The other side.
Night falls in Damascus.
In Saladin's private palace, the air was filled with the strong smell of incense.
Originally, it was a scent created to dispel illness, but at this moment, it could not cover up the smell of death.
The candles in the room flickered, casting swaying shadows on the mural on the wall depicting a falcon and grapevines.
Outside the window, the starlight of the Arabian Nights was cold and distant, illuminating this city exhausted by civil strife.
At this time, Saladin was lying on a simple bed.
His face was as pale as paper and his breathing was rapid and weak.
Typhoid fever had plagued him for weeks, and the once fearsome warrior was now a withered shell.
He was sometimes awake and sometimes unconscious, struggling and wandering between dreams and reality.
"Water... give me water..."
He breathed hard, his voice very dry.
The servant beside him immediately put a wet cloth on his forehead and carefully fed him a few drops of water with a spoon.
But Saladin was barely able to swallow, and most of the water flowed down the corners of his mouth.
"Your Majesty the Holy Pharaoh..."
"It would be great if I could meet you again..."
“Ahem!”
Outside the palace, rumors had already spread like wildfire.
The news that "Saladin is seriously ill" spread in the market, causing panic among the people in the city.
The citizens of Damascus were in a state of panic. The rich began moving their belongings, while the poor prayed in the streets, begging God to bless their leader's recovery.
Of course, some speculators have been secretly hoarding food and necessities, preparing to make a fortune during the chaos.
And Fadhil was Saladin's most trusted minister and Saladin's younger brother.
He was standing on the balcony of the palace, gazing at the lights of the city.
He had not slept for two consecutive days, having to deal with the daily affairs of the country and take care of the seriously ill Saladin.
Of course, they had to be careful to conceal Saladin's true illness so as not to cause social unrest.
"This can't go on any longer."
"If anything were to happen to His Majesty Saladin, all of Arabia would be plunged into deeper chaos."
"This puts Damascus in danger."
Just then, a servant came hurriedly and whispered in his ear.
"Sir! His Majesty Saladin's condition has deteriorated rapidly! The doctor said..."
Fadhil turned around immediately: "I understand."
Then he strode towards Saladin's bedroom.
At this moment, he must make a choice.
Or stay with Saladin and accompany him through the last journey of his life.
Or go home as usual.
For if he had not returned home from Saladin's citadel at night as usual, Damascus would have immediately been plunged into speculation and confusion.
The former is in line with human nature, while the latter is a rational but painful choice.
At this time of internal and external troubles, Fadhil is well aware that his every move may affect the fate of the entire country.
So he stopped again.
After a brief ideological struggle, he chose the latter.
When leaving the palace, he made sure his steps were steady and leisurely, and gave a normal smile to every servant he met.
As he rode back to his residence in the dark, people along the way noticed that the powerful official was as usual, with nothing unusual happening.
However, after returning home, Fadhil could not sleep all night.
He sat in the study, his face illuminated by candlelight, full of anxiety and sadness.
There were several urgent military intelligence reports on the table, indicating that the rebels were gathering forces and could launch a new round of offensive at any time.
Without Saladin's wise leadership, it is unknown whether the Arab League could resist this attack.
In the early hours of the morning, a rapid knock on the door broke the silence of the night.
"Sir! Something terrible has happened!"
A guard rushed into the study, his voice filled with panic.
"His Majesty Saladin...His Majesty Saladin..."
Fadil's heart sank, but he forced himself to remain calm: "What happened to His Majesty Saladin?"
"Has the condition gotten worse again?"
The guard lowered his head, not daring to look Fadil in the eye: "My lord! My lord!"
"His Majesty Saladin died an hour ago."
"Now, many Mamluk warriors are crying outside the palace... They..."
The guard began to choke up and he couldn't utter a word.
Fadhil was struck by lightning. He staggered back a few steps and only managed to hold on to the desk to avoid falling.
He was silent for a long time before asking in an unusually calm voice.
"Your Majesty Saladin...did you have any last words before you left?"
The guard wiped his tears and answered tremblingly.
"My Lord...it is said that His Majesty Saladin left with his eyes open."
"The accompanying minister said that His Majesty Saladin's greatest regret was that he was unable to witness the unification of Arabia with his own eyes!"
"In addition, His Majesty Saladin also specifically instructed us to treat the soldiers and the people well."
"By the way, the servants said that he also mentioned the Holy Pharaoh of Holy Egypt, and seemed to be very regretful about something..."
When Fadil heard this, he just nodded blankly.
But he didn't know whether his brain had made any movement.
At this moment, the image of Saladin when he was alive was emerging in his mind.
That fair, selfless, brave and skilled leader always distributed his property to his subordinates and the people, and never accumulated wealth for himself.
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