Chapter 126 Heart of the Storm (XIV)

◎The End of the Emperor◎

What broke the tense atmosphere were the whistling arrows and sporadic hot ammunition, which smashed into the crowd. Sangxia quickly retreated under the protection of the caltrops, and saw from the corner of her eye that François's movements were faster than hers.

The queen sneered slightly. She had gone to so much trouble to get François out of the clock tower, not to run away in fear when being chased.

Alexander VI did not bring many people with him, which was of course also in Raphael and Sancha's plan. No one would mobilize a large army to pursue an escaped prisoner, and this was exactly what Raphael wanted to see.

They could not intervene on the frontal battlefield between François and Alexander, as that would not be good for the image of Florence and Roman, so they needed a more secretive occasion - an occasion suitable for conspiracy and assassination to take the stage.

Think about it, François escapes from prison, Alexander VI leads his men to chase him, then the two sides fight, and finally both die. What an impeccable script. And Sancha plays just a poor woman who tries to save her fiancé but fails. Who can bear to hurt this poor person who has lost her love forever? As for the Papal States, they were even more innocent. François was even captured with the help of the Grand Master of the Knights Templar!

Alexander VI had no intention of holding back. Arrows fell like rain from a distance. He was obviously determined to kill Sancha and François here. He did not care about Roman's revenge - the fight between Amenra and Laf XI had caused the bloodline of the Roman royal family to be reduced to a handful. After Sancha succeeded to the throne, he suppressed those distant relatives who coveted the throne so that they dared not raise their heads. If the queen died here, Roman would immediately follow in the footsteps of Assyria.

revenge? I'm afraid Roman should be more afraid of the invasion of Calais.

The knights steadied themselves on their horses, held their spears horizontally, aimed at Sancha and Francois in the crowd, and pulled the trigger. The dense ammunition could slightly make up for the poor hit rate.

At that moment, Sang Xia smelled the smell of her hair being burnt, and then she felt a painful, wet and hot sensation on her ears.

She reached out and wiped the side of her face, her palm felt wet, hot and sticky.

A patch of skin was scraped off, but nothing serious.

Sang Xia judged that the injury did not affect her thinking and activities, so she coldly put it behind her.

She did not forget what her purpose was.

Alexander VI and his bodyguards were still approaching at a very fast speed. They seemed to think that they were the masters of this land and were tasked with capturing fugitives, so they naturally thought that they had some kind of superior status.

But Sangxia will tell them that everything they are thinking now is wrong.

The queen stretched out her hand, and a heavy saber was respectfully placed in her hand.

Sang Xia slowly bent her five fingers. The overly heavy feel of the cold weapon awakened the blood buried under her cold rationality. She heard her heart pumping vigorously, pushing the blood to her limbs. The humid evening wind in Calais brushed across the back of her hand, like a comfort that could be felt at the touch of a button.

It reminded her of her mother.

The woman who taught her to ride a horse, who taught her to hold a saber, who told her how to be a princess, how to be a queen.

Sangxia likes beautiful long dresses, soft flowers, intricate lace and graceful music. The Roman court gave its only princess a dress with a wide skirt and a slim waist, and also gave her an exquisite crystal crown. Her mother gave her swords and war horses, and gave her another vast field full of thorns.

Several of the maids who had served her were married and had children. Even if we look at the entire Syracuse Peninsula, there are only a few noble women like Sanxia who dare to stand on the stage that has belonged to men since ancient times. As her mother said, if she refuses the protection of men, she will be regarded as an enemy by them. She needs to go through more tests and be looked down upon and maliciously by more people. However -

However--

It is because of this that she has the power to seek revenge.

The gorgeous dress, the fresh roses, the exquisite jewelry, they were all very beautiful things, but she would never regret holding her mother's knife. She was a woman, a princess, a queen, and she was proud of it and would always be proud of it.

The young queen's eyes burned with blazing fire. She jumped on her horse, lowered her body, and dragged the tip of her long sword on the ground, striking sparks with the broken stones. She dodged the arrows that flew past her ears and rushed into Alexander VI's personal guards like a gust of wind. She knocked down those guys who were only equipped with long-range weapons and swords with one encounter.

Not everyone can remain calm in the face of a fierce and majestic saber.

But she deliberately omitted Alexander VI, who was the leader.

The emperor thought about it quickly and gritted his teeth: "Kill him first!"

