【Da Yin】2

Chapter Four ◆ A Perilous Test
A dozen or so large carts returned to the original port in a grand procession. Only a week had passed since their departure.
The port was still the same as before, not much more bustling, still deserted, with more fishing boats than merchant ships. But the atmosphere was different now; the initial tension was gone, replaced by a friendly and cordial atmosphere. There
were more than just the original boats; six larger merchant ships had joined them. A group of laborers were carrying tightly packed, tamped clods of earth into the cabins.
Because the other ships were loading cargo, the original ship was now free. The compartments were reinforced with wooden planks, and now everyone had their own room.
Three more passengers joined the ship. Abdul decided to make the trip himself; he wanted to witness firsthand how holy soil was transformed into rings of piety. This was a huge deal, far exceeding his business here, and he naturally wouldn't entrust it to anyone else.
Besides, he wanted to see Luke's workshop built and witness the first shipment of fine white sugar—an even bigger deal that would become a long-term source of income. He also brought his son, who would be permanently stationed there to coordinate between the two sides.
Many hands make light work; over a dozen cartloads of soil were loaded onto the ship in just half a day.
With departure imminent, Abdul and Luke didn't want to linger a moment longer, but Nice had vanished.
"Where's Nice? Has anyone seen him?" Luke asked from boat to boat.
"Could he be sleeping somewhere again?" Palm looked around, trying to see if there were any mountains nearby.
Abdul was even more anxious than Luke and the others; he was afraid that Luke and Nice would be kidnapped and the technology for making fine sugar would fall into the wrong hands.
"Could it be that trading company? You trust them so much..." Abdul's first thought was of the trading company that was most likely to become a competitor.
Luke also became worried; he knew nothing about the trading company, but after being led astray by Abdul, he had similar suspicions.
"Come on, let's go take a look together," he said, turning to Palm and the others.
"I'll lead the way, I'll lead the way," Abdul was the most enthusiastic, and he took the lead.
A large group of people arrived at the warehouse.
Upon arrival, they saw Nice instructing people to load carts full of heavy hardwood stools, each over a meter tall. The workmanship was very rough, and the structure was simple: a thick plank of wood with four thick wooden legs and four slightly thinner crossbars for reinforcement. The only advantage of these stools was their sturdiness.
"Why are you loading so many stools? These things won't fetch a good price," Palm said, looking at Nice as if he'd lost his mind.
The others, including the merchant Abdul, remained silent. Although they hadn't known each other long, they all sensed a deeper meaning in Nice's every move.
"Here are forty-eight bundles of horse leg tendons, forty-eight bundles of horsehide strips, forty-eight bundles of raw cowhide strips, one hundred and sixty two-foot wooden sticks, three hundred and twenty small iron hooks, six hundred linen ropes for clamping steel wire, and one hundred and sixty sets of spiral-patterned discs," the innkeeper said, counting the goods.
"What are all these things for?" Palm asked, looking puzzled, as did the others.
Only East understood: "You plan to use these things to make your own crossbows?" Seeing that the others still didn't understand, East explained, "These aren't the ancient outward-pointing crossbows, but rather the inward-pointing crossbows improved from those of the Northern Mountains." "Why would you suddenly prepare these things?" Luke asked, his tone unusually serious this time.
"I have a bad feeling, something might go wrong," Nice could only say.
He was actually worried that what was hidden in the clods of earth would be exposed, and then he would only be able to fight back by force. With these crossbows, he at least had the capital to take a gamble.
Nis was only thinking of himself, but Luke and the others took it seriously, and he started helping to carry things.
"Is it necessary to worry like this? You only had one ship when you came, but you went back with seven ships," Abdul pulled Luke aside to persuade him, feeling it was a waste of time.
"He's a prophet. He's predicted danger before, very accurately." Luke was referring to Nis's fainting spell in the library. He had inquired about it afterward and learned from others that it was an extraordinary talent, which was why he was saying such things now.
Upon hearing Luke's words, Abdul turned pale. The richer a person is, the more they value their life.
"It's alright. Loading the ship will take at least a day anyway, enough time for me to hire a bunch of bodyguards. I'll cover the cost." He was unusually generous, both to cultivate a good relationship with Luke and his men, and also for his own safety.
Because of Nice's worries, the departure time was delayed by two whole days.
Two days later, when the fleet set sail again, all the ships were loaded with ballistae, and every cabin was crammed with bodyguards.
Whether it was a crow's beak or some divine intervention, it was hard to say. Only a day after the fleet left the port, thick plumes of smoke could be seen rising from the sea in the distance. Upon hearing this news, Luke and the others, who had been inside the cabin, all rushed to the deck.
"There really are pirates ahead. That guy's premonition came true," Luke said, glancing at Nice atop the mast.
Palm and Metro, with the help of their two mixed-race attendants, had already donned their armor. Abdul, who had been standing on the deck, turned pale and rushed back into the cabin when he saw the smoke in the distance. Fortunately, his bodyguard remained calm on the deck.
This man wasn't very tall, but his muscles were exceptionally strong. His weathered face bore several scars, one of which ran all the way down to his neck—a potentially fatal wound. The fact that he survived was incredible. This guy was incredibly lucky; someone who had been on the battlefield and crawled out of piles of corpses couldn't be too weak.
Not only did this ship see the thick smoke in the distance, but the people on the other six ships also began preparations. Each ship had over thirty bodyguards; Abdul had definitely spent a fortune this time, hiring these men in a hurry the day before their departure.
With time so tight and no other choice, he borrowed men directly from the port's garrison. The fact that he was able to mobilize men to besiege Luke and his men proved that he had connections. Although the cost was considerable, the effect was far superior to hiring ordinary mercenaries. These men were all regular soldiers who had received proper training and knew how to operate ballistae. They wore armor, carried curved swords at their waists, and held shields in one hand and crossbows in the other. These bodyguards boarded the deck, and the fleet sailed toward the direction of the smoke. Smoke was rising from that area, indicating that even more unfortunate people were being besieged by pirates. In this situation, joining forces with those people to take down the pirates was the most sensible course of action. Most of the pirate ships were fast boats with both sails and propellers, far too slow for merchant ships. Once that area was dealt with, they wouldn't be able to escape either.
What gave the people on board some confidence was that this fleet was by no means at a disadvantage in terms of the number of weapons.
Because of Nice's previous frantic preparations, the seven ships were equipped with 150 ballistae, 22 on each ship, 10 on each side, and one each at the bow and stern—almost like a hedgehog. A typical medium-sized warship would only have a dozen or so ballistae, and the pirate ships had even fewer, at most seven or eight.
The bodyguards operating the ballistae began turning the winches and tightening the bowstrings. Others helped prepare the arrows. These arrows were all about two fingers thick, with three-inch-long tips.
The sailors were also busy; they drew water from the sea and splashed it onto the deck, masts, and sails to defend against the enemy's fire attack.
With battle imminent, the crew on board continued their preparations at an unhurried pace. Naval warfare was far more intense than land battles, and the rhythm was remarkably slow. From the discovery of the smoke to the sight of the clashing ships, a full hour had passed; there was no way to speed things up.
The battle scene in the distance could be described as a pack of wolves fighting a tiger. The besieged fleet consisted entirely of large ships, with square sails and round bellies, totaling five vessels, each around six or seven tons. The attacking pirates, on the other hand, rode fast sailing ships. Both sides were equipped with ballistae, and the five besieged ships were particularly armed with numerous heavy ballistae.

"It's the flag of the Principality of Styria," Metro observed, noticing the flag on the attacked ships first.
The Duchy of Styria was very close to their Amondon Academy. The Styria family was a branch of the Has family and held a very high position, while Amondon was under the Has family's jurisdiction.
Luke and his three companions had never intended to stand idly by, and now they were even more determined to fight a fierce battle. Such an opportunity was once in a lifetime; if they could establish a connection with the Styria family, they wouldn't have to worry about becoming knights.
"We can infiltrate from there and gain the upper hand," Nice suggested from the side.
"You've studied naval warfare?" Luke asked. He wasn't sure if Nice's suggestion was correct, but he himself didn't know how to do it. The Amondon Academy only taught knightly skills and didn't offer naval courses.
