Mount & Blade: Rebuilding Rome from Mercenaries

The tent was dimly lit, and the embers in the brazier were only warm with a faint red glow.

After the two were seated, Tankred spoke as if he had made up his mind:

"Uncle John, how much debt did my father leave behind?"

Old John's brow furrowed noticeably upon hearing about the debt.

"He borrowed three hundred gold coins from the Jewish moneylenders in the city. Now, at the interest rate, he owes five hundred gold coins."

"Five hundred gold coins?" Tankred exclaimed in surprise.

In Southern Italy during this era, the currency system was extremely chaotic. The three most commonly circulated and widely used currencies were the Tari, minted by Muslims; the Denier, minted by the Franks; and the Follis, minted by the Byzantine Empire. The exchange rate was 1:12:240. That is, one gold coin could be exchanged for 12 silver coins, and one silver coin could be exchanged for 20 copper coins.

In those days, a skilled craftsman earned only one or two silver coins a day. Five hundred gold coins were equivalent to nearly fifteen years of a skilled craftsman's net income. If converted to the income of an ordinary farmer, it would probably require an average farming family to work for a hundred years without eating or drinking...

"How did you borrow so much?" Tankred asked in surprise.

"I'm not entirely sure either, but this money was originally borrowed by old Tanker in the name of the mercenary group!" Old John said indignantly. "But after those bastards seized the mercenary group, this Jew didn't go after the mercenary group; instead, he pinned the debt on us. He clearly thinks we're easy to bully!"

"Damn Jewish moneylenders!" Tancred cursed under his breath, a hint of hidden murderous intent flashing in his eyes.

"Oh, little Tankred, that guy is despicable, but don't get any extreme ideas," Old John quickly added when he saw the fierce look in Tankred's eyes. "You know, that Jew is the loan shark for those bishops in Rome, and those high-ranking priests behind him are not to be trifled with! Our mercenary group can still scrape together ten sets of armor. If all else fails, we can sell them all and barely raise enough gold coins."

The bishop of Rome? Forget about it.

After all, in those days, the bishops of Rome truly wielded power. The "Patrimonium Sancti Petri," commonly known as the Papal States, directly or indirectly controlled at least five duchies, a force to be reckoned with. In other words, in this era, the Pope genuinely had many divisions!

However, he was absolutely reluctant to sell his armor and weapons.

"How much money does the team have left?"

Since he couldn't target the Jews, Tancredi had no choice but to focus on his own property.

However, old John's answer made his heart sink:

"We just replenished our food supplies the day before yesterday, and now, the camp doesn't even have 20 silver coins left."

Tancred leaned against the wooden post of the tent and slowly exhaled.

It seems that only by quickly completing a commission and obtaining legal status for the mercenary group can they have a chance to escape their predicament.

The wind whistled past outside the tent, causing the tent flap to sway gently. Inside, an old man and a young man sat facing each other in silence.

"Sirs, are you in some kind of trouble?"

Just as Tancred and Old John fell silent, a crisp sound came from outside the tent.

"Damn it, it's Bashir again, showing off," Old John muttered to Tancred, clearly disliking the man. "Young Tancred, never trust these cunning Muslims; they're all wicked!"

Tankred recalled this man from the original owner's memories. This Bashir was a Saracen who practiced Islam (a general term used by medieval Europeans to refer to Arabs who practiced Islam), and he had been captured by the original owner's father during a siege. According to Norman custom, adult Muslim men like him were usually not spared, but Bashir had a skill that saved his life. His barbering and beard-shaving skills impressed old Tankred, so he spared his life and allowed him to accompany the army to cut his hair and groom his beard.

He never expected that, under the current circumstances, this Saracen would still be following him.

Tancred thought for a moment and said to old John, "Uncle John, we're in a very difficult situation. Why don't we listen to what he has to say? What if he can really solve our immediate problem?"

Old John pondered for a moment, then nodded helplessly, turned around, and shouted sternly at the tent entrance, "Come in, and speak quickly!"

Bashir was not intimidated by old John. He entered the tent with an awkward smile and began to tell his story.

"Gentlemen, you all look so worried. You must be facing some financial difficulties, right?"

"Spit it out!" Old John, who hated his showing off the most, shouted at him.

"Ahem... Well, I have an idea that will definitely solve your urgent problem!" Seeing Old John's hand on his sword, Bashir no longer dared to keep him in suspense. "Officers, from what I've observed lately, the mercenary officers from Normandy are quite conscious of their appearance, some even having the habit of cutting their hair and grooming. In that case, why don't we set up a large tent around the camps where these mercenaries are stationed, specifically for providing haircuts, grooming, and shaving for the soldiers on their journeys and those stationed there?"

"I've calculated it. I only charge ten copper coins for each service. There are at least several hundred mercenaries around Avelsa. This seemingly insignificant little business can bring in nearly a hundred silver coins a month."

"Officers, all you need is a start-up fund and my monthly salary of 40 silver coins to alleviate your financial difficulties!"

Tancred heard it more and more familiar; wasn't this the "Barber's Tent" from CK3? This Saracen really does have a business mind!

"That's not impossible, but I have only one small suggestion," Tancred's eyes darted around, revealing a sly, fox-like smile, "I can provide you with start-up capital, but I won't give you a fixed salary."

"This is unfair, sir!" Bashir complained indignantly.

"But!" Seeing Bashir's smile gradually freeze, Tankred quickly smiled and added, "You can keep the money you receive for your monthly haircuts and trims, but you only need to hand over 70% to us as a 'take-a-cut'. What do you think of this plan?"

Bashir calculated the score in a second and immediately beamed with joy, saying, "God... no, God bless you, my great and merciful commander! I'll go back and prepare right away, and I promise to get the business up and running as quickly as possible!"

Bashir excitedly went back to prepare for his money-making venture.

After a long pause, old John finally realized what was happening:

"Oh, little Tank Red, I've figured it out! This will give Bashir even more incentive to attract customers, and the more business he brings in, the more we earn!"

"I never knew you had such a knack for business!"

(In the Middle Ages, mathematics was a very advanced subject, and ordinary people could not master it.)

Tancred smiled, accepting Old John's flattery.

At the same time, familiar text floated before Tankred's eyes once again:

「叮！你完成了一次绝妙的讨价还价，谈判能力+10（10→20），个人经验+10，当前等级lv2 (10/20）」

That's great, there was an unexpected bonus!

Tankred's smile widened.

"Let's go, Uncle John, let's go into town and see if there are any commissions we can take on!"