Chapter 115 Heart of the Storm (Part 3)

◎Entombment◎

Raphael frowned and quickly walked through the grove under the cliff. Francois' guards listened to him and left as soon as he told them to go further away. There was no one guarding the grove. Raphael took two steps and heard the rustling sound of leaves being trampled behind him. Before he could react, a hand covered his mouth from behind.

Raphael's muscles first tensed, then suddenly relaxed. He used his elbow to poke the man's abdomen from behind. The man who was stabbed in the ribs let out a low cry of pain with a smile, and reluctantly let go of his hand that was covering Raphael's mouth, and instead hugged the Pope from behind.

"That's enough. Let go." The hard-hearted Pope didn't have the patience to indulge in this bit of tenderness. "Let the envoys leave immediately. I stabbed François. It will be difficult for him to leave when he reacts."

Hearing this, the hands that were holding Raphael's waist suddenly tightened, then quickly loosened, turning Raphael back and forth like a doll and looking at him twice: "What's the matter? What did he do to make you angry——"

Ferrante didn't finish his words, his deep blue eyes fixed on Raphael's face, and his pupils slowly contracted.

Maybe because he is not in good health, the Pope's lips are always pale. Ferrante likes to rub his soft lips gently, grind them with his sharp teeth, and then watch with satisfaction as the pale lips turn into a gorgeous red.

It was like, it was like... it was like he had painted that holy angel with the color of sin to declare his ownership of him.

Ferrante kept this secret and sinful thought deep in his heart, which meant that he often subconsciously focused on Raphael's face.

Francis IV did not hold back when he kissed Raphael, and he did it with an arrogant attitude as if he wanted to tell the world, "Yes, I did it."

Ferrante calmly lowered his eyes, which could no longer suppress the boiling murderous intent, and asked softly, "Is he still on the mountain?"

Raphael was more sensitive to the difference in his tone. He grabbed a handful of Ferrante's hair with one hand, forced him to look directly at him, and said clearly, "I say, now, integrate the team, leave here, and return to the base."

Ferrante was forced to look at him for a while, his eyes slowly softened, his tense muscles slowly relaxed, and a low sound like a large cat being stroked came from his throat. He held Raphael's face in his hands and bent down to kiss him devoutly and carefully.

Raphael almost rolled his eyes in his heart - although the Pope is dignified, don't forget where he grew up, he also knows a lot of obscene gestures and swear words - but he still gently allowed Ferrante's request for a kiss.

The peace talks on the Assyrian Plain ended in a bad mood. His Majesty the Emperor in Calais never showed up. The Pope left with his men. The members of the diplomatic corps who did not receive any instructions from His Majesty watched the Papal States leave in a hurry in confusion. Then they learned the shocking news that their own emperor had been stabbed in the back.

Raphael and his men sped up and finally returned to the base safely. The coffin containing Redrick's body had been placed in a cool cellar of the manor for several days. Raphael opened the wooden box handed over by the servant and personally took out the head that had been embalmed with lime and herbs.

The dehydrated head looked somewhat hideous after being treated by the dry and hot wind and lime. The skin was abnormally grayish white with a marble-green hue. The long golden hair, which had always been moist and smooth, was scattered in a mess like the poorest and driest straw in a farmer's stable. The roots of the hair were severely eroded by the lime and a strand would be easily pulled out if one was not careful.

Raphael was not afraid of dead people. He looked at the wrinkled face carefully and was somewhat sad but not surprised to find that it did not look that similar to his proud and reserved brother the Duke.

Any living person, after such treatment, will not look much like himself in life.

The Pope held the hideous head in his hands, recited a whole requiem, and carefully placed the head into the coffin. This action required him to bend half of his body into the coffin, which was filled with expensive spices, but Raphael could still smell the inseparable stench of death.

"May you rest in peace in the arms of the Lord," Raphael whispered to the deceased, "and obtain infinite happiness and joy in the afterlife."

He straightened up and took two steps back. The undertaker who had been waiting for a long time immediately stepped forward to take his place and began to busy himself with preparing the Duke's remains.

When he has done everything, Redrick's body will be transported back to Florence, handed over to his mother, Lady Cassandra, to preside over the funeral, and buried in the family cemetery in Portia.

Based on the compassion that everyone has, Raphael sincerely hoped that the undertaker could prepare Redrick's body better, so that at least the poor mother would not suffer the inner torture again.

