Chapter 121 Chapter 121 My Lord is in trouble, how can I sit still...
At the first cannonball, Giotto nearly fell from the wall. He heard only a thunderous explosion, followed by a humming roar, and heard nothing else. But his eyes could still see the blood and flesh flying, and he could still shed tears; his body could still throw himself upon his comrades, and his fingers could still clench into fists, igniting a desperate fire.
Amidst the wailing cries of the fleeing, amidst burning houses and crumbling walls, the Vongola fought to the death. Gatling stood guard, dashing about, shouting orders at the top of his lungs. Wherever he passed, flames rising from blood swelled like the roar of a demon, the cry of a cuckoo. Lambo, carrying an iron pot—the only shelter he could find in his hasty escape—fleeted in panic, never forgetting to grab the child who was stunned in the street.
The shells fell, trailing trails of flame like meteors.
Giotto, still fighting on the ramparts, suddenly felt a pang of fear. He turned sharply, realizing the cannonball was about to hit Lambo. He immediately turned back to save him. But at that moment, the Bourbon soldier's sword slashed down. Had Giotto not reacted quickly, he would have been killed instantly. Hastily, Giotto blocked the sword, but he was too late to save Lambo.
"Blue Sapphire!!!" Giotto yelled.
Lan Bao finally realized the danger above him. But it was too late. He hugged the child tightly, tears dripping down his neck, and tried to block the cannonball with his body. However, just as the cannonball hit the iron pot where they were hiding, a burst of green lightning suddenly lit up!
The lightning, which had withstood the bombardment, fell like a spiderweb around them, instantly scorching the earth. Miraculously, however, Rambo and the child in his arms were unharmed.
Giotto was stunned. Gatlin, drawn to the noise, also looked over. Skipping past the "what happened" stage, he immediately erupted in ecstasy. "That kid has finally awakened! I knew it!"
At this time, Lan Bao didn't know what had happened. It was not until the child in his arms burst into tears that he opened his eyes tremblingly and found that he was still alive.
This wasn't the only miracle that occurred during the battle. The next morning, Gatling, nearly exhausted and without a drop of water and bleeding from his throat, suddenly saw a horse with its eyes tied charging against the flow of people, charging straight into the ruined fortress. From it, leaped a familiar Japanese samurai in a wide-set hunting robe.
Chaoli Yuyue.
The cherished shakuhachi that once hung from his waist was gone, replaced by a gleaming longsword and three short knives. The graceful composure of music lost its touch, replaced by the solemnity and sharpness of a warrior.
Just as he looked around, hoping to find a familiar face, Gatlin rushed down as expected. Seeing him, Yu Yue's expression brightened, but Gatlin grabbed his collar and yelled in his face, "Are you crazy? Don't you know what's going on here?!"
"My lord is in trouble," Yu Yue said sternly, "How can I sit back and watch?!"
This was the first time Ugetsu had spoken so harshly. But Gatlin's reddened eyes stared at him silently. Without a word, he simply hugged him tightly. Ugetsu, nearly suffocating, reluctantly reached out to hold him; this proved a wise move, as Gatlin fainted the next moment. Ugetsu frantically helped him to his feet, and then Giotto's head popped out from above.
"Yu Yue!" He exclaimed in surprise, then saw the limp Gatling, his expression froze, "Is he injured?!"
"I don't think so!"
"Then he must be too tired! Have someone take him to Rambo, and the child will bring him to Nakel." Giotto ordered quickly, "Go and come back quickly, Yuyue!"
The battle, or rather, Messina's desperate resistance, lasted three days and three nights. The bombardment continued, the city was devastated, and corpses were scattered everywhere. Standing on the wall, Giotto, dusty and ragged, stood there; he had killed more enemies than any other man, but the shells had claimed far more lives than his own.
When he had killed all the enemies around him and looked down, a broader despair came over him. Giotto had never realized so clearly that Messina was doomed. At this moment, Lan Bao ran up, panting, and bumped into him.
"We've evacuated everyone!" Rambo told him. "What's next, Giotto?"
Giotto was silent for a moment. Following his gaze, Lambo looked down and fell silent as well. But soon, Giotto turned his head, looked at Lambo with a tired but tender expression, and then hugged him. "You did very well today, far better than I expected," he whispered. "If your father knew, he would be proud of you too."
The tears that Lan Bao had finally stopped burst out again.
"Now, go," said Giotto, "your father must have been worried all night about you."
"Leave? You want me to leave at a time like this?!"
"I'm sending you back to Palermo," Giotto said with surprising calmness. "Go now. If Messina falls, you'll be our last hope. Do you understand? Lambo, I'm putting a heavy responsibility on your shoulders! Take care of the people along the way, in the name of Vongola and Bovino!"
