Fate was always linked layer upon layer, mysterious and unfathomable, the road ahead impossible to predict. From nations to individuals, from nobles to commoners—who, in the end, was the spiderweb, and who was the fire? Who was the moth, and who was struggling with all their might?
The ultimate questions of every fate could only be answered by time. And right now, two thousand meters from the meeting between the two nobles Bruno and Nuno, beneath the prison of Lisbon, in a dark cell crawling with spiderwebs and insects, two moths of common birth, struggling desperately, one in the light and one in the dark, began to cross paths once again...
"Columbus, mealtime!"
"Honored sir!... This is?... This can't be?..."
Seeing the jailer bring over a plate of roasted meat, a plate of soft white bread, a jug of milk, and a bottle of red wine... Columbus, dressed in rags, sallow and emaciated, his face dull and vacant, instantly trembled all over, and deep terror once again surfaced on his face!
During the first half year of his imprisonment by the Portuguese, his mouth had still been very hard; he cursed people at the drop of a hat, then got taught various lessons with beatings. By the second half year, every part of him had gone soft, and even that hardest mouth of his could no longer curse aloud, only muttering, "Queen, save me," and "I am the great navigator who discovered the new route." And now, in this third half year, even if a jailer stood before him and said nothing at all... he would still shake all over with nerves, nodding and bowing with the utmost respect!
This kind of long imprisonment was best at grinding away a man's backbone. Without true spiritual faith, all his edges could