Chapter 70: Golden Ouroboros (XVIII)

◎Murder and Rejection◎

"…People always make a lot of mistakes in their lives. The years I spent listening to prayers in the confessional were enough to teach me about the weakness and stupidity of human will. They will make many seemingly inconceivable wrong choices, and then at the crossroads of fate, they will unswervingly take the wrong path and never look back.

“No one can avoid making mistakes forever. Huge wealth, lofty status, and outstanding position can reduce the probability of making mistakes to a minimum, but conversely, once a person with these makes a mistake, the mistake will be as serious as you can imagine.

"When I was young, I only understood the first principle. By the time I understood the second principle, it was already too late...

"Delacroix, my best friend in this life, is about to come to the end of my life. I dare to sincerely confirm that no one can replace his position in my life. Until now, I still have to say that I am willing to give my life for him. Perhaps this is the stubbornness of fate. I actually murdered the friend I was willing to give my life for with my own hands. My God, this is just like a bad joke."

"If someone had said that I would betray Delacroix when I was young, I would have hanged that person at the door of the town hall without hesitation. However... I suddenly remembered that more than 20 years ago, I was no longer qualified to be angry about this. Holy Lord, this sinner in front of you is repenting to you. The pain is gnawing at my heart day and night. I am about to be sent to hell by sin. How can a despicable and shameless villain like me stay in the same place with my friend?"

There were dried water marks on the paper that looked like human tears.

"If this letter is a statement of a criminal, it may be used as evidence in court. I considered whether to destroy everything, but I hesitated in the end. Just as every night has a tomorrow, my crime will also be exposed to the world one day. Rather than waiting for others to speculate, it is better for me to write my own confession."

"The cause of this murder is very simple. Love XI promised me something. Of course, it's not a bad idea to interpret it as a threat. For my family and my children - I need to emphasize here that I personally have never gained any benefits from it. Neither wealth nor power is an advantage that can be compared with Delacroix. Although it is very funny to say this at this time, my purpose is only to protect all the clansmen with the surname of Tandol, regardless of whether the person who sees this letter believes it or not - I'm getting off topic. In short, I agreed to nurture this conspiracy that has been bleeding pus and blood since its birth."

"Love XI has been paralyzed in bed for several years. From what I have learned, it is clear that it is not some ridiculous family hereditary disease that has brought him to this point. His queen, even if I were to judge her, is a rare woman. It would not be difficult for her to add chronic poison to his diet. Although the couple had already reached the point of being at odds with each other, it is said that Love XI even forbade his wife and her ladies-in-waiting to approach his bedroom, but his ban is obviously useless."

"I will not discuss the couple's terrible history of fighting. It was a very complicated past in which my friend played an indispensable role. Perhaps at the end of his life, Rafe XI, who was unable to prevent Amenra from gaining Roman power, began to seek revenge that was years late. I was not an eyewitness to all this and can only make poor guesses.

"As the health of Love XI deteriorates, the succession struggle in Roman has entered a white-hot stage. Love XI seems to refuse to give the throne to the daughter born by Amenra. His hatred for his wife has extended to his child. In any case, I think the child should be innocent, but as far as I know, his only legitimate child is not doing well in the Roman court.

"And Delacroix, my upright and nostalgic friend, seemed to have agreed to Amenra's request and went to Rome to promote the amendment of the inheritance law. This was definitely the fuse for the revenge of Laf XI. I tried to stop Delacroix from going, but perhaps my attitude was too firm and fierce, which made him see something unusual. My friend has always been a very sharp wise man. If it weren't for our friendship that blinded his perception... he would have finally refused to accept my advice.

"I hid the Roman assassin in my own carriage. My friend trusted me so much that he carefully screened and examined every person in the team. It seemed that he was not completely unaware of the hatred of Rafe XI, but he never doubted me."

Late one night a few years ago, in a border city between Roman and the Papal States, the Pope's motorcade was one day away from crossing the border. The still robust Cardinal Tandol sat in the carriage, silently watching the assassin polish the dagger in his hand and smear emerald green juice on it.

"What is this?" the cardinal asked quietly.

"Belladonna." The Roman assassin pronounced the word in somewhat stiff Latin.

Just one drop of this strong poison can kill a person, and no one can escape its hunting. This small fruit looks very similar to gooseberry and is easy to pick and collect. Assassins like this round little fruit very much and affectionately call it "Kiss of Death".