Ferrante was waiting at the exit of the cellar with a piece of wild grass in his mouth, staring at a line of ants passing by his feet in a daze. He didn't even notice that Raphael had walked up to him.

"What are you thinking about?" It was rare for Raphael to be so patient and talk to him about things other than business.

Ferrante spat out the weeds in his mouth that had been bitten to the point of rotting roots, and smiled: "I was wondering, when you have two crowns and the kingdom of God on earth is established as you wish, where will you build your palace?"

That’s indeed a good question.

Part of Amenra's tragedy is due to this. Raphael has always been very careful to avoid answering relevant questions clearly in public or even in private. He only reveals different tendencies ambiguously in front of different people, which gives everyone an illusion that he will always stand on their side.

But few would ask the Pope questions as openly as Ferrante.

Raphael put his hands in his sleeves and answered vaguely: "This is a difficult question, you know."

"Yes, I know, so I want to know what you will do." Ferrante looked at him curiously. "I think the Assyrians will not be able to accept that they have been abandoned by two consecutive monarchs. Think about it, for more than half a century, the Assyrian monarchs have not ruled on Assyrian soil. This matter does not seem so reliable."

"But if you want to leave Florence - I have to say that the Vatican will also be unhappy. Those cardinals are not law-abiding people."

The head of the Arbitration Bureau, who holds the most secrets of Florence, showed a look of disgust.

Raphael was amused by his expression as if he had seen something dirty, and soon returned to his calm and nonchalant attitude: "Maybe - maybe, who knows."

He still did not answer the question directly, but just sighed: "I'm still thinking about it. Let me think about it again. This matter is not the most urgent at the moment."

Ferrante nodded understandingly. “Indeed, we have to get rid of that lunatic first.”

Raphael smiled, and a cunning look that was not in line with the Pope's demeanor appeared on his delicate and beautiful face: "Oh, that, he will soon not be able to focus on us."

When the talks on the Assyrian plains ended in failure, the flag of the Knights Templar, which had disappeared from the world for a hundred years, once again flew over Florence.

The nobles looked on in amazement as this imposing team passed through the avenue. They were clad in silver-white armor, and their faces were completely covered by masks and helmets. All human features, including breathing, heartbeat, smile and eyes, were all covered under the cold armor. They were like silent sculptures, hard blocks of iron, coming with a terrifying aura that made people shudder.

"Holy Lord." Someone moaned silently.

This is the legion that has disappeared in history books, the great spear that once planted the flag of the Papal States in every country. Their glory is unmatched, and the fear of being conquered is imprinted in their genes, making the descendants of all enemies tremble.

But they have been buried in the ashes of history, transformed from the Pope's spear into a pitiful toy knife, along with the glory of the Papal States above all other nations. They can only find their past glory in their dreams in the middle of the night - but what did they see? !

An army! An army that absolutely should not exist!

What's going on? Everyone looked at each other in shock.

No one knows how this was done. Their Majesty rebuilt the powerful army that roamed the world silently. What does this mean?

They vaguely sensed something, but could not put it into words. Finally, someone shouted out a word that was about to break: "Long live Saint Sistine I! Long live the Papal State!"

This sentence spread among the crowd like a plague, forming a surging wave of sound. The leisurely pigeons in the square were frightened, flapped their wings, and hurriedly flew towards the sky shrouded in the rosy glow of the sunset.

For the first time, the name of Saint Sistine I was placed before that of the Papal States in the people's cry.

Raphael did not hear such cheers. The knight at the head of the team held the reins with one hand, turned his head, and saw a little girl in her mother's arms also slurringly cheering His Majesty's name. Under the visor, the knight's cold face warmed up, and he smiled in a way that no one could see. He raised his hand and made a thorny wings gesture to the little girl across the crowd. The little girl, who had received the blessing of the knight under the Holy Throne, bowed to the knights in her mother's arms. When they looked up again, the tall leading knight had disappeared.

In their sight.

After leaving Florence, the Knights Templar quickly split up. One team, led by Leshet, took a shortcut to Dudley. The team also included the fat Duke François. They needed to contact the Duke's old subordinates along the way to open the gate to Dudley for the army behind.

Leshert and his party secretly crossed the border of Calais. Duke François rode on his horse - it is worth mentioning that the horse was breathing heavily - looked at the forest in front of him and breathed a sigh of relief.

A warning sign is hung at the edge of the forest, with a simple and crude painting of an axe and a huge fork, as well as skeleton hands used for intimidation. This is used to warn civilians that according to Calais law, all forests and rivers in Calais belong to the royal family, more specifically, to the emperor himself. Secretly cutting down trees is robbing and infringing on the emperor's property, and those who commit this crime will be punished by having their hands chopped off.

