It was a dark and windy night.
In a hidden camp outside Damascus.
The Arab mission is making final preparations.
"Sir, shall we set off now?"
A young member of the delegation asked. Although his face was full of fatigue, his eyes showed a bit of tension.
After all, they had only just arrived in Damascus.
When the head of the delegation heard this, he just shook his head.
“There’s no time!”
"Further delay could lead to disaster in Damascus!"
"The body of His Majesty Saladin is still awaiting proper burial, and our army is still engaged in battle against the rebels!"
"Perhaps, the assistance of Holy Egypt will be our only hope now."
"No one knows when our main force will return—"
Then he turned to Fadhil, who was standing nearby, and bowed hastily.
"Your Majesty, Fadhil, I assure you that we will deliver the message at all costs!"
"Please trust us!"
Fadhil nodded solemnly and handed the leader a sealed letter.
"This is a handwritten letter to Saint Pharaoh Linke. It details our situation and is engraved with the Seal of Arabia, which can prove my identity."
"Remember, at all costs, you must personally deliver this letter to the Holy Pharaoh."
The head of the group took the letter and carefully hid it in his personal place: "Yes, I understand."
Fadhil lowered his voice and his expression became extremely solemn.
"One more thing."
"Our intelligence indicates that the rebels in the south are gathering their forces."
"They have likely learned of the death of His Majesty Saladin and are preparing to launch a large-scale attack."
"Your trip is extremely risky, so you must be extremely careful."
Hearing this, the head of the delegation's expression became even more determined.
"Everything, for the unfinished work of His Majesty Saladin!"
"We are fearless!"
Fadhil shook the leader's hand for the last time and said, "May the Lord bless you."
"Damascus awaits good news from you."
No more goodbyes, no sentimental vows.
The members of the delegation simply boarded their camels in silence, quietly left the city on this dark and windy night, and disappeared into the vast desert.
They only brought simple supplies, a few bags of dry food, a few bottles of water, some emergency medicines, and a few spare weapons.
They had to reach Holy Egypt as quickly as possible.
Each of them was fully aware of the importance of this trip and the dangers they might face.
But they did not retreat, because in their hearts, Saladin's will was still alive, and the cause of Arab unification was above everything else.
Two days later, the delegation entered the most dangerous section of the desert.
This place is still a few days' journey from Holy Egypt, but it is far away from the main Arab control area and has become a gray area where various forces compete.
At dusk, the delegation found a rocky area sheltered from the wind and prepared to rest for a while.
The head of the delegation called a meeting of several core members to discuss the next route.
"According to the original plan, we should continue along the trade route."
The team leader pointed to a simple map and said.
"But intelligence shows that the rebels may have taken control of some trading posts. If we take this route, we are likely to fall into their ambush."
An older guide suggested another solution.
"I know of a remote path that can avoid the main checkpoints. It's difficult and dangerous, and water is scarce. But if you're lucky, you can save a day."
After a brief discussion, the team leader made a decision.
"Alright! Let's take this path! Even a moment's delay could lead to the fall of Damascus!"
"Set off!"
Just as they were packing up and preparing to continue on their journey, a strange "cloud" appeared on the distant horizon.
At first, no one paid much attention to it, thinking it was just a common dust storm in the desert.
However, the shape of the "cloud" became clearer and clearer, and the speed of its movement became faster and faster.
The regimental commander stood up suddenly: "Troops! Those are cavalry!"
"A large number of cavalry!"
Almost at the same time, dozens of fully armed cavalrymen emerged from all directions within their sight.
"Everyone, mount your horses immediately!"
"dispersion!"
The regiment commander shouted orders, picked up his scimitar and jumped onto the camel.
However, it was too late.
These cavalrymen, known as "Mamluk cavalry", immediately formed a complete encirclement at an astonishing speed, trapping all members of the delegation in the center.
They were holding scimitars and spears, with all kinds of weapons hanging around their waists. It was obvious at first glance that they were specially trained warriors.
"Oh? You're not a caravan?"
"Okay, lay down your weapons! Surrender, or die!"
The leading cavalryman raised his voice.
The head of the delegation knew that these Mamluk cavalry were actually a group of slave warriors who had been captured and forced to be loyal since childhood.
They have no family, no homeland, no loyalty, only a cold master and a simple command.
Killing.
The leader looked around as if he had already seen his own fate.
"Guys! I know what this means!"
"We may not be able to leave here alive today, but as long as we have breath left, we must spread the news!"
"For His Majesty Saladin, for the ideal Arabia!"
The members of the delegation responded in unison: "For His Majesty Saladin, for the ideal Arabia!"
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