Rambo stared at Giotto with his mouth wide open. His tears fell even harder, but he quickly wiped them away with such force that his face immediately turned red.
Giotto said sternly, "Promise me!"
Lan Bao nodded vigorously, "I promise!"
Giotto let him go. A look of pity crossed his face, especially when he saw Lambo wiping tears as he ran out. But soon, the Vongola leader's expression returned to a firm one. At some point, Gatling and Ugetsu joined him again, one on his left and one on his right.
"I'm glad you're here at a time like this," said Giotto.
"Don't be silly, Giotto!" Gatlin said stubbornly, "We haven't tried our best yet!"
"Giotto, please don't say such ominous words!" Yu Yue also said.
Giotto looked back at the two of them. For the first time in this long battle, he smiled a happy smile. The radiance of that smile even overshadowed the dust and bloodstains on his face, as if light had returned once more, dazzling and bright.
"For Messina!"
Giotto shouted loudly and charged forward once more. The golden flames rekindled, and the Messinian army's morale was instantly boosted. "For Messina!" the defeated soldiers shouted.
"For Sicily!" Gatling shouted. He leaped forward, and blood-red flames immediately swept across the battlefield like a violent storm.
"For Sicily!!"
And so, the brutal battle continued. To force the people to retreat further, to keep the Bourbon army out, they used their own blood and the bodies of their companions to resist desperately, swearing to defend to the death. They fought until they could no longer distinguish between day and night, until blood covered their eyes, and until the last cannon fired.
"…sounds." Giotto was the first to notice. His ears were still ringing, and it was unbelievable, but he immediately raised his hands. The Bourbon army was retreating. The Messinese also stopped in surprise. They all noticed that the cannonade had stopped.
"The gunfire stopped?" someone murmured.
"The gunfire has stopped," someone else said.
"The cannonade has stopped!" they shouted!
Giotto's heart was so relieved that he almost fell to the ground. Ugetsu, who was behind him, supported him in time. Gatlin climbed to a higher place, looked up, and was stunned.
A sun was rising from the blood-soaked morning glow over the Mediterranean Sea. It was so bright and dazzling, so radiant that it nearly blinded him. But that wasn't what shocked Gatlin the most. What shocked him the most was the British and French warships heading towards the Strait of Messina.
They raised a flag signaling a ceasefire.
"Gatling! What's going on?" Giotto shouted.
"...Come up and see for yourself," Gatlin said.
Giotto climbed up quickly. The sun stung his eyes, then he frowned, lowered his head, and rubbed them with the back of his hand. Gatlin, watching him from the side, was trying hard not to laugh and ruin Giotto's surprise. He succeeded.
Giotto's eyes widened. He stared at the warships on the sea, rubbing his eyes in disbelief. Gatling had tried to stop them this time, but it was too late. Their hands were all covered in dust and blood, and Giotto's was no exception. Tears welled up in his eyes.
"Is this true?" Giotto murmured. "Did you see what I saw, Gatlin?"
"It's true," Gatlin said. Ugetsu also climbed up and exclaimed. Giotto's tears finally burst out, and he looked at the sun rising above the sea and burst into tears.
"Elio!" Giotto choked. "You saved us!"
Flying the flags of their admirals, the British and French warships entered the Strait of Messina. With their gunports gaping open, they approached the Bourbon warships. The sailors hastily erected a gangplank, and at their "invitation," Marshal Carlo Filangieri, aboard the Bourbon warship, was forced to ascend the quarterdeck for urgent consultations with the British and French commanders.
When the British and French generals demanded an immediate ceasefire, accusing him of committing such cruel crimes against his compatriots, Carlo Filangieri argued that he was merely following orders. Upon hearing this, the French general suddenly drew his sword. This action caught everyone off guard, but he did not draw his sword. Instead, he held it horizontally in front of him and sternly said to Carlo Filangieri:
"If your sovereign had commanded you to commit such a cruel crime—if you had any conscience left—you should have broken your sword right there and then and thrown it at his feet!"
In September 1848, Ferdinand II ordered Marshal Carlo Filangieri to bombard Messina. The former became known as the "Cannonball King"; the latter, the "Butcher of Messina." The bloody battle raged for three days and three nights, ending only when Britain and France intervened to stop the massacre.
Under the mediation of the two European powers, the Bourbon army stopped bombarding and the Messinese stopped resisting.
Upon hearing this, Ferdinand II proposed that Sicily implement partial autonomy, but the Sicilian government categorically rejected it.
The war has started again.
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Author's Note: *The plot of "You Should Have Broke Your Sword on the Spot" comes from Christopher Clark's 1848: Europe's Year of Revolution. The specific plot has been artistically edited.
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