The majority of deaths caused by waterborne illnesses result from dehydration due to severe diarrhea.
By focusing on hydration and implementing strict quarantine measures, Pisa was able to conclude the epidemic with relatively minimal losses, considering the nature of such outbreaks.
“Thank you! Truly, Baron, thank you! My family will never forget this debt—not even if we fall to ruin!”
The mayor bent his back so deeply in gratitude that I half-wondered if his spine would snap.
If this were a Confucian culture, he’d probably be bowing three times and knocking his head to the ground nine times like Korean envoys meeting the emperor.
Judging by his flexibility, his bowing was on par with King Injo’s infamous groveling to save Joseon from Hong Taiji.
“I simply did what was necessary. There’s no need to thank me so profusely.”
That’s what I said, but let’s be real, Mayor—you should probably bow in my direction three times a day before bed.
After all, I just saved your political and social career without asking for anything in return.
The least he could do was pay homage, even if not in front of me—that would be awkward.
“Nonsense! When we first heard that the plague had broken out in the city and nearby areas, we feared tens of thousands would die. Thanks to you, the damage was contained to a minimum.”
Indeed, I had successfully minimized the number of fatalities from this epidemic.
Still, the number of deaths wasn’t small by any means.
“2,325 lives lost to the plague.”
Though it wasn’t my fault, the sheer number left a bitter taste in my mouth.
While I wasn’t above waging war for the interests of the Rothschild barony and the Tuscan Empire, this was different.
Putting my mixed feelings aside, I addressed the mayor.
“The epidemic may be over, but politically, you and your family are still in danger. This isn’t over yet.”
In any era or country, politicians are all the same.
Even if thousands or tens of thousands die, they don’t lose sleep over it.
You have to be that cold-blooded to survive the petty, cutthroat world of office politics, where burying someone to climb the ladder is the norm.
In a world where even using one’s own daughter as a political pawn is considered halfway reasonable, what can you expect?
“Of course, they’ll try to pin the blame entirely on you.”
The mayor swallowed nervously, freezing in place like a statue.
“Blame? But isn’t an epidemic just a natural disaster?”
“Don’t kid yourself. You’re not naïve enough to think every woman burned as a witch was an actual heretic, are you?”
During what’s often called Europe’s darkest period, particularly the Thirty Years’ War, witch hunts reached their peak.
This was the so-called Renaissance era.
The witch hunts were, frankly, absurd even by the standards of the British Empire or wannabe imitators like France.
“When a famine gets really bad, people pacify the masses by finding a widow to torture and burn. It’s common knowledge among the nobility.”
My tone may have been calm, but I found the practice revolting.
By the 16th century, those in power knew full well that famines were natural phenomena, not divine punishment.
But starving serfs and peasants, facing death within their own families, couldn’t accept such realities.
So, they needed a scapegoat. Widows with some money often became the targets.
While the Albanian continent wasn’t as desperate as 16th–17th century Europe, such practices weren’t unheard of here either.
“I’ve helped you and your family avoid ruin, but others will still try to make you the scapegoat. Opportunists will seize this as a chance to push for regime change.”
Politicians rarely let a crisis go to waste if it means advancing their agenda.
Even in Joseon, natural disasters like droughts and famines were exploited by ministers to curtail royal authority.
It’s no different here, except the aristocracy and royalty are spared from such schemes.
The mayor nodded in grim agreement.
“Those treacherous Pirochi and his ilk will surely seize this opportunity. There’s a council meeting in a week to discuss this crisis, and I’m certain they’ll try to shift all the blame onto me and my allies.”
Sure, you approved the permits for those subpar chicken farms and probably took bribes, but I’ll let that slide—for now.
Asking how much you sold your conscience for might sour our current goodwill.
“Is there a way out of this mess?”
This chapt𝙚r is updated by freeωebnovēl.c૦m.
“Do you expect me to give you advice for free?”
You’re not some virtuous citizen or poor peasant. You’ve got money. Free consultations have their limits.
“If you can shift the blame onto Pirochi and his faction, many government and council seats will open up. You can then fill those vacancies with people of your choosing—even outsiders. As long as they’re smarter than a monkey, I’ll handle the rest.”
Impressive—this guy’s got some strategic sense.
This plan allows me to place second or third sons from allied noble families into Pisa’s administration, creating debts of gratitude.
Meanwhile, he’ll bolster his own power base with loyalists entirely dependent on him.
If I ever start an East India Company, maybe I’ll make this guy the first CEO.
He could probably survive even in the cutthroat corporate culture of modern Korea.
“You and your allies should dip into your own coffers to aid the afflicted citizens. During the council meeting, highlight your voluntary generosity while proposing a mandatory ‘reconstruction tax’ on the opposing faction. Shift the blame and financial burden onto them.”
The mayor’s eyes lit up with understanding.
“Brilliant—truly brilliant, Baron! Citizens and the Count himself will see us as altruistic saviors, while the opposition looks like greedy villains burdening the people with taxes. This could shift all responsibility to them!”
The mayor, his allies, and even the council members were technically all vassals of the Count of Pisa.
To the Count, this epidemic was merely an inexplicable natural disaster.
Seeing the mayor selflessly step up to aid the city would naturally leave a better impression.
Normally, the cost of rebuilding would fall on the council or the Count’s other vassals.
But if the mayor’s plan worked, the Count would see this as an unexpected financial windfall.
“Oh, and one more thing. The fact that I gave you this solution...”
“Will remain a secret, of course. My family’s aid will be framed as pure altruism, while the opposition bears the brunt of their civic duties.”
...I almost envy the Count of Pisa.
Who knew someone capable of this level of British-style pragmatism existed without needing instruction?
“Oh, and the Bishop of Pisa wants to hold a commemorative mass to honor your efforts in controlling the epidemic. Will you attend?”
A mass like this would be a grand public event, gathering all the city’s influential figures and citizens.
It would essentially be hours of singing my praises, with a touch of poetic embellishment.
Since I didn’t initiate it, there’s no need to stop it—but attending?
“That would only irritate the Count. I’ve learned through business that taking too much credit can backfire. If you overindulge, you’ll end up with a stomachache.”
Even CEOs addicted to exploiting their workers understand the importance of paying minimum wage.
Not out of generosity, but because failing to do so makes it harder to exploit them further.
“I’ll quietly slip away. Drawing more attention would only invite jealousy from the Count.”
With that, I returned to my estate and enjoyed some well-deserved rest.
When I awoke, Erica greeted me with a triumphant expression.
“I’ve successfully completed the task you entrusted to me.”