The cardinal's body trembled involuntarily when he heard this evil word, and he silently clenched the thorn wings under his clothes.

"You are a cardinal," he said without saying anything. The assassin spoke first. "I want to pray to you. This is my habit before every work. I used to find a nearby church. Some monks can't even read the scriptures clearly."

Cardinal Dondol choked and asked with difficulty: "You...believe in religion?"

"Of course." The assassin nodded as a matter of course.

"Do you know who your target is?" Cardinal Dondol confirmed again.

"Of course." This time the assassin looked at him as if he was a psychopath.

The cardinal's mind was in turmoil.

A religious believer prays to a cardinal, one of his accomplices, for forgiveness before going to assassinate the Pope?

But he didn't say anything else. The assassin prayed earnestly to Cardinal Dondol, then looked at the cardinal with his emotionless eyes. The person he was looking at slowly reached out his hand and touched the other's forehead. The familiar words that he had said thousands of times seemed to be stuck in his throat, making him feel suffocated.

But he finally said those two words.

"I forgive."

The assassin picked up the dagger on the table and put it into his clothes. The cardinal sat there, knowing that the dagger would soon pierce his best friend's chest - or throat. If he walked out now, he could still fulfill his promise made many years ago and stand in front of his friend, letting the evil blade coated with belladonna pierce his body. If he stood up and shouted now, if he -

Countless thoughts ran wildly through his mind. In the end, only the words "I forgive" that he uttered himself echoed repeatedly in his mind, turning into a rumbling thunder.

The sound covered all his senses, and it was not until ten minutes later, when the curtain of his carriage was lifted by a panicked servant, that he vaguely realized that it was not just his hallucination, but that the surroundings had fallen into chaos.

"Assassin - there is an assassin - His Majesty is injured -"

The servant turned pale and reported to his master in the carriage: "Your Majesty has been assassinated, already, already..."

The cardinal, who had been sitting in the carriage like a wooden sculpture, suddenly stood up. Helped by his servants, he stumbled out of the carriage. When the torches outside lit up, the servants realized belatedly that their master had burst into tears.

This discovery made him a little careless, and the cardinal he was supporting almost tripped over a branch on the ground. The servant hurriedly apologized, and the cardinal grabbed his arm with force, his voice hoarse and strange.

"I forgive."

Somehow the servant heard something in these two simple words that made the hair on his neck stand on end.

"Delacroix is ​​dead, my friend is dead, my like-minded friend, my confidant in my youth, my playmate who grew up with me, my companion in travels... I murdered him at 10:20 p.m. on September 18, 1074, with a Roman dagger and belladonna."

"Before this murder happened, I forgave the murderer."

The gates of Gunda were tightly closed. The city walls were built with large pieces of pale yellow rock. The mountains near Gunda were rich in this kind of soft and bright rock, which was hard and huge in size. It needed to be blasted open with gunpowder, and then the quarry workers hammered and chiseled day and night, transporting the mined stones to mine carts to build this wall that surrounded the entire Gunda.

Yamenla reined in her horse and looked at the winding city wall from afar. This was a place she was very familiar with. She grew up here. Her father sent her off to get married at the city gate. When she returned here again, she was coldly rejected by her family.

The queen's lips curled up into a smile that could not be described.

She was wearing very simple armor, which only concealed

She hit several vital points, her right hand hanging down, the tip of the more than two-meter-long saber dragging on the ground. The fierce cold weapon reflected the cold light of the sun, and it was reflected by the huge army behind her, as if a pack of wolves had bared their fangs at Gunda.

The battering ram was slowly pushed to the bottom of the city wall, and the stones soaked in sulfur and grease in the catapult were set on fire. With a sharp whistle, the huge stones with scorching flames flew to the top of the wall, instantly smashing several blood flowers on the wall. The horrific kinetic energy of the rolling made everyone who passed by scream in pain. Almost at the beginning, more than a dozen lives were taken away.

As the mechanically driven battering ram moved forward tirelessly, Roman's army also began to advance. Amenra was a little dazed. For a brief moment, she couldn't even tell who she was. Was she an Assyrian? But she was leading the Roman army to attack the city of Gonda; were they Romans? But even she herself was unwilling to admit it.

She suddenly remembered the negotiation with the high priest before the siege. He was an old man. When she was still a girl, the high priest took her hunting in the forest. At that time, the high priest was in his strongest middle age.