The reference in his words was very clear. Francois, who had just grabbed the horse, turned his head, and a venomous light appeared in his cold eyes. Not only did Alexander think this was a good opportunity, but Francois who escaped from the clock tower also realized this God-given opportunity. He didn't want to escape from Calais in a miserable state like a stray dog.

He sensed Sang Xia's ill intentions. Although he didn't mind being used, he didn't want to be so stupid as to become a mascot living in Roman.

At this gambling table, everyone is a desperado. They put their lives and power on the table. It is common for them to scheme against each other. As long as there is a little hope of winning, what's wrong with taking a little risk?

Either everyone loses, or the winner takes all. No one who happens to sit at this gambling table thinks that they will lose.

As long as I kill him first.

This thought occurred to everyone at the same time.

Alexander VI raised his gun.

Francois drew his bow and drew his arrow.

The falling saber drew a sharp arc in the air.

In the darkness and chaos, a burst of blood splashed into scarlet flowers.

François covered his shoulder that was pierced by the bullet, half of his face was distorted by pain, but he had no intention of stopping. Instead, he urged the horse even more frantically. He was not wearing riding boots, so he grabbed the collar pin used to fix the silk scarf and stabbed the delicate and sharp little thing into the horse's neck.

The horse, driven mad by the pain, let out miserable cries and galloped forward madly. François lowered his body on the bumpy horse's back. The dizziness that made his internal organs feel like rolling out did not seem to exist at all for him. He ran past the guards who were fighting in a group, casually pulled out the bloody sword from a corpse, and stared at the neck of Alexander VI with a clear target.

Ten steps, eight steps, six steps...

He heard his own heartbeat roaring with excitement. The extreme joy made his mind clearer than ever before. Even the severe pain in his shoulder turned into another kind of pleasure. The handle of the sweaty and sticky longsword was a little slippery. This uncontrollable little accident made him feel real - the reality of about to smell blood.

Four steps, three steps—

In the pupils of Alexander VI, a ferocious expression as if facing a madman appeared uncontrollably on his face. He also raised his sword and let out a fierce roar of a lion being provoked.

As if suddenly, half of a snow-white and beautiful face appeared faintly in the deep darkness over the shoulder of Alexander VI.

François clearly saw Alexander VI's wrinkled and then dilated pupils. An expression of disbelief crept onto his face, twisting his facial features into strange and funny looks. The man with curly black hair had a smile on his lips, half of his face hidden behind the emperor. The hidden blade in his other hand deeply pierced the emperor's heart, as if he was hugging his lover. The arms that were clasped around the emperor's waist and abdomen were so strong that the muscles bulged. The hidden blade firmly pierced through the emperor's heart and then twisted a circle.

Before Alexander VI even dropped his sword, the Director of the Arbitration Bureau, wearing the uniform of the Calais Royal Guard, grabbed his arm and grinned at François, who was already close to him.

Ferrante has a beautiful face. When Alexander VI was still a duke, he became the duke's favorite with this face. At that time, he was still an impetuous teenager who stubbornly pursued the saint in his heart and was disappointed with Raphael for the sake of "justice" and "truth" -

"Go to hell and repent, scum."

He put his ear close to Alexander VI's and uttered a curse that sounded like a judgment.

But his eyes never left the galloping François. Alexander VI's hands fell heavily down, and the heavy corpse was about to fall off the horse uncontrollably. Ferrante used all his strength to control Alexander VI's body so that he would not be dragged off the horse. In this way, he could no longer free his hands to face the sword in François's hand.

But he didn't need to worry about that.

The Queen's saber arrived first, like the dawn breaking through the night, and a pale and brilliant flame bloomed in François' pupils.

What?

How is this possible? He hasn't yet--

François's mind was filled with chaotic thoughts. He was surprised that he could still think of so many things, and confused that in this brief moment, there was nothing that could make him fully engaged. He might have thought about a lot, or maybe he thought about nothing.

“Aa ...

Yulia, who was stumbling behind, witnessed the scene and screamed uncontrollably.

The queen reined in her horse, turned around on horseback, and watched coldly as the man fell off the bumpy horse, rolled twice in the dust, leaving a tragic trail of blood.

The wind blew from behind again, lifting the queen's long hair and gently covering the dust in her hair.

Like a mother's warm and rough hands.

Sangxia raised her head as if she realized something, and when she looked back again, the body in the dust was already motionless, lying there in a gray manner. No matter how noble the bloodline was, after death it would just lie in the ground. Who would have thought that the mad emperor who had suppressed Calais with fear for so many years would end up like this.

