CHAPTER 1189: CHAPTER 750: AUTUMN OF 1489 AD, THE UNSTOPPABLE HOLY WAR, THE PROMISED LAND OF CANAAN

The sky between the mountains was as clear and blue as the deep sea, reflecting the myriad aspects of the world. Under the sky of Granada, the young knight Giovanni trembled all over, pointing at the bewildered Moorish noble captive, his face full of disbelief.

"Three hundred thousand, three hundred thousand gold ducats!"

"Exactly! Giovanni, you calculated quickly and accurately. You will be an excellent heir to old Silvestre and will become an outstanding Venetian senator. Perhaps, with the connections of the Holy Roman Emperor, you even have a chance at the Republic’s Council of Ten..."

Old knight Lorenzo’s lips curled up, his voice softly persuasive. Then, with a "clang," he drew the knight’s longsword from his waist and placed it into Giovanni’s hand.

"Go on! Child! For the interests of the Republic of Venice, go kill him, kill this heathen messenger!"

"Ah! Kill him!"

The young knight Giovanni instinctively took the longsword and walked to the front of the Moorish noble captive. He slowly placed the blade on the captive’s neck, watching the terrified expression, listening to the anxious pleas, and his body trembled all over.

His hand shook slightly, and the balance in his heart swayed back and forth. On one side was the faith in the Almighty, the honor of the Holy War, the knight’s spirit. On the other side were the interests of the Republic, the interests of his family, and his own interests...

"Almighty! Three hundred thousand gold ducats..."

The young knight Giovanni murmured, his eyes gradually changing. Old knight Lorenzo seemed composed, having long known the answer in his heart.

After a moment of dead silence, a heart-wrenching scream, the Moor’s pleas halted abruptly. Silence reigned once more, with only the sound of blood flowing.

"Very good! Very good! Giovanni, you did very well!"

Seeing the splattered crimson, old knight Lorenzo’s spirit lifted, a smile on his face. He observed the young knight’s bloodstained longsword and the downcast eyes, feeling quite satisfied. Although he couldn’t see the other’s eyes, he could definitely feel: at this moment, in this young knight, something long-held, with a "snap," finally broke...

"Praise the Almighty! Haha!... God said, ’Repent then, and turn to Him, so that your sins may be wiped out, that times of refreshing may come from the Lord, and that He may send the Christ appointed for you, Jesus.’"’

With a laughing face, old knight Lorenzo recited a passage of scripture for atoning, like a priest, in front of Giovanni. Then he took the longsword from the young knight, wiping the blood from his hands and face, gently comforting him.

"Giovanni, good child! The Almighty has forgiven you! From today on, you are a qualified, true Venetian noble!"

The young Giovanni pursed his lips, remained silent for a moment, then lightly nodded. He said nothing, silently mounted his horse, and completely turned its head. Before departing, the former knight raised his head for one last look at the Granada sky. Then he wanted to say something but the words turned into another question.

"Lorenzo, if the Holy War ends, and the Kingdom of Castile still can’t repay our debt, what then?"

"Giovanni, you don’t need to worry. The city of Granada has been the capital city of the Moors on the Peninsula for over seven hundred years! Within it, treasures and wealth fill the Alhambra Palace, numerous beyond count. As long as Granada is captured, the Castilians will have a great deal of spoils of war to sell to us!"

"Lorenzo, what if these spoils of war still aren’t enough? You know many knights joining the Holy War are bankrupt, burdened with debt to gather warhorses, armor, travel expenses, and supplies to join the Holy War on the Peninsula. They’ll also need a share of these spoils to try to repay their debts..."

At this moment, the subject of Giovanni’s discussion seemed to have shifted, becoming like that of a true Venetian.

"...Moreover, the majority of spoils should belong to the various Castilian lords who sent troops. The spoils for the Dual Kings to distribute might not be sufficient, I fear!"