"Would you believe me if I told you it's just my intuition?" Nice couldn't explain. When the old man awakened his wisdom, he also passed on to him the experience accumulated from past wars.
This experience was absolutely unparalleled. Although this experience hadn't yet become Nice's own, it was far superior to that of the others on the ship.
Luke's gaze swept over the others; he wanted to hear their opinions, but no one paid him any attention. Even East couldn't figure out how to fight, let alone the clever Metro and the brainless Palm. As for Abdul's bodyguard, he was clearly a man of more muscle than brains.
"Alright, go around that way." Luke had no choice but to accept Nis's suggestion. He gave the order in an unconventional way, but fortunately, old Ed understood.
With a slight sway, their ship cut in the direction Nis indicated. The crew on the following ships didn't need to worry; they could just follow.
The opposing pirate fleet had already noticed this and was the first to enter the attack range.
An arrow shot out from the bow of the opposing ship.
Nis knew the arrow wouldn't hit him, but he still instinctively ducked under the railing. Not only him, but everyone else dodged and hid.
There was a loud "clang." The arrow embedded itself in the hull, piercing through the thick plank, the foot-long arrowhead disappearing completely into the hull.
Nice's face turned deathly pale. He couldn't imagine what would happen if that arrow struck a person. He often imagined scenes of war, war seemed to mean courage, passion, and fierce competition. Now, facing real war, he realized how fragile life was in the face of conflict.
Clearly provoked, all the men operating the ballistae hastily aimed and fired their arrows in rapid succession. Most of these hastily fired arrows fell into the water, and only three hit the opposite ship.
Nice's arrows were far less sturdy than their opponents'; the seemingly thick shafts snapped into several pieces, dangling limply over the ship's side. However, the fire ignited by the arrows was considerable, far more powerful than the large, torch-like arrows from the opposing side.
Of the three arrows, two struck the ship's side, and one hit the sail. Although the sail had been doused with water, it still caught fire, and the flames spread rapidly. The pirates panicked, hastily trying to extinguish the fire with sand.
Seeing that they had the upper hand, Luke and his men finally came to their senses. At this moment, Nice also remembered something—this was truly inexcusable.
Nice quickly began chanting a "Battle Prayer." The incantation for "Battle Prayer" wasn't long. After a moment, a faint golden light emanated from his fingertips. "Battle Prayer" was a divine spell effective against everyone within a certain range, but due to the meditation aspect, it was similar to magic, requiring a medium to activate. Thus, he had transformed a ranged spell into one effective only against a single target.
He held a box in one hand, occasionally dipping his fingers in the box before flicking it at someone. What he flicked was a small amount of oil—divine oil. Those touched immediately felt all their fear and tension vanish without a trace, and courage surged from their hearts.
Nis's "Battle Prayer" didn't increase strength or speed much, but the effect was already quite noticeable.
Unlike before, those who had already fired their arrows began turning the winches, reloading the ballistae. Those who hadn't yet fired all calmed themselves and prepared to aim.
They cast "Battle Prayer" on everyone on their side. Even the four mixed-race followers weren't spared. Nis turned to look at the people Abdul had hired.
The Saracens were all somewhat hesitant, all looking at Abdul's bodyguard. They didn't know whether they should accept the infidel's "blessing." The bodyguard also hesitated for a moment, then nodded. This man who had crawled out of mountains of corpses and seas of blood was far more decisive and realistic than ordinary people.
Nice was overjoyed. He quickly flicked out holy oil and, before the others could object, cast "Battle Prayer" on the remaining men. Without fear, their crossbow bolts became increasingly accurate, and those responsible for defense took their positions, using their large shields to create a mobile protective barrier.
The two ships approached at a steady pace, their bows slightly turned to face each other, and the ballistae fired at a measured pace, about once every two or three minutes.
Although the battle wasn't intense, casualties were inevitable. The ballistae were incredibly powerful; even with thick ship hulls and large shields in front, they couldn't stop the powerful arrows.
Nice had another job: to bring wounded soldiers to him immediately, his job being to save their lives.
The two ships drew closer, their arrows becoming increasingly accurate. A single arrow wasn't so bad; you could dodge it if you couldn't block it. The real threat was a volley. Although Nice had far more ballistae, they were far outnumbered.
Seeing the wounded piling up, Nice was frantic. He peered out from the opposite ship and suddenly felt a chill run down his spine. He looked around and saw Metro already preparing to fire, aiming his weapon.
Nice strode over, shoving past the man, snatched the crossbow, adjusted its range slightly, and yanked the rope. He hadn't aimed properly; he fired entirely based on the fleeting feeling he'd caught.
The arrow flew towards the stern of the pirate ship, skimming the water's surface, and vanished the instant it struck.
Only Nice himself saw that his arrow had struck the oar hole—a small, deep hole that would have gotten stuck with an ordinary arrow. This design was intended to prevent arrows from entering.
However, their arrows broke immediately upon entering the hole, severing inch by inch. The entire arrow slid in like a living snake, and once it had passed through the gap, it dispersed like fireworks, instantly transforming into a fireball. The
mash chamber was originally like a ventilation hole, completely sealed off, with air only entering and exiting at two ends. When the ship was moving, the air flowed from the bow to the stern. If a fire was lit in this area, the ventilation hole would instantly become a furnace, and the fire would spread directly towards the stern.
A thick plume of smoke, carrying two-foot-long flames, billowed from the stern hatch. Several people, blackened to the bone, their bodies ablaze, their skin covered in blisters, crawled out of the cabin screaming. One of them was the person in charge of the ship's hull.
The ship, out of control, began to swerve in front of the seven other ships—there was no better target.
The seven crossbows concealed on one side, along with the two cannons at the bow and stern, opened fire relentlessly. Each volley fired over eighty arrows, each hitting the opposite ship with an absolute certainty of success.
In the blink of an eye, the ship became a bonfire floating on the water.
Nice had not participated in this "hunt." He stood there, stunned, savoring the feeling he had just experienced. It was an ability born from the fusion of the prophet's power and the talent bestowed upon him by Mercury. The prophet's power had allowed him to see the ship's vitals, and his intuition told him, "Only by shooting like this can you hit the target." It was an absolutely deadly combination.
Nice was still in a daze when suddenly he was pulled sharply. An arrow grazed his forehead, and he was startled, only then realizing it was Abdul's bodyguard who had just saved his life.
"This is a battlefield," the bodyguard said in broken Latin.
"I understand. This is a battlefield. I won't get distracted." Nice nodded repeatedly. He really didn't dare to be distracted anymore. No one's luck can last forever. Every time, someone would pull him back. The battle continued. This was just one corner of the battlefield. The center of the battlefield was those large ships. However, most wars often change because of a change in one corner. A ship turned into a burning bonfire in such a short time made the pirates panic.
They couldn't possibly know the secret of Nice's arrow. They could only simply attribute the cause to the offensive power of this fleet. After all, each ship had more than twenty ballistae, which was far beyond the range of merchant ships. Even wanted warships did not have such offensive power.
This reinforcement was incredibly powerful. The pirates felt the battle had dragged on for too long and needed a swift victory.
Eight sailing ships approached the largest merchant ship, intending to board it; once on board, it would be their domain.
Merchant ships had limited security; those like Abdul's, with thirty-odd bodyguards per ship, were a minority. The pirates, however, were unreliable. Their ships alone had over thirty oarsmen, and at least twenty or thirty more on deck. Pirates made no distinction between sailors and warriors.
These pirates were used to working together. Knowing that the most important aspect of boarding action is the timing of the attack, they sent all the ships in the direction of the attack to board the eight ships. Just as the eight ships were about to reach a point where they could disembark, suddenly, several figures emerged from the large ship.
These figures were all engulfed in flames, emitting beams of light several feet long. The weapons they wielded also emitted a similar light, and one of them was still suspended in mid-air. The others, while not as imposing, were still exceptionally fierce. In the flash of sword light, everything in their path—pirates, ship planks, trebuchets, and crossbows—was cleaved in two.
