CHAPTER 1188: CHAPTER 749: AUTUMN OF 1489 AD—SHOCKING! A PRISONER WORTH 300,000 DUCATS

"Marino, don’t be afraid! The Almighty protects us!"

The mountain wind blew, and the old knight Lorenzo’s expression was solemn, his beard and hair bristling. He reached out, firmly grasped the hand of his chamberlain Marino, giving him courage as he asked in a deep voice.

"Tell me, what are the symptoms of the Plague exactly?!"

"Ah! It’s the Demon possessing them!!"

Marino finally mustered his courage, crying out in fear. After a while, he struggled to calm his emotions before carefully describing in some trepidation.

"I heard some people say... the symptoms of this Plague start with a high fever all over the body, and a large number of red spots emerging on the arms, back, and chest. But after one or two days of falling ill, the afflicted, as if possessed by a Demon, will start screaming and scratching frantically! In the end, they will all suffer gangrene, their flesh rotting away to death..."

"Yes! Yes! I was near the quarantined camp at night and heard all kinds of terrifying screams, just like Demons!"

Hearing this, another chamberlain Marco couldn’t help but speak, his voice even trembling a little.

"Almighty! Those painful and mad sounds were just like coming straight from Hell!"

"Yes, yes! Almighty bears witness, after that night, they started burning people the next day! They burned a lot, and there was so much smoke!..."

"This is the Demon’s Curse, a new Black Death!"

Fearful and chaotic affirmations came from the other chamberlains, casting an additional layer of mysterious terror over this unknown Plague. These chamberlains present were all battle-hardened; even when facing several times more heathen, under the bombardment of Firearms, they could still maintain their fighting courage!

However, when encountering powers related to the Demon, facing such an invisible horror, all the courage and will to fight seemed to be instantly crushed. This is the Middle Ages’ knight, who, while believing in the Almighty, also fears the Demon.

"Damn, the new Black Death! This is truly a big incident now!..."

The old knight Lorenzo had a somber face, pondering for quite a while before taking a deep breath. Then, he looked at the young knight Giovanni who was bewildered and showing a fearful face, making a decision.

"Giovanni, we are not going back to the camp!"

"Ah? Not going back?"

"Yes! With the Almighty’s protection, we have received information in advance, avoiding the dangerous new Plague! This Plague has already erupted in the siege camp, even though the specifics are unknown, surely, many will die! If we go back now, it’s like playing chess with the God of Death, a path to suicide!"

"Ah! Yes, Lorenzo, you’re right! Then, where do we go?"

"We head directly north, first withdrawing into the Kingdom of Castile, find a safe village to restock some food. Then, we continue without delay, heading northeast all the way to the Valencia port a thousand miles away!

"What? Traveling a thousand miles to the Valencia port?!"

Hearing this, Giovanni showed surprise, with hesitation flashing across his face.

"Are we going to just withdraw from the Holy War?"

"Giovanni! At such a time, you are still thinking about the Holy War? Since old Sylvester entrusted you to me to bring you here, it’s my duty to take you back whole and alive...not to take back a corpse or a pile of burnt ashes!"

The old knight Lorenzo’s expression was severe, with an unprecedented severity in his words.

"Since we decided to stay away from the Plague, we must avoid it at all costs! When we reach the Valencia port, we will find a ship heading to Venice. Then, immediately sail back to the Republic. The Holy War on the Peninsula will no longer concern you or me!"

"This! This?... Just like that, leave the Holy War?..."

Upon hearing this, the young knight Giovanni’s face showed disappointment and frustration. Yet, under his reluctant expression, his body relaxed a bit. The old knight Lorenzo’s eyes gleamed as he perceived the choice in Giovanni’s heart. This young man’s body was being honest. He just needed a way out.

"Giovanni, it’s decided then! Your father, old Sylvester, once said before joining. If facing a big decision, you are to follow my lead! This is my decision and your father’s decision!...Let us depart!"

"Uh?... Your decision, and father’s decision... father’s command..."

The young Giovanni was momentarily dazed, sighed, and with some reluctance, turned his horse’s head, about to follow the old knight Lorenzo away, but suddenly noticed the Moorish prisoner tied to the packhorse.

"Lorenzo! If we are leaving, what then about this Moorish Messenger?"

"Hmm...the Moorish Messenger..."

The old knight Lorenzo pondered for a moment, then a smile gradually formed on his lips. Before leaving the Peninsula’s Holy War Battlefield, maybe he still had time to give the young Giovanni the last and most crucial lesson.

"Giovanni, if it weren’t for this sudden Plague, the Baza fortress would surely have fallen soon... But with this Plague, the course of the coming war is uncertain..."

"Ah? Lorenzo, why do you say that?"

"The Almighty bears witness! Think about it, the morale of the Holy War Army in the siege camp was already lacking. Now, the outbreak of the Plague will cause many Crusader Knights from various countries to leave... The morale of the Castilian troops will naturally decline even further..."

The old knight Lorenzo smiled slightly, analyzing the Holy War battle as if he had everything under control.

"King Fernando of Aragon, although adept in strategy, cunning and wise, is not someone who can inspire others! In contrast, Queen Isabella of Castile, brave, devout, decisive, and fearless, is a commander like Saint Joan who can rally people in desperate situations!"

"At present, the siege camp is experiencing an unprecedented Plague outbreak. Once the Plague spreads, the morale of the camp will hit rock bottom. King Fernando in the camp does not have the capability to stabilize the military’s morale. At most, he can delay for a little more than half a month, one month at most, and withdrawal will be inevitable!"

"Lorenzo, are you saying... the Moor Defending Army in the Baza fortress only needs to hold out for one more month to withstand this round of siege?"

Hearing this, the young knight Giovanni blinked. He looked at the Moorish prisoner on the packhorse and suddenly realized that the Moorish Messenger he captured might become the key to altering the course of the Holy War!

"Ah! Then, what about the message this Messenger carries?..."

"Exactly! He is crucial."

The old knight Lorenzo smoothed his beard, lowered his voice, and asked with a smile.

"Giovanni, if the Baza fortress can hold, and King Fernando returns without success... Then our retreat at this time, in the eyes of others, will become a wise choice. And if the Moors withstand this round of siege and the entire Castilian army withdraws, it will take at least until spring next year to reorganize an attack. With this six-month gap, the Moors might sort out their internal affairs and manage to resist for another two years..."

"And the Holy War has been going on for full eight years now. The Castilians have spent at least 30-40 million Maravedi coins, which is 700,000 to 1 million Ducats, to supply the 60,000 strong army. They owe our Republic of Venice a debt between 300,000 and 500,000 Ducats... Since the Church offered a guarantee, the interest rate for this Holy War debt is only around 10% per annum, but the interest is still added to the principal..."

At this point, the old knight Lorenzo smiled broadly, resembling not so much an honorable knight but a greedy merchant.

"Giovanni, calculate. If the war drags on for another two years, how much more will the Castilians owe us?"

"Ah! If the Holy War continues for another two years, the interest on the existing debt to the Republic alone will increase by 70,000 to 110,000 Ducats! And counting the new debt, at least 200,000 additional debts! Including the interest on the new debt of 20,000... it amounts to 300,000 Ducats!"

As the heir of a Venetian senator, Giovanni’s ability to calculate accounts was indisputable. He flexed his fingers, quickly calculating twice, with his fingers trembling slightly.

"Almighty! So, the value of this Moorish prisoner could be... 300,000 Ducats?!"