There was no dramatic stage, no grand battle, and he died without even a crown.

The caltrops cleared the battlefield with great efficiency, eliminating every personal guard brought by Alexander VI. This war that ended the hundreds of years of rule of the Calais royal family seemed like a child's play, and it was this child's play battle that easily destroyed all the bloodlines of an ancient royal family.

Two emperors became sacrifices for victory, and there was only one winner at the gambling table. ○

Raphael wrapped in a cloak, slowly found this place under the escort of Lesherte. Sanxia and Ferrante were already finishing up. Seeing him coming, the queen leaned her long sword on the ground and said in a gentle tone: "Why are you here?"

Compared to when they first met, the lively, enthusiastic and bold little princess who promised him that she would bring her legion to Florence to marry him has become a calm and introverted queen. Raphael couldn't tell what emotion was in his heart. It was too unfamiliar to him.

He is indeed not good at dealing with emotional issues - all the real emotions that come from the heart are what he habitually avoids.

Especially Sangxia, she is his sister.

Family affection, a complex and unfamiliar thing that made him feel even more difficult to deal with.

"Let me solve a small problem." Raphael said, while his eyes wandered around and soon found his target.

"Ah, you are here after all."

The Pope took off his hood, walked up to a man and bent down.

"I thought you were going home, but I was wrong. You followed Alexander here. What? Did you want to gamble on your life again? It's a pity that you lost the bet."

Viscount Julia, who was lying on the ground and shivering with his head in his hands, raised his eyes from between his arms and looked at the person in front of him. When he met the other person's emotionless smile, his whole body stiffened. He had seen the portrait of this person countless times, with various expressions and postures, and was stared at and caressed by François obsessively. He gritted his teeth to learn the other person's expression and movements, and dressed himself up as another person.

It was not until he saw the real person that he vaguely realized that a fake is a fake.

Yulia gasped rapidly. He could not speak and did not know what he should say. No, he knew he should beg for mercy. It would be best if he crawled on the ground and cried loudly, telling about his helplessness and showing his pitifulness and innocence. This was what he was best at.

But, but.

He found that there seemed to be an iron rod in his neck, preventing him from bending his head or opening his mouth to say the words he had known by heart.

It could be anyone but this person. Yulia held up his humble and proud self-esteem and trembled.

It doesn't matter who it is, he can beg for mercy from anyone, except this person.

But Raphael didn't even think about listening to his plea for mercy.

His fingers touched the hard dagger in his sleeve and he said calmly: "You may not know that the Duke of Lusen whom you killed is my brother."

Tears welled up in Yulia's eyes. He suddenly realized what was going to happen. This fear instantly destroyed his inexplicable self-esteem. He opened his mouth and cried out, "No... please... I was forced..."

"Maybe," Raphael said quietly, "but the little town of Vasetin, north of Dudley, huh?"

Julia's voice was suddenly blocked in his throat. That was the "reward" François promised him before he chopped off Rederick's head.

"He is not a very good brother, but he died for me." Raphael expressionlessly thrust the dagger into Yulia's throat. The spurting blood splattered a large area of ​​his clothes on his chest. This was not a good place to end his life. Raphael pressed his shoulder with one hand. Yulia's body twisted and struggled in extreme pain. The veins on the back of Raphael's hand were taut. He held Yulia tightly, and the whole person was motionless and steady as a rock.

"An tooth for a tooth,

An eye for an eye. "He said in an inaudible voice.

Julia fell headfirst into the dust, his purple eyes wide open, his beautiful face twisted like a demon. Raphael took a step back and said to Ferrante, who wiped the blood off his cheek, "Take his head back and give it to Lady Cassandra."

He did not pull out the dagger that was stuck in Julia's throat. He turned around and left the mess. François's body fell not far away, but he did not even look down at it.

Sang Xia looked at her brother walking towards her. Only at such a close distance could she discover that their facial features did have subtle similarities.

"According to our previous agreement." Sang Xia said.

"We will redivide Syracuse," Raphael replied.

The author has something to say:

I have deliberately thought about the relationship of who killed whom. Ferrante killed Alexander VI, Sancha killed the little emperor, and Raphael killed Julia. It is indeed centered on "revenge". Although the little emperor seemed to have died a little hastily, this is how I arranged my outline. I will not give him a gorgeous exit. He does not deserve it! So here is a question, do you want to see the extra story of the Little Emperor?