"Impressive!" "A high-ranking knight?" "At least a high-ranking knight, possibly even a grand knight." Luke and his group were completely dumbfounded. Like Nice earlier, they were so focused on the distant battlefield that they had completely forgotten that a battle was still raging here.
Fortunately, their luck was good; the pirates were also stunned by the battle over there.
"The people on that ship are not simple; they might be some important figure in Styria." Ister was the first to come to his senses, grasping the key point.
This conclusion made the other three extremely excited, their eyes practically glowing red, as if they had taken an aphrodisiac. Just moments ago, they were only thinking about establishing a connection with the Styrian family. Now, they actually had the opportunity to directly forge a friendship with an important figure in this family. How could they let such an opportunity slip by?
Palm, being the least thoughtful, reacted the most directly. He stopped shaking the winch and simply used both hands to pull the bowstring, placed one foot on the front of the ballista, and used his powerful waist strength to draw the bowstring. The other three suddenly realized what he meant and followed suit.
After tauting the bowstring, Palm didn't rush to fire. Instead, he pulled Nice over. "You shoot." He had noticed earlier that after Nice fired the arrow, the ship lost control. In addition, they knew that this guy specialized in concealed weapons, and in a sense, the ballista could also be considered a concealed weapon.
Nice, of course, wouldn't refuse. Appointing him to fire was far more efficient than the others, and he slightly adjusted the direction. Soul-like, guided by some intuition, pulled the rope again.
The bolt on the ballista snapped open with a loud "bang." The arrow shot far away, embedding itself in the mast of a rowing boat.
The mast was always the dampest part and wouldn't normally catch fire, but these arrows were different. Their shafts were made of a ring of oil-soaked grass wrapped around a cotton strip saturated with kerosene. This could barely withstand the impact of heat, but once it hit its target, it would break into pieces, wrapping around the target like strips of cloth and burning fiercely.
"Here!" Luke shouted, dragging Nice over.
In naval battle, a sharpshooter is invaluable. Four men were responsible for drawing the bows, and not with winches, but with brute force. One man was dedicated to aiming and firing, making the frequency of the ballista fire much more intense. What used to be one shot every two or three minutes became continuous firing, and what was even more deadly was its extremely high accuracy.
As long as the angle was right, the sterns of pirate ships within their attack range were basically ablaze. Even if the tugboat didn't burn through, the person holding the stern would definitely have to escape. Without the tugboat, they could still control the direction using only the sails and the ship's spirit. However, this control could only be used for escape; fighting was absolutely impossible.
The pirates had lost all will to fight. Their luck had run out; their intelligence was flawed, mistaking a piece of pig iron for a piece of meat. Then they encountered another excessively fierce merchant ship, its attack power almost rivaling that of the main fleets of various nations. A long, drawn-out horn rang out across the sea, and the pirate ships scattered, retreating from the battlefield. The once calm sea was now a scene of devastation, littered with rags, charred planks, and corpses bobbing on the waves.
The worst off was the large ship that had been besieged; five waterlogged pirate ships, sunk by the pirates' riders during the boarding action, floated around it. The large ship itself was also badly damaged; its sails were long gone, its masts were upright charred remains, and its sides were studded with countless arrows, making it look like a giant cactus, covered in scorch marks.
The people on board were desperately trying to salvage their souls from the water.
Of the five ships, only four remained; the other, engulfed in flames and thick smoke, was slowly sinking.
The spacious living room, with its red-painted walls edged in colorful paintings, and its gleaming teak floors, boasted a row of floor-to-ceiling windows that made one forget it was a ship.
Despite the utter devastation outside, with even the masts burned away, the interior remained resplendent.
A young man, about the same age as Luke, was chatting amiably with Luke and his companions, occasionally letting out a hearty laugh.
This young man was somewhat thin, with an average appearance; his forehead was rather high, and his eyebrows too thin—lacking any imposing presence for a man. He wore shiny armor with a scratch on it, indicating that he hadn't been hiding in the ship's cabin during the battle.
A gold ring on his head identified him—he was a prince from a small northern kingdom called Colunant.
Like Luke and his companions, Prince Philip wasn't the eldest son, but regardless, he was still a prince and would undoubtedly receive a considerable territory in the future.
Luke, Metro, and Palm knew nothing about the Kingdom of Goronant, and they were too embarrassed to ask in person. Only Ister and Nice knew something about it.
All they knew was that the area was densely forested, so its main product was timber, along with some animal furs. The winters were exceptionally long, leaving very little time for farming, leading to food shortages and a small population. Adding to this, this small country was bordered by several powerful neighbors, making their situation predictably difficult.
Luke and his companions weren't interested in the prince's status, nor were they interested in a weak and harsh country like Golund. What they truly cared about was using this prince to gain access to the Styrian family.
The Duchess of Styria was the prince's aunt.
Nice had no such intentions, nor did he care about the Styrian family. However, like everyone else, he was extremely enthusiastic about the prince, hoping to use his status to safely bring the *Sacred Book* back.
During the inheritance dispute, he used the bishop as cover to escape unscathed, and even slapped those ruthless relatives in the process. Now he wanted to use the same tactic again.
"What an interesting idea. You can make a ballista with just two stools. Once I have my own territory, I'll definitely regulate the style and size of the stools there. That way, they can be used as furniture in peacetime, and in times of war, they can be converted into ballistae," the prince said with a laugh.
Although it was mostly a joke, the prince genuinely admired Luke and his companions. If he didn't yet have his own territory, he might even have tested whether these men were willing to pledge their allegiance to him.
As a prince, he had no shortage of powerful knights.
Columbus was an extremely harsh and cold land. The people who lived there were all incredibly resilient and tenacious. Because food and other necessities were barely enough, the Columbians would fight tooth and nail for a single loaf of bread. Over time, this fostered a fierce and courageous character in the inhabitants.
Columbus was a cultural and technological wasteland. Loyal and reliable knights were plentiful, and highly skilled knights were even more numerous, but those with good minds were few. The few who were truly intelligent excelled in strategy, not technology.
"It's a pity summer is over, otherwise I would love to invite you to visit Colombia. My hometown is absolutely a beautiful place, like paradise, in the summer, and the climate is very cool, much more comfortable than Styria."
The prince extended his goodwill, which was a very obvious invitation.
"There will be summer next year too, there will definitely be an opportunity."
Although Luke was not interested in that small northern country, he still accepted the prince's offer of goodwill.
"It seems your trip to Nangya went very smoothly. There are only five of you, how did you come up with the idea of going to the Holy Land? It wasn't a peaceful journey. I brought so many people, I thought it would be very safe, but I didn't expect to be attacked, and even one of our ships sank. If it weren't for you, that ship might have been in danger too."
The prince took the opportunity to express his gratitude again.
“Even without us, you would have been fine. The knights around you are all exceptionally skilled…”
Luke didn’t dare take credit, nor did he intend to claim all the credit for this trek. “The idea was Conselk’s.”
He pointed to Nice. “We also owe a lot to him along the way. We did encounter some dangers, back then…”
Luke began to recount the journey.
Of course, he wouldn’t mention Palm killing someone with a crossbow at the start, nor would he mention kicking an iron plate halfway through the journey. So the story begins directly with their arrival at Ashkelon. The ups and downs, though mostly minor incidents, sounded dramatic and thrilling when told by him.
Naturally, he incorporated a lot of his imagination. For example, he didn't know how Nice had found another merchant to help them out of their predicament. He hadn't asked at the time, and forgot to ask afterwards. Now, when he spoke of it, he was completely making it up, portraying Nice as a born diplomat.
However, there was some truth to it. Nice was a pastor, and most people in the church were eloquent; otherwise, how could they persuade others to believe in God?
Luke, of course, didn't show favoritism. He repeatedly mentioned Metro's contributions, describing Metro as an omniscient person who could instantly know the details of everyone in a place after just one visit.
Of course, he also sometimes glossed over things, such as not mentioning the fine white sugar at all. Having unique skills is sometimes like possessing a treasure trove—a source of immense wealth, but also a source of disaster. Luke didn't want the tragedy of the Holy Knights to repeat itself in their lives.
