Chapter 102 Chapter 102 Let’s fight!
Just as Elio had imagined, Giotto was thriving in the work he had begun. He undoubtedly possessed the brilliance of Caesar, the courage of Napoleon, the military prowess of Darius, and the far-sightedness of King Solomon; all the qualities essential to emperors from ancient times to the present were eagerly emerging in this fair-haired young man.
Except for one thing: Alexander the Great's ambition to conquer.
It was this very fact that profoundly separated Giotto from those emperors. When they were in such poverty and hardship, they would simply grit their teeth and endure, secretly vowing to rise to prominence one day, and insatiably yearning for the next grand victory, for the pages of history books that would record them. But Giotto, on the other hand, had no interest in such things.
He just wanted to live a carefree life forever in this small town, a town where "although it is poor, everyone's smile is as warm as the sun."
Although Elio didn't know the earlier stories, when he saw Giotto's bitter smile, he guessed: If there was no Mafia, Giotto probably wouldn't be so anxious as to jump up and bite people.
"The Mafia you just defeated," Elio said, not responding to Giotto's words. He simply drew a circle on the table. "I heard their estate is right here. It's on the hill, with a great view and convenient transportation. You can clearly see the roads to the three nearby towns."
That's why Giotto drew a little blood when he punched him in. But he said nothing, just watched Elio's fingers move across the table. Then, Elio tutted and simply dipped his finger into the glass, smearing the wine onto the table.
Giotto couldn't help but rebuke him, "Waste!"
"Sorry," Elio said, "it's really terrible."
But Giotto did not stop him from painting, and Elio did not stop either.
"They 'protect' these three towns." Elio pointed at the simple map on the table. "So when you lose your patience and kill them, problems will arise one after another. First, the police they bribed, then the nobles and landowners they negotiated with, and finally the people living in the other two towns."
"Are they last in line?"
"Because they're the most difficult to deal with," Elio said. "Even if the police come with guns drawn, even if the nobles and landowners come with armies, we'll just fight them. But the people in the other two towns are more difficult to deal with. If they have their own ideas, if they bribe the police and pay taxes to the landowners, we can't do anything about them. But if they hold piastres high in their hands, humbly kneel at your feet, and beg you to protect them as you would this town, what will you do?"
"I would refuse their money," said Giotto, "but I would help them to form a militia for the town, and tell them that if they have any troubles they cannot solve themselves, they can still come to me for help. I understand what you mean, Elio, but I am not a pushover."
Elio looked at him, a teasing smile on his face.
"Really?" Elio said.
“…Elio.” Giotto said helplessly.
"You know, Giotto, a truly heartless person wouldn't say those last words," Elio said with a smile. "But that's why I like you."
"Let's get to know each other again, Giotto." Elio smiled and extended his hand to Giotto in surprise. "Elio, as an assassin, I've probably killed more people than you've ever met in your life. Next time when something happens, don't tell me 'no fighting' or 'get to the back', okay?"
Giotto, who had quickly extended his hand and shaken it with him, couldn't help but look confused when he heard this, "Assassin? As in 'assassin'?"
It happened to be in Sicily, Italy. He pronounced "Assassin" like "Assassino" from the Ezio trilogy, authentic as could be. Elio couldn't help but smile. But then, Giotto asked, bewildered, "I thought you were just a healer who could fight."
"You could understand it that way," Elio said expressionlessly, "I usually 'heal' my companions by killing the enemy first."
But Giotto looked at him intently for a moment, then laughed too. "You wouldn't do that."
"What?"
"'Kill the enemy first,' I mean." Giotto winked at him. "You know I'm a pretty good judge of character, so when I think you're not a bloodthirsty fellow, you're definitely not. You're quiet and reserved, but you've always been a gentle person, Elio. Mark my words. There must have been something that led you to become an assassin. Although I don't know why you've become so skilled at assassination, you won't be one forever."
"Kindness to one's enemies is cruelty to one's companions," but Elio shook his head. "Remember what I said, Giotto."
However, Elio didn't think there was much need to continue this topic at the moment. So he pulled his hand away from Giotto and looked back at the simple map on the table. But at this moment, footsteps hurried over and pushed open the door.
"Giotto!" cried the frantic young man, "someone's coming!"
"Who is it?" asked Giotto.
His tone was relatively calm, perhaps because he had expected someone to come. Elio turned his head to look over, wondering who it might be. But the young militiaman choked on himself, unable to speak. Then Gatling appeared from behind him and impatiently pushed past him.
"They were the boys you left at the manor," Gatlin said simply. "They came back injured and said someone attacked the manor. It looked like the mafia."
