one person, whose decision needs to be made by Your Majesty personally."

"who?"

"Throat bone, that suspicious northerner."

Saladin was stunned, and the image of that pale face and that invincible legion immediately flashed into his mind.

“The unit under Hougu’s command is behaving rather strangely…” Zhalatahan carefully chose his words: “They never step out of the camp, you can’t hear them making noise or training, and their food consumption is almost negligible.”

Saladin listened, frowning and remaining silent.

"In this battle to conquer the Holy City, Hou Gu and his troops, according to their merits, should rightfully be ranked among the top. However, if we were to reward him so lavishly, it would surely cause dissatisfaction among the other generals..."

Saladin looked at Zaratahan: "Have you investigated his background?"

The latter shook his head helplessly.

Saladin pondered for a moment, then said, "Regarding the reward for the throat bone, let's differentiate it from the other generals. In addition to some appropriate wealth, give him two more rewards."

"First, I allow Throat Bones to build his own army. The weapons and supplies he needs will be allocated to him by the Empire. As for the name of this army, I will bestow upon it the word 'Immortal'."

"As for the second point..." Saladin looked at Zaratahan and said in a low voice, "You can pass on a message to the throat bone for me, saying that I will soon fulfill my promise to him."

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