It was for this reason that he preferred to do this business with the infidels thousands of miles away, rather than sell this high-quality sugar in the surrounding areas. If he wanted, he could buy ordinary sugar in any port, refine it into this fine white sugar, and sell it—the profits would be several times greater than trading with that Saracen, and the volume would be much larger and the cycle shorter.
But he wouldn't do that, at least not until he had his own territory and the strength to protect its security.
His Highness listened with rapt attention, especially when he heard that Luke and his companions had the ability to turn enemies into friends, which strengthened his resolve to recruit them.
Like technology, diplomacy had always been a weakness of the Golanites; their only diplomatic tool had always been marriage alliances. One of the most important reasons the Golanites had survived to this day was that many of the powerful neighboring monarchs were related to their families by blood.
After five full days, the port where Luke and his group had initially sought shelter from the storm finally came into view. Deep
down, Luke and his men were reluctant to dock here, as it reminded them of their embarrassing past. However, they had no choice but to enter the harbor; the entire fleet was damaged. Prince Philip's ship was the most severely damaged, propelled forward only by auxiliary sails and the towing of several other sailboats. Their ship was less damaged, but its canvas was tattered and torn, barely usable despite some emergency repairs.
Although there was no storm this time, there were still many ships outside the harbor; it was indeed a busy port, with over a dozen ships waiting to dock.
As they approached the harbor, a pair of warships came towards them. They had seen this formation many times on their way there, but back then they were heading to the Holy Land and hadn't been ordered to stop for inspection. But now, the situation was different.
The warships clearly realized the fleet was about to dock, and would likely remain there for some time. They weren't in a hurry to stop, but instead moved slowly along the outer edge of the fleet like guards escorting an entourage, seemingly wary of escape.
"How annoying,"
the steward beside the prince grumbled. This steward, sent by the Duke of Styria to the prince's side, had the authority to speak so rudely.
Despite one being merely a duchy and the other a true kingdom, their strengths were incomparable. The former was a member of the Holy Empire, its duke's father being the previous emperor—a man of noble status and high position. The latter, however, was just a small state in the northern wilderness.
More importantly, the Duchy of Styria is very close to the Papal States. At full speed, they could be at the city gates in three days. The Church has always been very respectful to the lords of this land.
"Never mind, it's not specifically targeting us, just routine."
The prince didn't seem to mind.
The ship slowly docked at the pier, where a guard of honor was already waiting. The ship His Highness was on displayed the coat of arms of the Styrian family at the bow, and for that alone, the port's administrators dared not show the slightest disrespect.
The heavy anchor chain was lowered into the sea, and the people on the ship threw the rope ashore. Those on shore caught the rope and used six horses to pull it forward. With a slight tremor, the ship's gunwale pressed against the dock, and two more ropes were lowered, securely fastened one after the other to the wooden stakes at the dock.
Those on the dock pushed the ladder forward, and those above secured its top. Before His Highness could even disembark, a troop of riders could be seen slowly approaching in the distance.
Nice and Luke's expressions changed instantly; they recognized one of the riders—the very same knight who had humiliated them in the restaurant.
Just like before, that knight was at the very back of the procession. Leading the way was a portly old man in his fifties. His head was almost completely bald, with only a sparse ring of hair behind his ears. A round cloth covered his bald forehead, and he wore a long red robe.
Nice's pupils constricted. Of all the church members he had ever encountered, Elder Simon and Dean Gloria were the most powerful in terms of spiritual cultivation; in terms of combat strength, Morgan the Judge was probably the strongest. But this man gave him a feeling even more terrifying than those others.
The holy power emanating from this man was no longer the one he was familiar with, but a different aura—an aura that appeared peaceful and detached, yet exuded an immense pressure with every gesture.
"I never imagined we offended a cardinal,"
Luke said somberly. Fortunately, he hadn't intended to regain his lost face, so the shock wasn't too severe.
Having spent the last few days with Prince Philip, Luke and his companions knew that the knights accompanying the prince were all his retainers from the Kingdom of Colunant. If
a prince from a small, remote country could have such formidable knights, what powerful figures would a cardinal in the much more influential church have as bodyguards?
Luke and his group huddled in a corner at the stern, whispering amongst themselves, keeping their distance and speaking softly, yet still daring not to utter the slightest disrespect.
They were knights themselves, so they knew how sharp the senses of skilled knights were. They could hear the sound of hooves ten miles away and feel the vibrations of arrows cutting through the air. No matter how softly they spoke, it wouldn't escape their ears.
The cardinal, having boarded the ship, naturally wouldn't head towards Luke's direction. The only person on the ship who required any special attention was Prince Philip. He had just exchanged a few polite words with the prince when one of his men came running towards him, his face beaming with excitement.
"Lord Elmar, we've detected a strong holy energy reaction. The ships at the back of this fleet all exhibit very strong holy energy reactions."
The cardinal's eyebrows twitched slightly. He turned to the prince with a beaming smile and said, "Your Majesty is truly fortunate. The treasure everyone has been searching for has been found by you."
"This isn't mine, but rather the cargo of my friends,"
Prince Philip quickly distanced himself. Although he wanted to recruit Luke and his group, he had no intention of getting involved with the recently rumored paladin's treasure.
However, he didn't completely distance himself. He already knew from Luke that the ships were carrying holy soil dug from the Holy Mountain, which shouldn't be considered treasure.
"The friends you speak of, I presume, are those young knights standing over there? I did meet them once, but my impression wasn't very good. Because of their youth, they were inevitably somewhat frivolous. You should be careful when associating with them."
The cardinal did remember Luke and his companions. As a clergyman, recognizing someone after many years is a basic skill.
"Frivolity doesn't equate to incompetence,"
the prince defended Luke and his group, which was quite considerate.
The cardinal was slightly surprised, and at the same time, a hint of curiosity arose.
In the church, the duties of a bishop are to shepherd a region, manage local church affairs, and incidentally maintain good relations with local dignitaries. Starting with the archbishop, the primary responsibilities are no longer related to church affairs, but rather to politics. An archbishop is responsible for relations between their country. The next rank, like that of a cardinal, transcends national boundaries, traveling between countries to mediate and adjudicate disputes.
From cardinal onward, one must not only be an excellent politician but also a shrewd diplomat, possessing a thorough understanding of each country and a sufficient awareness of influential matters within it.
This prince is not yet considered influential, but because of his status, the Church has already taken notice.
Cardinal Elmar recalls that the Church's list of recommended officials contains very positive evaluations of the prince.
Someone valued by such a person must be quite extraordinary, right?

Chapter Five ◆ The Value of Money
One by one, cubes wrapped in linen were carefully carried out of the ship's hold. A white cloth had already been laid out on the deck. Under everyone's watchful eyes, the linen was unwrapped, revealing the tightly packed earth beneath.
"What is this?"
the cardinal asked疑惑地. To be honest, he couldn't believe anyone would mistake earth for merchandise.
He winked at the knight at the very end, who quickly went to the clod and gently tapped it.
With a "whoosh," the clod scattered into a pile of small, scattered particles, the largest of which was no more than the size of a soybean.
The knight flicked the soil with his hand, but there was clearly nothing inside.
"Strange, all this soil is radiating holy power."
The priest who had just brought the news was now standing blankly to the side. He had thought he had done a great service, but it turned out to be all for nothing.
"What's so strange about that?"
By this time, Cardinal Amar had already guessed what was going on: "Don't forget, this fleet came from the Holy Land." Anyone
who could work for a cardinal couldn't be a fool. The priest, caught up in his emotional turmoil, hadn't thought of it immediately, but after the cardinal's insightful remark, he instantly understood: "It's the sacred soil from the Holy Mountain." "
When the Knights Templar were around, they held these sacred lands firmly in their grasp. Later, the Saracens came, and the Holy Mountain was occupied by these pagans, making even pilgrimage extremely difficult. These sacred lands were gradually forgotten."
The cardinal stammered, finally understanding why His Highness the prince valued these seemingly insignificant figures so highly.
The fact that these young men even considered taking over these sacred sites proved they were clever; their courage in traveling thousands of miles to the Holy Land demonstrated their formidable spirit; and their success proved their cunning.
