Where is your pride? Where are your valiant warriors? Artuk has knelt before me, offering his Sword with both hands, begging for mercy like a cornered stray wagging its tail.
I could have taken his head with a single stroke of my sword, but I would much rather leave him alive, to let him grovel trembling at our horses' feet, witness your defeat with his own eyes, and chronicle this absurd, laughable war of yours with his own hand.
So I write to you today not to negotiate, not to reconcile, but to warn you.
Submit to Christ, accept baptism, offer up your crown, and bow your head in fealty. Or, take up your Curved Saber and die for your faith.
You can choose to fight a bitter war against the Fatimids, struggling to survive. When you are utterly exhausted, I will come for you with my Knights, and you will fall alongside them beneath the wrath of Christ.
You can lead your army north and attempt to reclaim all that you have lost.
May your Allah come to save you. But he will not.
