Chapter 114 Heart of the Storm (Part 2)

◎One knife◎

The place of negotiation was chosen on a plain close to the two parties, as if there was some unspoken understanding. Neither Emperor Calais nor Pope of Florence showed up. Instead, they were replaced by Calais's foreign affairs officer and the Deputy Secretary-General of the Papal Palace. The two parties sat at the long table with fake smiles on their faces and talked meaningless nonsense back and forth. They both knew very well that the outcome of the negotiation did not depend on the people sitting here at the moment.

Raphael stood on a small hill and looked down. The negotiation tent was not far from his feet. The red royal flag of Calais and the golden papal flag of Florence were fluttering in the wind. The monarchs' luxurious and tall carriages were parked on the side. The knights were wearing cast iron armor, and the tips of their spears shone coldly in the sun. The air was filled with a dangerous atmosphere that was about to break out.

Raphael lowered his head and rubbed his fingers gently. He was waiting for someone, and at the same time he was thinking about something slowly and thoughtfully.

The wind on the hill was a bit strong. Ferrante was sent out by him to do other things. Raphael himself didn't care too much about his physical condition, so the clothes he wore before coming out were a bit thin compared to the current temperature.

But it's not a big problem.

Raphael thought calmly that the appropriate low temperature would help him think calmly.

"I have imagined many times when we will meet again." The young man's common language has the unique rolled tongue sound of Galai, and the ending sound always seems vague and soft, like a ball of cotton soaked in water, sticking wetly to the skin.

Raphael did not look back. The young Emperor of Calais stood silently side by side with him, looking at the chaotic yet orderly scene below.

No one noticed that there was someone standing on the hill. Although this private meeting was not discussed in advance, they all chose to go alone.

"So, are you satisfied with this meeting, Your Majesty?" Raphael responded perfunctorily and politely.

They were all calm and even seemed to be in harmony with each other. It didn't look like they were in a life-and-death war with insurmountable death and blood lying before them.

"Oh, that's hard to say," Francis IV replied briskly. "In fact, I think our first meeting was not very satisfactory to me."

Raphael cooperated and asked, "Really?"

"Yes," the little emperor sighed quietly, "I thought we should meet in the garden. You know I have a very beautiful garden. I inherited it from my father and added a lot of splendor to it. Every guest who was invited to visit it praised it highly. I have always wanted to let you see it. You will definitely like it."

Raphael raised his eyebrows slightly. If he had not learned the truth about the famous garden from Ferrante's intelligence network, perhaps he would really be interested in it. However, among some people who knew the inside story, the magnificent and vast garden of the Dudley Palace had a nickname that was popular among the people, in addition to the official name of "Royal Garden" - "Bloody Hunting Ground".

The mentally twisted little emperor, like his ancestors, was cruel. In the rich and colorful history of mental illness in the royal family, his behavior of hunting people as if they were prey could be ranked in the top ten of the perverted list. Julius and Raphael had privately speculated that this might be some kind of family genetic disease, otherwise it seemed impossible to explain why every member of the Calais royal family was basically extreme and violent in character. The most widely circulated saying among the people was that the Calais royal family was cursed, but this saying was ruled out by the superstitious Vatican.

Precisely because they are engaged in this industry, the Holy See knows the nature of "curse" better than anyone else. In the ancient old centuries, when the belief in witches had not yet completely dissipated, there were many stories of "witch curses" among the people. The Holy See tirelessly investigated and "exorcised" the curses one by one. After coming into contact with thousands of "curses", all the "curses" recorded by the monks in the secret archives of the Holy See can be simply summarized as diseases and poisons, and only a few cases cannot be explained.

The Holy See has grasped the truth about the "curse", but has no foolish idea of ​​revealing this secret. It is of no benefit to the Holy See to dispel the fear of the "curse". After all, the glory of the Holy Lord also needs the contrast of these evils.

Raphael dismissed the things that suddenly popped up in his mind, and was genuinely confused: "I have never really understood, Your Majesty, you seem to have had a good impression of me from the beginning."

His question was subtle and tactful. The little emperor turned his head and his eyes lingered on Raphael's face for a moment. The sunlight just happened to shine from behind Raphael and scattered into the emperor's amber pupils. Under the illusory background of the light, the eyes looked like golden snake pupils, inorganic, cold, and unkind, distinguishing himself from humans as two species.

"But I've known you for a long time." His tone actually sounded a bit complaining, and he said sweetly with a sense of grievance, "How could you not know?" "When I was sixteen, I heard that the Pope had found an illegitimate child from outside. A painter who had been to Florence came to the palace to paint my portrait and told me that it was a very, very beautiful child, with golden hair and purple eyes like the Son of God."