In an instant, the cardinal recalled his first encounter with these young men, who were celebrating their impending treasure. He naturally assumed they were just like the madmen in the tavern, making fun of the Knights Templar's treasure.
Now, it seemed he was wrong. These sacred sites were indeed a treasure trove in terms of value, and ironically, they truly belonged to the Knights Templar.
"They've dug really deep! I'm afraid all the soil from the sacred mountain is in here."
Even he was very tempted by such a fortune.
However, he had to consider his image. As a cardinal, he had already touched the edge of the papacy, and naturally wouldn't risk a reputation for greed for some personal gain. Moreover, this group had already boarded the Styrian family's ship, and a prince was closely associated with them; they weren't people who could be easily dealt with.
"It seems there's no problem, but let's still check the ships carefully, so everyone can be at ease,"
Cardinal Emar quickly adjusted his mindset.
His squire, the powerful knight, immediately returned and stood beside the cardinal again; he was unwilling to do such hard labor.
Soon, a squad of soldiers boarded each ship, all carrying the wooden hammers they had just borrowed. Since a search was to be conducted, every clod of earth would have to be broken open.
The dock suddenly resembled a giant construction site, with constant banging and hammering sounds echoing everywhere. Breaking up clods of earth, inspecting them, and then putting the soil back into sacks—the whole process was tedious and monotonous.
Half an hour passed, and nothing was found, just clods of earth. The cardinal lost interest and rose to take his leave. After the cardinal left, his entourage also departed, leaving only two priests to inspect the sacred soil.
Prince Philip also showed little interest in the sacred soil; after saying goodbye to Luke and the others, he went ashore as well. With
the important figures gone, the soldiers responsible for the inspection immediately became lax.
The clods of earth were all compacted with rice water, making them very difficult to break. They dared not suggest carrying them to the dock to smash them, not only because the ship owner wouldn't agree, but even if he did, these things, though just clods of earth, were sacred soil dug from the holy mountain. Anything with the word "holy" in its name is not simple, and if someone was unhappy, they could easily be accused of blasphemy.
More and more clods of earth were broken up, no longer being checked one clod at a time, but sometimes a dozen or so were broken up in a flash, and then rummaged through the pile of fragments.
At first, the two priests would have the soldiers break up any slightly larger clods of earth again, but as they gained nothing, they gradually lost interest.
"Did you notice? That cardinal seemed quite interested in these holy sites,"
Nice whispered, pulling Luke aside.
Luke nodded; he was troubled by this very issue.
He was somewhat relieved to have encountered Prince Philip on the way; it was His Highness's presence that made the cardinal wary.
"Instead of being cautious, why not just bring that cardinal in?"
Nice whispered in Luke's ear.
Luke stared wide-eyed at Nice as if he didn't recognize him, and after a long pause, he said in a low voice, "You've got some nerve, but do you think you're qualified to do business with a cardinal? He could swallow us all whole, not even spitting out the bones." "
I've been thinking, is setting the price of the Ring of Piety at three florins too cheap? For ordinary people, the cost of a pilgrimage to the Holy Land is at least ten times that amount."
Nice didn't try to persuade Luke, but instead counted on his fingers.
Luke understood his meaning and asked in surprise, "You plan to raise the price?"
"Just because we don't have the connections doesn't mean others don't,"
Nice said, with the best proof right beside him.
When he and Luke accidentally discovered the fine white sugar, they initially planned to sell it for a high price. However, with Abdul, the price increased twelvefold, split 50/50, and they had much less to do. Abdul even handled the procurement of raw materials, ordering five ships' worth every month—something they had never dared to dream of before.
"How much do you plan to raise it to?"
Luke's mind started working.
"Five florins, not a split, but a complete sale to him. How much the Cardinal sells for is none of our business."
Nice had already calculated it all. He was even prepared for the Cardinal to haggle over the price. His bottom line was three florins. That way, although they wouldn't make a huge profit, they would still reach their target.
"I believe you,"
Luke said resolutely, making his decision.
With Luke's approval, Nice walked towards one of the two priests.
"I have something important I want to discuss with His Holiness the Cardinal,"
Nice said mysteriously.
The priest hesitated for a moment, Nice's current demeanor leaving him somewhat puzzled. He didn't know what important it was, or if it could be delayed, yet he dared not ask. He turned to look at the other priest.
That priest pretended not to hear, clearly not wanting to get involved.
"Alright, come with me."
He led Nice around and off the ship. With this priest leading the way, the guards on the dock dared not stop them. According to custom, the cargo owner must remain present during ship inspections, but often needs to handle problems as they arise.
The cardinal was staying in the fortress where Nice and the others had eaten. It was the highest point in the harbor, offering a panoramic view of the entire dock. After bringing Nice there, the priest turned and slipped into the lounge. Having such a legitimate opportunity to slack off, he certainly wouldn't go back immediately.
While checking holy power was a basic divine spell with minimal cost, continuous use, though small, accumulated over time, was still a considerable drain.
He was unaware that this was precisely Nice's purpose. With two priests together, they would supervise each other, preventing either from slacking off. Once only one remained, the inherent human tendency towards laziness would subtly take over, much like soldiers breaking clods of earth, inevitably choosing the easiest method.
In a living room entirely decorated with white marble, Nice stood cautiously before Cardinal Elmar.
The cardinal sat in a chair, smiling broadly at Nice.
"Five florins?"
An appreciative look appeared on his plump face.
"We originally planned to set the price at three florins, but then some things happened in the Holy Land... It started off badly, but fortunately, it turned out quite well. We gained a partner as a result, and we agreed to split the profits 50/50. It was because of him that we were able to dig up all the holy soil from the Holy Land."
Nice had already prepared his explanation. This was also what the old man had taught him: before trying to deceive someone, you must make the "story" as plausible as possible.
Cardinal Elmar didn't care about the price. For someone of his status, selling pious jewelry at such a low price would be an insult—not just to him, but to God. What
truly concerned him at that moment was Nice's words.
Although Nice hadn't explained what had happened, the cardinal's experience allowed him to easily guess the kind of trouble a group of people completely ignorant of the Holy Land would face in Saracen territory.
In recent years, everyone who had returned from the Holy Land was filled with resentment. These young men, not only gaining immense benefits, had even managed to win back a partner—that was no small feat.
"You seem to be Frankish?"
Cardinal Amar asked. He had noticed Nice when Luke and his group were making a lot of noise. After all, a Frankish person mixed in with a group of foreigners would always be a bit of an eyesore.
The cardinal, also a Frankish, was naturally a confidant of the current Pope Clementi, given the important position he was entrusted with.
"I know what you're wondering about,"
Nice said, already used to such questions. "I'm currently studying at the Admont Monastery, and my friend Soul is also studying there. I left Frankish to escape some people; my father passed away at the beginning of the year..."
Nice recounted his past experiences.
The cardinal listened patiently.
He vaguely remembered this incident; after all, it happened at the beginning of the year—the orphan had donated all his wealth to the church, and the church had protected him from persecution by his unscrupulous relatives. This was undoubtedly a great act of kindness, and the church was now using this example to promote it extensively in order to attract more believers and donations.
He also knew that some high-ranking church officials were even planning to launch a service allowing nobles with similar troubles to entrust their children to the church for protection, so that their inheritance rights would not be usurped in the event of something happening to them. Thanks
to the promotion by these officials, the proposal hadn't been approved yet, but many nobles had already applied.
"You've only been a Nun for half a year, and you've only been truly learning divine magic for a little over three months?"
Cardinal Amar looked Nice up and down.
Back in the restaurant, he had immediately recognized Nice's strength.
This level of strength was insignificant; there were many Soul Age people in the church stronger than him, which was why he didn't have a good impression of Nice.
But now, knowing Nice's background and calculating the timeline, it didn't seem so bad anymore.
He could tell at a glance that Nice only possessed a slightly better magical artifact. Although the holy power within him was shallow, it was very pure, clearly obtained through his own efforts, not through the gathering of faith, nor forcibly infused by others.
Such a rapid cultivation speed was astonishing, and it also indicated that the young man had great potential.
"Since your relatives have all been punished, and you no longer have anything for him to covet, why do you still want to leave for a distant land?"
the cardinal asked.