"Ha! There are plenty of Moors in the city of Granada. Even more Moors inhabit this land! If the spoils aren’t enough, then just confiscate all the Moors’ property and sell them as slaves, won’t that work! Don’t worry, the Castilians won’t have any qualms about doing such things!... "

"..."

The young Giovanni sat silently on horseback for a while, but persisted in asking.

"What if, and I mean if, if the Castilians still have no money? If these thousands of Crusader knights can’t get enough spoils to pay off their debts?... By then, the church that guarantees the debt, being the actual creditor... will they drive them to desperation?"

"Huh?!"

At these words, old knight Lorenzo’s eyes moved. He somewhat understood, understood what Giovanni was worried about, and inwardly sneered.

"Ha! Even having made a choice, still a trace of conscience remains... Ah, still too young!"

Old knight Lorenzo dismissed it with a laugh, shaking his head. But seeing Giovanni’s seriously determined expression, he deliberated for a moment before answering.

"Expecting the Church to give up debts, to let greedy high priests relinquish wealth clutched in their hands, is impossible! They might at most reduce some interest, while the indebted Crusader knights can sell their manors, sell their lands to repay debts..."

"If these debt-ridden paupers have nothing left to sell, then sell their lives! The Church will always find a way, as will the Kingdom of Castile. They can find a new target for looting... Oh no, I mean a new Holy War target! Like the Wattasid Dynasty in Morocco, across the strait on the Southern Continent, which is also a wealthy Moorish kingdom. There’s also the Kingdom of Tlemcen in Algeria, the Hafsid Kingdom in Tunisia... they’re all targets to be fought!"

At this point, old knight Lorenzo smiled, looking toward the distant South, as if foreseeing an impending future.

"Giovanni, you must know, Castile, a country established by war, is a Crusader nation through and through! They don’t manage lands, never had the tradition, and won’t have the patience for agriculture. They spend lavishly, squander the easy money they plunder quickly without restraint... they are, entirely different from us Venetians!"

"Now, maintaining an army of five to six thousand Crusaders, battle-hardened and with the support of the Kingdom of Aragon’s navy, they can’t stop the war, nor can they! The Vatican will support them to continue the fight, and our Republic of Venice will also support them to continue, bringing us more wealth... Haha!"

"So that’s the way it is..."

The young Giovanni was wordless for long. The real world struck suddenly, and imagined faith and glory turned out to be just bubbles hovering lightly on the surface, dissipating with a breath... After a long while, Giovanni sighed, shaking his head.

"Ah! Crossing the strait, heading to the Southern Continent shrouded by heathens... such slaughter, leaves no retreat! It might even attract the intervention of the Ottoman legion..."

"Hiss! The Ottoman legion..."

These words made old knight Lorenzo lower his gaze, fear rising in his heart. No one understands the power of the Ottoman people better than the Venetians. After a while, he took a deep breath and laughed, saying.

"Who knows? Almighty protect us! Perhaps, the Castilians will find a new Holy War target... who knows, they may be affluent, yet weak, dispersed like scattered sand!..."

"Ha! Affluent, yet weak, and scattered like sand?..."

Hearing this, Giovanni also laughed. He shook his head again, longingly.

"Almighty protect! If such a country exists, it would be the ’land flowing with milk and honey,’ the promised Heaven of the Almighty! By then, let alone the Castilians, the Aragonese, the Portuguese... even we Venetians would pounce and never let it slip by!..."

"Haha! Giovanni, you’ve forgotten, there’s also the most greedy, the Vatican!"

Old knight Lorenzo laughed heartily, added. Then he squeezed the horse’s sides, gave a whistle, and rode forward.

"Young man, stop dreaming! Hurry, the road awaits! Almighty protect, may this new plague not spread to the Republic of Venice!"

"Hmm, the Almighty will protect us! Amen!"

The rising prayers and the sound of trotting hooves echoed and drifted among the mountains and valleys of Granada. The dry earth was covered with withered yellow long grass, only a headless corpse leaking gradually darkening red streams. It was the life-or-death slaughter beneath faith and wealth, also akin to an unrecognized omen.