His voice was intoxicated: "I really want to meet the Son of God and see if he has the same charm as the legends say, that can move people and make them throw themselves into the arms of the Holy Lord."

What he didn’t say was that the painter had aroused the interest of the young prince and became the first “guest” of the royal gardens.

Raphael did not mind Francis IV calling him his "illegitimate son", nor was he surprised that Calais knew the news about him so early - Florence back then was not as secure as it is now, and there were countless people who served as spies in the name of envoys. The news that the Pope had an illegitimate child would always be discovered by smart people in the aristocratic circle at that time, but everyone thought that Raphael was the son of a prostitute.

The painter must have been highly skilled and famous to be recruited to the Palace of Calais. When he was in Florence, he probably often visited aristocratic families and painted portraits for them, so it was not surprising for him to hear any rumors.

Raphael asked calmly: "You have seen me, how do you feel? Are you disappointed?"

The little emperor chuckled and lowered his head so that his shoulders shrugged with laughter, which made Raphael wonder whether he had told a particularly funny joke.

The problem was obviously not with Raphael. The intermittent attack of the little emperor soon stopped. He pressed his lips with a finger, his eyes curved into an exaggerated arc: "No, no, no, I haven't finished my story yet."

"After my two unlucky brothers and father died, the crown of the empire fell on my head. As you know, my ambitious uncle broke his oath to my father and began to covet the throne. That year, I was twenty-two years old. Do you think my story sounds familiar?"

François guided her in a persuasive tone: "At the age of 22, he gained supreme power, surrounded by wolves, and a greedy superior who tried to control everything in the name of assisting..."

He didn't even need to add any unnecessary explanation at the end, as Raphael already realized what he wanted to say.

Saint Sistine I was exactly 22 years old when he wore the papal crown.

He also had Julius by his side, who controlled everything in the name of assisting him.

"So you're saying that we're in the same boat?" Raphael spoke the last word slowly, with nausea and a strange confusion.

François IV was stunned for a moment, his expression frozen in a very strange way, then he suddenly burst out laughing: "Hahahaha, we are in the same boat, we are in the same boat...yes, yes, don't you think we are very similar!"

He suddenly moved closer to Raphael—to a distance that definitely broke the normal social distance—his breath hit Raphael's ears, and a faint warm current blew on Raphael's skin, causing the Pope to tilt his face uncomfortably and warn coldly: "Please respect yourself, Your Majesty."

"That sounds very familiar," the little emperor whispered, "It seems like you said that to me when we first met."

"Really? Then it seems your memory is not very good."

"That's not important." The little emperor lowered his eyes, greedily looking at the snow-white neck that was so close to him. He gritted his teeth gently, suppressing the urge to bite it. He imagined that after the thin layer of skin was bitten, pink muscles would be exposed and fragrant warm blood would flow out. He would use his fingers to dip - no, use his lips to kiss the pope's cold face with the sticky blood, leaving marks on the pair of eyes that were always emotionless. Just imagining such a scene was enough to make his nerves excited as never before. "The important thing is that we are here now, just you and me. Look, we are in sync enough. Isn't such a tacit understanding worth cheering for?"

Raphael gave a polite smirk.

"Yes, we are here now to discuss how to solve these troubles." Raphael cleverly brought the topic back.

"Assyria has never belonged to Calais. Even if you have an engagement with Sancha, your inheritance rights should come after mine." Raphael said what they both knew.

"Perhaps," François IV said ambiguously, "We finally get to meet each other, and you want to tell me these boring things?"

He made an exaggerated and aggrieved expression: "It's so sad. I tried every possible way to get this opportunity to meet you. Oh, by the way, do you hate your brother? I'll help you kill him."

He smiled at Raphael as if to take credit.

The little emperor's face was naturally youthful, and when he smiled obediently, he really looked like an innocent and lovable boy, who relied on his favor to do bad things without any scruples, and because he knew that he was favored, he was fearless.

These words were like a huge rock thrown into Raphael's calm heart, causing huge waves to surge up.

The Pope, who had been expressionless all this time, suddenly raised his eyelashes, and his lavender eyes stared solemnly at the face of the little emperor, who was only a foot away from him. His expression was calm and rational, and no one knew what he was thinking at the moment.

"Are you unhappy?" The little emperor didn't see what he wanted to see on his face, and his joy froze for a moment, and he asked in confusion.

Raphael looked at him quietly, and after a while he said, "You've caused me trouble."

The little emperor keenly noticed that Raphael's tone had changed. The previous respect and sense of distance suddenly disappeared, which made him happy. He was even willing to ignore the accusatory meaning in Raphael's words: "What?"

"Redrick is the Duke of Lusen. This title will be taken back by the Portia family and given to his younger brother again. Compared to his uneducated brother, I hope that Redrick, who can understand what people say, will have this position. At least he is easy to deceive and obedient."