"I suspect that my father's death was not an accident. This was told to me by the relative I designated to inherit the territory. I swore to investigate this matter thoroughly."
Nice clenched his fists; this was a genuine expression of his feelings, not a pretense.
Cardinal Elmar pondered for a moment, wondering if the young man had been deceived. Of course, it was also possible that he was; many people would do anything for money.
"Interested in going back? I can guarantee your safety,"
the cardinal said, his intentions becoming increasingly clear.
Nice politely declined the cardinal's offer. Because of his connection to the Knights Templar, he was trying to avoid them as much as possible; how could he dare to go back?
"Thank you for your grace, but I'm a little reluctant to leave. The trip to the Holy Land brought God's blessing to me and my soulmates. We have a long-term cooperation agreement with that Saracen merchant, and I believe that before long..."
Nés paused deliberately, calculating in his mind for a while, before saying, "In at most two years, I will have more wealth than that inheritance, and so will my soulmates."
Cardinal Elmar, though seemingly calm, was also deeply moved by these words.
He didn't remember how much the young man had donated to the church, but for so many people in the church to care about it, the inheritance must be quite substantial.
Several times the wealth in two years—it was simply like a fairy tale.
If it were the first time he met Nice, he would never have believed these words. But now, the opposite is true, because the ships docked at the pier are the best proof; the sacred soil alone is worth a fortune.
However, the cardinal was more optimistic about these young men themselves. To be able to turn enemies into friends was already quite remarkable. To be able to improvise and bring him into this business, maximizing benefits for all parties involved—with such a mind, it would be difficult not to become wealthy.
With his abilities, he could naturally see that Nice had been enlightened. However, this was a very common occurrence in church history; as long as one was willing to pay the price, a bishop-level clergyman could easily accomplish it. Enlightenment doesn't mean making someone wise or turning them into a genius; it merely means allowing the minds of underage children to mature earlier. Many people, even after having their wisdom awakened, remain fools.
Now he understood why Prince Philip had shown such goodwill towards these young men.
"Very good, I'll wait and see. This deal will proceed as you stated: five florins. I will send you a group of alchemists. These sacred stones are invaluable and will never be available again, so they cannot be wasted,"
Cardinal Elmar said with a smile. He had now decided to invest in these young men.
Ten days later, a fleet slowly docked at the port of Asax.
It had departed with only a dilapidated ship and a mere eight sailors, completely out of commission. Upon their return, they arrived in a formidable procession of seven ships, each carrying over a hundred crossbows imposingly mounted on its bow. The crew, including bodyguards and sailors, numbered nearly three hundred. In addition, they were accompanied by a deacon from the Duke of Styria's household and an attendant to a cardinal. The lead ship proudly displayed the Church's cross sail.
It was this sail that prevented anyone from obstructing their journey.
Cardinal Emar did this not only to express goodwill to Nice and her companions but also because he was involved in the deal, and in fact, he was the major shareholder.
He worried that if someone were to sabotage the journey and forcibly seize the holy land, Nice and her group would lose everything, but he would suffer even greater losses.
It was precisely because of this sail that a troop of guards rushed towards them as soon as the fleet docked. At the rear of the procession were a dozen or so horses, each rider exuding an air of grandeur.
These were the administrators of Asax. They had initially assumed it was some high-ranking official from the Papacy who had arrived, hence their haste. However, upon reaching the dock and seeing that the leading ship was a very dilapidated vessel, and that most of those disembarking were Saracens, they immediately realized their mistake.
Suddenly, a guard stealthily approached one of the horses and whispered something to the rider.
The man on horseback was tall and imposing, but his expression was unusually sinister, his eyes flashing with a fierce light, and his thin lips gave off a mean feeling.
This Viscount Bellandos was one of the five major magnates of Asax, and he was in charge of the port's security.
Upon hearing that the men who shot his men were on that ship, a flash of anger crossed his mind, but when he glanced at the fluttering cross-mast flag, he forcibly suppressed it.
When he heard that they had waited until the ship had set sail before killing his men, he immediately became certain that these people had no powerful backing. Afterwards, he sent someone to inquire, and soon learned the men's background from a loan shark.
Those were just a few noble scions studying at the Admont Nang Academy. Two of them came from well-off families, while the other two were barely even noble scions. Killing them would have been easy enough, but the current situation was completely unexpected.
The viscount was pondering whether to continue pursuing this matter when he heard someone beside him sneer and ask, "I just learned from my men that the person who killed your mad dog not long ago is on this fleet. What, aren't you going to express your gratitude?"
"Marvin, you don't need to stir up trouble with your sarcastic remarks. My dog has been disciplined by me; I don't need anyone else to do it for him. Whoever killed the dog will definitely pay the price."
Viscount Bellandos had no choice but to be ruthless and utter these harsh words. He couldn't back down, or he would lose face.
The viscount turned his horse around and rode away.
Watching him go, the remaining dozen or so men looked at each other in bewilderment.
"What do we do?"
one of the bigwigs asked. These men were local strongmen, and in the blink of an eye, they had figured out the ins and outs of the fleet and the previous conflict.
"Since you're already here, why not get to know those young men and that merchant from afar? This fleet... it's not small; it should bring a lot of wealth to our port,"
said the tycoon who had just mocked Viscount Bellandos with a smile.
He controlled the trading guild and was Bellandos's arch-enemy.
"I won't get involved in this matter; I'm only concerned with the port's security,"
said a fully armed knight beside him. This man was also one of the five tycoons, and he commanded a 300-man army in the port.
Like all ports, the military power of Asax Port wasn't controlled by just one person; Bellandos was in charge of security and commanded a security force of two to three hundred men. Marvin, as the head of the trading guild, had his own guard, even larger than the previous two. However, the guard wasn't under his direct control; it belonged to various merchant firms, and its numbers were scattered and difficult to coordinate, as their primary task was escorting convoys.
The remaining two of the five giants also had their own armies. One was the man who asked what to do earlier, Andrew, who was in charge of port manpower.
Manpower wasn't just the dockworkers and sailors on the ships—those weren't a problem. The real headache was the mercenaries. Ports like this always had a large number of mercenaries roaming around, accepting contracts to act as bodyguards. Although the trading guilds had their own guards, their numbers were far from sufficient, and most caravans and fleets still relied on mercenaries for protection.
Unlike the previous three, Mr. Andrew did not have the ability to command the mercenaries at will; he couldn't simply order them to do whatever they wanted. However, the other bigwigs dared not provoke him, as the area under his jurisdiction had far more people and the strongest military force.
The last bigwig was named Monel, who was in charge of the residents' committee.
The area near this port had nearly ten thousand residents. The wealthy merchants and the skilled mercenaries were, in fact, outsiders. The natives mostly engaged in small-scale trading or worked in workshops, and their interests naturally needed to be considered as well. Don't underestimate these untrained civilians; once mobilized, they could be a formidable force.
However, Mr. Monel wasn't on the dock at the moment. He had left with Viscount Bellandos; both men belonged to the Soul One faction and represented the interests of the locals.
In contrast, Marvin and Andrew were from the Soul Alliance, representing the interests of outsiders, while the knight remained neutral. Regardless of who held the position, their relationship remained unchanged.
Bellandos and Monel left, the Gombos knight left, and nearly half of the representatives from the eleven smaller families departed.
Having worked together for many years, they knew Bellandos's character better than anyone. For the sake of face, this guy would definitely fight those young men to the bitter end, and those young men were clearly no simpletons either; their willingness to kill for a small loss showed they weren't people who would suffer even the slightest setback.
They couldn't wait for the two sides to fight, the fiercer the better.
On a shoal at one end of Asax Harbor, a group of people were busy at work.
This place was originally wasteland, but now it was filled with scaffolding. Next to it were mountains of oak planks, all from the port's shipyard, which Luke and his men had bought at great expense to build large barrels.
Five large wooden barrels stood beside the shelf, each as large as three or four people could encircle, and over seven meters tall. Their pointed bottoms resembled funnels, with valves at the very bottom and water taps attached to one side.