The moment he saw the wooden sign, Duke François felt a familiar sense of "coming home". He took a few deep breaths of comfort, his heart filled with the expansive emotion of being able to obtain everything, which made him want to share his childhood experiences.

"I have been here with my brother before. Every year, the royal family would go to the border for a tour. At that time, this forest was not so big." The Duke gestured with his hand. "Yes, it was not so big. We also accepted a wild rabbit presented by the forest ranger. The rabbit tasted a bit fishy. My brother always believed that it was actually raised by the forest ranger..."

"Now that I think about it, that rabbit wasn't so bad after all." The Duke said suddenly without thinking.

However, the Knight Commander did not indulge his sentimentality: "Sir, where do we go next?"

Duke François adjusted the fat on his stomach and pointed to the northeast with his fat fingers: "Fann County, several of my subordinates were sealed there and escaped the last purge."

"Are they reliable? I don't want to be sent to the gallows on the first day I step into Calais," Leshert asked.

The usually serious Knight Commander made a rare and not-so-funny joke.

The Duke was choked, but he was not angry about such doubts. To some extent, he was more receptive to other people's opinions than the little emperor. "What you said makes sense, but I can give them more than that little lunatic, and we have entrusted our lives to each other on the battlefield. The worst result is that even if they don't support me, they will never betray me."

Leshert did not comment upon hearing this, but patted the horse's neck. The group took a short rest and soon galloped towards Vann County.

The Duke's lobbying was very successful. In the eyes of Leshert, who was watching from the sidelines, the Duke had many faults, and even his personal character was like a sieve full of holes. However, he was very good at winning people's hearts. He was open-minded and heroic. More importantly, he was much more emotionally stable than the Emperor.

It was no surprise that every one of his former subordinates whom he persuaded joined the rebel army willingly - of course, in the Duke's mouth, this should be considered a restoration. Although according to Calais' current Act of Succession, as the second son he could not declare his succession rights when the eldest son had an heir, this did not prevent the Duke from openly proposing that he was also the heir to the throne.

His subordinates responded unanimously, they had long been fed up with the moody little emperor, and as the Duke's old subordinates, they had long been squeezed out of Dudley's power center and dispersed across the border. This seemingly bad decision now became a help to François - the army of the Knights Templar passed through the Calais border unimpeded, and those cities that had long been occupied by the Duke's old subordinates erected the Duke's blue lion flag on the city walls, and every blue flag city welcomed the arrival of the Knights Templar with great joy.

It took Leshet less than a week to successfully pass through the heart of Calais, and their progress was finally hindered when they reached the city near Dudlais.

Encountering obstacles actually made Leshert's tense heart relax a little. Moving forward too smoothly would make people scared, as if they were walking into a trap.

The die-hard royalists raised the emperor's golden lion flag above the city to symbolize their absolute loyalty to the emperor. This time the Duke's sweet words had no effect and no one listened to him at all.

Leshet retreated to the previous city, waited for the army to join him, and then launched an attack on the city that put up a resolute resistance.

This was the first battle after the Knights Templar were resurrected from history, and it naturally ended in victory. Leshert would never allow himself to fail, either because the reputation of this army could not be tarnished or because its master was Saint Sistine I.

"In the name of Saint Sistine I," the Knight Commander looked at the broken city gate and the carrion crows circling in the sky, and prayed silently in his heart, "May my victory become the glorious jewel on his crown."

The news of the Knights Templar's victorious advance into the heart of Calais reached Francis IV and Raphael almost simultaneously, and nearly half a month had passed since the Knights Templar's horses set foot on the border of Calais.

Raphael did not care about this thing that had been predicted long ago. What caught his attention more was the letter that came from Florence a week ago.

The letter was from Lady Cassandra.

She refused to allow Frederick's coffin to be returned to Florence. In the letter, she expressed her wish as a mother that Frederick be buried in Assyria, where he died in battle, "as a hero, forever protecting the land for which he gave his life."

Raphael thought about it for a long time and finally agreed to the request.

He personally carried the coffin and buried Frederick in the forest where he died in battle. The whistling wind blew through the treetops, making a pleasant echo. From then on, this nameless valley was renamed "Rederick Valley", and it had a new name among the locals -

"Duke Valley", or, "Hero Valley".

The author has something to say:

My brother’s story has finally come to an end!