The Pope's voice was very soft and emotionless, and he analyzed the pros and cons coldly. To others, it might sound creepy and cold, but François liked Raphael like this. ◢

The little emperor nodded obediently: "Okay, then I was wrong, what compensation do you want?"

Raphael blinked in boredom. "Give his head back. I need this to appease his mother."

"Okay," the moody little emperor agreed readily, "but."

The cunning monarch changed the subject: "I still think I should be rewarded. You see, he is dead. You can exchange a disgusting and terrible brother for the love of the Assyrians. What a good deal, isn't it?"

His eyes were filled with the expression "I know what you said in front of the Assyrians". He deliberately showed that kind of pride on his face, like a child showing off his omniscience.

"Oh, then what do you want?" Raphael used all his rationality to avoid having overly blatant sarcasm in his tone.

"Give me a kiss," the little emperor bent down slightly and looked into Raphael's eyes, his amber eyes flashing with fanatical admiration, like a saint meeting his god, "Give me a kiss, take away half of my soul!"

Raphael seemed to be moved. He turned his head slightly and stared into those amber eyes.

After a while, Raphael gently reached out and held François' cheek, as if he wanted to get closer but also wanted to move away.

The little emperor looked at him expectantly and eagerly, with a smile on his face, and urged him silently with his eyes.

"There are people below, they will see it." Raphael gestured to the people who were secretly protecting the emperor in the distant jungle. They were standing far away, and from here they were just a bunch of small shadows.

François clicked his tongue slightly, thought for a moment, took off a ring from his finger, raised his hand and threw it in the direction of the hill, and raised his voice: "Everyone retreat, let the people below hand over the head to the Papal State."

The rustling sound quickly sounded and disappeared. Raphael raised his eyes again, and the figure in the jungle was no longer visible. He moved his gaze back and saw the little emperor still looking at him intently.

The Pope laughed.

He leaned forward, and the hand that was holding François's cheek naturally slid down and embraced the emperor's shoulders, like a warm and lingering hug.

Raphael's lips touched the emperor's eyes, and François subconsciously closed his eyes.

The next second, this tender embrace turned into a bundle of death.

The hidden blade that had been hidden in the wide cuffs slid silently from the wrist into the palm of the hand, and was ironed by the body temperature.

The slightly heated blade mercilessly pierced François' body as the Pope's kiss fell.

The young emperor had a faster reaction than an ordinary person. Before the blade had completely penetrated his body, he had already stepped back violently. At the same time, he raised his hand and firmly grasped the sharp blade to prevent it from piercing deeper into his flesh. Raphael followed him closely with a gentle smile on his face: "Why do you refuse my kiss, Your Majesty?"

In terms of strength, Raphael knew that he could never beat the healthy little emperor, so when he found that the other party was about to take the knife away, he made a quick decision and threw the knife down the hillside.

Francois covered his bleeding wound, knelt on one knee in pain, laughed twistedly, and said incoherently: "It's great, oh, it's great, I love you more and more, my dear, no one is more suitable for me than you, we are born to be a couple."

He talked to himself and laughed, but Raphael had no intention of listening to him. Francois's injury was not fatal, and it was not easy to kill him. Every second he stayed here was extremely dangerous. Anyway, the situation between them had long been a life-and-death struggle, so this knife could be regarded as collecting some interest for Redrick.

Raphael turned around and was about to leave, but François, who had been kneeling on the ground and muttering to himself, suddenly raised his hand, grabbed Raphael's arm tightly, and threw himself on him, not caring at all about his own injuries being aggravated by his actions. Like a thirsty beast eagerly searching for sweet spring water, he dragged Raphael into his arms, bit his lips, and greedily tried to absorb some juice.

Raphael drooped his eyelids indifferently, raised his foot and kicked Francois away, and at the same time subconsciously glanced at the edge of the hill - it would be a bit conspicuous to push someone down at this distance, and it would be difficult to retreat.

So he regretfully withdrew the idea. François, who noticed his idea, did not feel the slightest bit of worry that his life was threatened. Instead, the light in his eyes became brighter and brighter, and finally turned into a ferocious and fanatical look.

Raphael stepped on the wound on his abdomen, rolled it twice, rubbed the blood off on the grass with an expressionless face, and left calmly.

The little emperor, lying on the grass, was covered in blood. He opened his mouth, and the smell of blood poured out of his throat. His amber eyes froze like a snake, and finally bent into an exaggerated arc: "Holy Lord, please give me your child. I swear I will love him as I love myself."

As he spoke, he began to laugh softly, until he almost couldn't breathe.

The author has something to say:

Actually, Raphael didn't want to do it, but the little emperor's words were too infuriating. After thinking about it, he still felt that his brother died tragically, so he stabbed him to calm down first...