These were designed by Nice himself, not because of any particular intelligence or enlightenment, but simply because they were modeled after his family's distilling furnace, only smaller and made of brass, unlike his wooden one.
Besides these, numerous pipes of various sizes, mostly made of copper, were piled nearby. No one knew their purpose; Nice and Luke hadn't explained them. Technology was something that had to be kept in one's own hands.
No one in the port could even guess what the workshop was going to do. Some guessed it was for brewing wine, others for making olive oil.
But one thing was widely rumored: the workshop owners were a group of brainless young people.
The workshop was designed like a wooden barrel box, with no openings except for a water gate and a chimney. Even during the day, lights had to be kept on.
This already smacked of misusing money, but what was worse was that this airtight workshop was only the first phase of construction. To meet the deadline, it was built directly from wood. Once construction began, a five-meter-high wall, one meter wide at the top, would be built around the workshop, large enough for guards to stand on. Except for the lack of crenellations, it was basically a castle.
Another brainless blunder was that before the workshop was even finished, these people had already started hiring workers and guards. The problem was that the workers they hired were all laborers, and they specifically chose those who were slow-witted and only had brute force. There were only ten of them, but fifty guards.
The final brainless blunder was that this group offended Viscount Bellandos, one of the five major figures in the port, as soon as they arrived. If the workshop hadn't been located in such a remote location, next to a church, and if Viscount Bellandos hadn't dared to act recklessly, the workshop probably wouldn't have been built at all.
That church was the only one in the harbor, far more imposing than the churches in Nice's hometown. It was entirely built of red brick, with a pointed roof and a very tall bell tower, the tallest in the entire harbor except for the lighthouse on the seaside cliff.
At that moment, on the second floor of the church, a group of people were busily working. Before them were various strange glasswares, and inside the fireplace was a large pot with flames roaring at the bottom. Someone was constantly adding firewood, and another person was stirring the pot incessantly with a large wooden ladle.
Niss sat in a corner, a small wooden bucket beside him filled with beads the size of silkworm beans. The beads were an unappealing, earthy yellow, with faint patterns visible on them. They were soaking in water, and Niss's task was simply to shake the bucket constantly, causing the beads to rub against each other.
On his other side lay a pile of finished products, polished to a mirror-like smoothness.
The original Ring of Devotion wasn't this refined. The Templars certainly knew how to make money, but from Cardinal Alma's perspective, they were just a bunch of brutes who only knew how to kill, completely ignorant of beauty, elegance, or art.
Shaking his numb hands, he glanced out the window. From here, he could see the workshop; the construction progress was satisfactory.
This rapid pace was entirely due to his massive spending. Two thousand workers were doing the work for them, and with several shipyards nearby, timber was never in short supply. Just throw money at them, and these shipyards would not only sell timber but also handle the processing.
Money truly is a wonderful thing.
All the money came from Abdul, who had already gone to nearby cities to buy sugar and hire cargo ships, intending to bring back as much fine white sugar as possible.
The first time any commodity appears, it always makes the most money.
Just thinking about the wealth that was about to pour in filled Nice with excitement. Suddenly, he saw Luke and his group coming from the port, their faces grim. Nice knew something was wrong, and he immediately put down his work.
As he came out of the church, Luke and his group arrived at the church entrance.
"What happened?"
Nice asked cautiously.
“One of the trade guild members told me that some of the guards we hired took money from Bellandos. Metro checked and found two, and it’s hard to say whether there are others who have also taken money,”
Luke said with a worried look.
Neston frowned, and after a long while, he complained, “I said from the beginning that we didn’t have to use this port. We could have used any other port, but you guys insisted on doing it this way.”
Luke, Metro, and Palm immediately felt ashamed. It was the three of them who insisted on doing it this way, just to save face. In the end, it was vanity that got the better of them.
"Or, before the workshop is built..."
Metro hesitated, though he said it, he was reluctant to give it up. They'd already invested so much money, and now they were in a bind.
Nice saw things even more clearly: "Would it even work? If we go back to this port, it'll be like slapping that viscount in the face. Even if we move, he definitely won't let it go. He has far more connections along the coast than we do."
"If all else fails, we might as well..."
Palm clenched his fists. He didn't finish his sentence, but everyone could guess that the only solution this guy could think of was murder.
Nice is a big jerk. Palm is extremely murderous and reckless. This whole thing can be said to be his doing. His insistence on returning to the port was also his most resolute decision.
"I thought you'd learned your lesson,"
Nice shook his head, referring naturally to the incident in the restaurant where he'd made a scene and ended up running into trouble. "We have no idea what Bellandos is all about. This port isn't safe. I don't believe he's alive without some capable bodyguards."
Luke nodded in agreement. "Yeah, less talk of violence in the future. You've all seen how weak we are. Anyone could crush us like ants."
Only Luke could say that; at least Palm listened to him.
"It's not like there's no way at all. Sugar isn't available year-round. We'll just do one job during harvest season. At other times, we can keep the workshop closed. When we're working, a few of you can personally guard the inside..."
A series of preventative measures came out of Nice's mouth.
The workshop was designed to be airtight, without even a window, precisely to keep the technology a secret. His father had done the same thing before; his family's operation was even more secretive. Outsiders didn't even know they had dug so many fermentation tanks.
Seeing that everyone had taken it all to heart, Nice seized the opportunity to say, "Actually, the safest approach is to sell the technology. Of course, before that, we need to make a killing first. Firstly, this kind of business is incredibly profitable, and we'd be doing ourselves a disservice if we didn't make enough; secondly, it would be excellent proof that buying this technology is worth any price."
Hearing this, Luke fell into deep thought.
Metro was somewhat unwilling; he scratched his head, wanting to object, but since the technology wasn't originally his, he had no grounds to object.
"That's fine too,"
Easter surprisingly chimed in. "Don't forget, our goal is to become knights, even to own our own territories and build our own fortunes. But right now, all you see is money. Have you ever thought about what the point is of making so much money? Is a merchant's status really that high? Is it something to be proud of to produce fine, white sugar for others to enjoy?"
These words were far more powerful than Nice's earlier advice. Nice was trying to persuade them to give up, while Easter was encouraging them to pursue higher goals.
All three of them lowered their heads in disbelief, even the most disdainful of Easter and Palm had nothing to say.
"Thank goodness you reminded us, otherwise we'd been obsessed with money these past few days..."
Luke slapped Nice's shoulder hard. "It's all that guy's fault. From the moment he suggested going to the Holy Land, every step he took was practically driven by greed. First, he forced us to take out loans, then it was all about buying goods, renting boats, digging up holy soil, and boiling sugar. Everything was his idea."
Although he was full of complaints, Luke didn't blame Nice at all. Now, although there were a lot of troubles, they were all the troubles of the rich. Compared to before, when they could only be poor and happy, and had to be mindful of their family's mood if they wanted some money, it was a world of difference.
“This guy is the most amazing,”
Easter said, patting Nice hard on the other shoulder. “You probably haven’t noticed, but this guy is obsessed with money, yet he’s never truly trapped by it. He can jump out whenever he wants.”
Easter said this because Nice had just offered to sell the technology.
People who do this are either short-sighted, only concerned with immediate gains, or they have a long-term vision, aren’t tempted by the allure of money, and can take it and leave it.
“You haven’t fallen for it either?”
Palm said in a deep voice. He wasn’t praising Easter, of course, but he felt the man was particularly hypocritical, and when praising someone else, he was actually talking about himself.
"You're wrong," said East, "I was in too, and no less so than you. My situation was worse than Luke's, but I had just as many expenses, so I was even more concerned about money. I just jumped out a little earlier than you."
East was quite humble this time, but he was already quite satisfied with his decision to back down.
The three men pondered for a moment, finally having to admit that East was right.
"Impressive. No wonder you were able to give up all your wealth and donate it all,"
Metro punched Nice in the chest. Nice was feeling
incredibly frustrated. He was frustrated that these guys were all talk and no action, using him as a punching bag.
The weather was gradually turning cold, the leaves were beginning to turn yellow, and autumn had arrived.
Autumn is the harvest season.
Outside the newly built workshop, a boat slowly glides out of a waterway hundreds of meters long, connecting the sea at one end and leading directly into the workshop at the other, with a heavy water gate at the entrance.