It was a negotiation that ended unpleasantly.

Amenra was sure that he was trying to convince the high priest, but the old man just listened in silence.

He demanded that Amen-ra give up the Assyrian crown and rule over Assyria, or sever ties with Roman.

"Assyria needs a pious, independent monarch, not a queen who rules over other nations. You haven't been back for twenty years, Amen-ra. You've been away for too long, and your people no longer recognize you."

The high priest spoke in an old and hoarse voice. His sight penetrated the tent and he seemed to be able to see the Roman soldiers outside the tent: "You brought the Romans to Assyria, saying that you were doing it for the unity and independence of Assyria... What is the difference between your actions and aggression?"

Amenla was shivering. "You - what do you mean by that?! I am the queen of Assyria. Assyria can no longer restore peace on its own. I have tried my best to find allies - you think I am invading - my own country?"

She even found it ridiculous.

But the high priest did not laugh.

The old man's drooping eyelids were motionless, like an extremely tired old wolf. He held the scepter he had carved out of the roots of an old tree, and sat there with a majestic and indifferent posture: "Assyria does not need allies! Under the protection of the Eternal Heaven, we gallop across the grasslands and snow-capped mountains. We are the children of nature and the children of the sky! Assyria has always been independent and free. We do not need help from other countries, nor do we care about it. We can solve all problems ourselves."

Yamenla looked grim: "We can't do it! Otherwise, why has Assyria been in chaos for so many years?"

"Perhaps it is impossible," the high priest did not insist on his point of view. He said calmly and coldly, "But Changshengtian will always send a hero, just like your ancestor Chilebailaetu, who unified the entire Assyria and passed the royal bloodline to you. There will also be someone who stands up, and he will be an Assyrian."

Amenra stared at him, already aware of what the high priest would say next.

Sure enough, after a pause, the old man asked calmly: "Amenra, you left Assyria for more than 20 years, married in Roman, had children, and ruled the people of that country - you are already Roman's wife, not Assyria's daughter."

The high priest stood up slowly. Despite his age, his movements were steady. "Go back, son. Let Assyria solve its own problems. Your home is on the other side of the Black Sea."

Her homeland refused her return, declaring that she no longer belonged there.

After the negotiations broke down, Amenra decided to lead the troops into battle herself. A betrayed queen led a foreign army to attack her own royal city. This sounded ridiculous from beginning to end, but it became the situation that Amenra had to face.

Didn't she leave Assyria and go to Roman in exchange for peace with Assyria? Now that Roman's threat to Assyria has been lifted, the high priest can justifiably write off her sacrifices. They have never seen how hard she has struggled at Roman's, nor do they care about the years of hard work she and Sangxia have put in - how could such a good thing happen in the world?

Her things are hers, at worst she can become a Chilebailaetu!

The city gate that was broken by the battering ram fell down crookedly, and the neatly-lined army inside began to move forward quickly. Amenla lowered his body, stuck to the horse's back, and clamped his legs on the horse's belly. The horse rushed forward like a sharp arrow flying close to the ground, and his saber drew bright sparks on the ground. Behind him were the equally aggressive Roman soldiers.

The high priest standing on the city wall had blurry eyes and could no longer see the specific details, but he still caught a glimpse of the figure who was leading the charge.

"Is that her?"

The priest next to him replied, "It is Amen-Ra—she looks the same as before."

"Same as before..." the high priest said softly, "I still remember how beautiful she was when she was young, the daughter of Ashur, the pearl of Gonda, she went to war for her father, people called her the Warrior Princess, she had a scar under her eye, which was left in the Battle of the Harbor."

The leading figure on the battlefield collided with the army pouring out of the city gate, and immediately a large amount of blood splashed out, dyeing the sand red.

The high priest stopped talking. He looked silently in that direction with a sad and solemn expression. The soldiers hurried past him. Everyone who recognized him showed a look of piety and respect and saluted him by beating his chest.

"The Assyrian warrior princess finally turned her blade against the Assyrians. Perhaps we shouldn't have agreed to marry Roman back then." He whispered, "...even if we had let her die in Assyria?"

This question is destined to have no solution, and the high priest did not want an answer. The past cannot be retrieved, and they are all pushed forward by fate.

The author has something to say:

Both lines are important, so they are run in parallel.