Giotto stood up immediately, his brows furrowed. Before he could ask, Gatlin, as if knowing what he was going to ask, said, "They're fine. I checked."
Giotto's brows relaxed, and his expression softened, though still stern. "We'll have to keep half of our men for defense," he said, "and the other half will follow me to the manor. Gatling, you go organize those who are willing to come with me to the manor."
"It's already organized," Gatlin knew he would make such an arrangement. "They are arming themselves. I told them to assemble in the square."
"Very good," Giotto couldn't help but smile, then said, "Elio, you stay and defend."
Elio was ready to join him in the fight, but he ended up staying behind. He couldn't help but frown. But as if he knew he was going to protest, Giotto stepped forward, took Elio's hand again, and whispered to him, "I know you're better at offense, but we're really short on defensive talent, and I'm really worried the Mafia will take advantage of my absence. I can only entrust the people of this town to you. Can you spare me this worry?"
After he said this and looked at Elio with a sharp gaze, the assassin had no choice but to agree, "I promise."
Giotto then smiled and released his hand. "Go ahead and order the militia around, Elio! They love you as much as they love me."
With these words, Giotto immediately set off. Gatlin lingered briefly, explaining to Elio that the militia had its own patrol routine and telling him not to worry too much and to focus on what he was best at. Then, he hurriedly followed Giotto. With this departure, they took with them half the militia, a mighty dozen or so men, more than enough. Elio, who remained behind, pondered silently for a moment, then looked at the militiaman who had initially reported the incident.
"Shall I tell everyone that you are in charge now?" asked the young man.
“Tell them to do what they’ve always done and not panic,” Elio said. “If the alarm bells don’t go off, then it’s fine. If they do, I’ll tell you which direction to defend.”
The young man nodded quickly and rushed out the door, forgetting to ask any other questions. This also made it difficult for him to answer when the other militiamen came around and asked him what Elio was doing and why he didn't come to stay with them.
"He must be watching the alarm in the monastery!"
"But if he stays there," the militiaman wondered, "how is he going to get the necessary notifications in time? We're going to be scattered all over town soon."
The militiamen, each armed with an axe and sickle, looked at each other briefly, none of them sure what Elio was planning to do. But they soon unanimously decided to put the matter behind them and simply trust Elio. After all, they had all been saved by Elio in some way or another; even if they hadn't, their families certainly had. Furthermore, Giotto had personally instructed them to hand all of them over to Elio.
With trust in Giotto and Elio, the militiamen patrolled as usual, but with fewer jokes and tense faces.
The sky is gloomy and it looks like it's going to rain.
Out of sight of the militiamen, a small dark figure crouched on the cross at the top of the monastery's bell tower. Anyone who saw it would have frowned, wondering if the white crossbar of the cross could really bear the weight of an adult, but Elio seemed unfazed and even stood up slowly.
From his position, the assassin could take in the entire town at a glance. He could even see the manor at the distant intersection, where Giotto and his companions were heading. But Elio only glanced briefly before quickly withdrawing his gaze, carefully observing every entrance and exit to the town.
As the first raindrops fell, wetting his unblinking eyelashes, the assassin's dark green pupils suddenly contracted rapidly, like a hawk stalking its prey. He saw the mafia approaching from two directions, one in front and one behind. The front group had more powerful firepower, the back group was quieter. In just a few breaths, Elio made up his mind. Without a flash of lightning or a roar, a flash of green lightning flashed across the assassin's eyes.
"Father!" Elio cried. "Ring the bell!"
The bell rang dully at first, then deafeningly; like ripples spreading out, the bells soon spread throughout the town. The patrolling militia immediately became alert, but they didn't know where the enemy came from.
Just then, they heard the sound of crunching footsteps on the rooftop. It didn't sound like a cat. But when they looked up, some alertly raising their guns, they saw Elio leaping down from the rooftop, panting. He had just rushed from the monastery to the rear, alerted the militia there, and then rushed back to join the battle at the front.
"They're coming," Elio said simply. "We'll meet them."
There was a small commotion among the militiamen, followed by a huge cheer. They saw the enemy emerging, and Elio rushed to the front of them all, somehow pulling a gleaming sword from his waist and holding it high like a golden banner.
"Let's fight!" the militiamen shouted and rushed forward.
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The author has something to say: I feel like Giotto and Oreo are two very different types. Giotto is the type who holds your hand, looks you in the eyes, and gives pre-war speeches, while Oreo is the "veni, vidi, vici" type. One talks a lot, the other says very little, but both are charming anyway...
And there is a conversation in this chapter where Giotto and Oreo each act as a prophet.
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