This doesn't look like a workshop at all; it's practically a castle, and indeed, walls are already being built around it.
Inside the workshop, another boat is loading sacks of fine white sugar. Because it's equipped with pulleys, ropes, and rollers, three people can complete all the work.
Abdul stands nearby, excitedly picking up a bag of unsewn sugar, as if he can see pairs of sugar flowing secretly between his fingers.
"How is it? Pretty satisfactory?"
Luke asked with a grin. This batch of sugar was an improvement over the sample, and could definitely be described as whiter than snow.
It was Metro's idea to grind it again with a fine mill when the sugar began to solidify.
If the sugar of the past was like coarse sand, then the sugar of today is like fine sand at the bottom of a river, its whiteness enhanced as a result.
"Satisfied, satisfied!" Abdul nodded repeatedly, but as he nodded, he also felt a deep sense of satisfaction.
When the workshop was completed, it coincided with the harvest of sugar beets in various regions, and a large amount of sugar was produced. In a moment of excitement, he bought more than thirty shiploads of sugar.
A medium-sized merchant ship like the one Nice and his companions were on carried a full ship of sugar worth about six hundred florins. Not to mention the larger merchant ships, he spent more than thirty thousand florins on raw materials. It should be noted that a medium-sized port like Assax only collects forty to fifty thousand florins in taxes a year.
In just two short months, he spent money like water. Even for a wealthy merchant like him, coming up with so many gold coins at once was a bit overwhelming. Fortunately, his reputation was always good, and many sellers were willing to give him credit. In addition, the first loan from Cardinal Elmar was about 10,000 florins, which finally allowed him to catch his breath a little.
Excitement accompanied his heart, and his heart was also excited.
As long as everything went smoothly, after returning, those thirty-odd ships of fine white sugar would turn into more than 300,000 gleaming gold coins. Even after paying off the creditors and taking out Luke's share, he himself would still make a net profit of 120,000 to 130,000. This enormous sum of money was equivalent to the entire annual tax revenue of some kingdoms, and the life savings of many wealthy merchants.
Although only the first batch of goods could fetch such a price, and subsequent earnings would certainly be much lower, he was still confident he could earn seventy or eighty thousand a year.
What does it mean to be richer than a nation? This was living proof.
Abdul's mind was now completely consumed by this fortune, but even in his excitement, he was also thinking about how to protect his wealth. Nouveau riche are easy targets, and although he had some influence, it wasn't enough to safeguard this vast fortune.
On the other side of the workshop, Nice was directing the laborers to wash the wooden barrels, which were filled with sugar syrup. If they weren't cleaned properly, they would definitely mold after a year.
Not only did the barrels need to be washed clean, but their inner walls also needed to be covered with quicklime. This was supposedly to prevent mold, but it was only a superficial measure. Nice and Luke certainly wouldn't tell anyone that the secret to the sugar's whitening effect lay in this quicklime. They were doing this simply to buy large quantities of quicklime for their own purposes.
Not only did the barrels need to be cleaned, but all the pipes, large and small, also needed to be rinsed clean. They didn't want anyone to be able to figure anything out from this.
Metro approached from a distance, followed by Cardinal Amar's retinue. The once cold and arrogant knight was now much more courteous to Nice and his companions.
For the past month, he had watched Luke and his group bustling about, observing the ships coming and going after the workshop's completion, and seeing chests of gold coins being moved around.
He had seen more gold coins in this month than in half his previous life.
Although the young men were frivolous and lacked real skill, their ability to make money was undeniable. In this era, the brilliance of honor paled in comparison to the radiance of money, and status and power were no longer measured by the amount of land owned, but by wealth.
"Lord Amar is aware of your affairs. He greatly admires your abilities, and he is very pleased with the gift you gave him,"
the knight said.
The gift he referred to was one hundred sets of specially crafted piety jewelry. These pieces were made using carefully selected sacred soil, making them more than ten times more potent than other piety jewelry.
A total of over one hundred and thirty sets were made, and Nice gave most of them to Cardinal Amar. In the accompanying letter, he also suggested that these top-quality piety jewelry pieces should not be sold.
They were few in number and their price could not be too high. Rather than wasting such a small amount of money, it was better to give them away as gifts. The point was to make these exquisite pieces a symbol of status and prestige.
Unbeknownst to Nice, it was this suggestion that further elevated his standing in Cardinal Elmar's eyes.
At the cardinal level, wealth held little significance; what they desired could never be bought with money. They didn't need to maintain private armies, and even their retinues were church members, with all expenses paid by the church. Therefore, they had very few needs for money, but many avenues for making it.
Consequently, when he learned from his entourage's report about the immense profits from sugar refining among these young men, he was only slightly tempted, without entertaining any thought of annexing them.
At this moment, he also wanted to see if these young people were like the mediocre masses in the world, completely trapped in the temptation of money and unable to extricate themselves. If so, even if they had some talent, they would be of little use.
And Nice's letter was definitely an answer that satisfied him.
"My lord asked me to bring you a few things. If you are willing to accept them, the balance will be settled."
As he spoke, the knight opened the box he was carrying.
A blinding light shot out from the box, forcing those nearby to close their eyes.
After a while, Nice, Luke, and Metro recovered. Everything in front of them was still somewhat dark, but at least they could see things.
When they saw what was inside the box, the three of them stood there dumbfounded.
Inside the box lay four spearheads and a headband, all five radiating intense waves of holy energy.
The four spearheads were identical, with long, pointed tips and spiraling rears, their holy energy waves sharp and chilling, like a judge standing before one's eyes, the very source of the blinding light they had emitted just moments before.
The headband, on the other hand, appeared ordinary, like a patchwork of thorns, a withered yellow color patched with sharp spikes—a common instrument of torture in many interrogation rooms. However, placed alongside the four spearheads, even an idiot would know it was no ordinary object.
"These are replicas of the Spear of Longinus and the Crown of Thorns?"
Nice's breathing grew heavy.
He had heard old Simon mention that within the church, there was something that, while not a sacred artifact, far surpassed most sacred artifacts in practicality—replicas made to resemble them.
The cost of simply crafting them was exorbitant, not to mention the manpower and resources the church invested in their creation.
While not as precious as sacred artifacts, these items were priceless; without connections, even the most abundant wealth wouldn't grant access.
"How can I possibly thank Lord Aima?"
Luke rubbed his hands, his gaze fixed on them.
Metro was even more overwhelmed; he nearly fainted.
Nice, on the other hand, was filled with a mixture of surprise and delight.
The commotion and the fleeting light that had just appeared attracted the attention of Esther and Palm, who had been supervising the workers from a distance. The two ran towards them, and when they saw what was inside, even they gasped in surprise.
Palm, being impatient, snatched a spearhead and couldn't help but stroke it, as if holding a lover's gentle hand, his touch so tender and focused.
"It seems you're quite satisfied with this deal,"
the knight said, quite pleased with their reaction.
"Of course, anyone who doesn't understand Lord Alma's good intentions is an idiot."
Nice bluntly stated that this was also revenge for Luke and his friends using him as a punching bag. Likewise, intelligent people like Luke and East would certainly understand the difference between the value of these items and money.
This deal was absolutely worthwhile; the value of these items couldn't be measured in money. Having them was a symbol of status, making everything much easier in the future.
Of course, the Cardinal wouldn't lose out either. The materials and labor for these five items cost at most eight thousand gold coins, while the Cardinal owed them twenty-five thousand gold coins.
Besides their symbolic significance, these five items were inherently valuable. Luke and his three companions were all knights, and if nothing unexpected happened, the replica of the Spear of Longinus would be the best weapon they could obtain.
To obtain better weapons, one must collaborate with top-tier weaponsmiths and alchemists, and gather a multitude of rare materials.
This is something money alone cannot buy.
In any profession, those at the top are called "masters." These masters roam the royal courts, their status surpassing even that of ordinary nobles. Those below the rank of count are simply not qualified to invite them, let alone commission their craft.
Will Luke and his companions ever attain the title of count in their lifetime? Nice wouldn't even consider that question.

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