Chapter 98 Chapter 98 "That's Giotto," said the priest...
“…the worst burn…”
“…still alive…”
Elio was half asleep, half asleep, but before he fully regained consciousness, his senses dutifully began to work. First, he heard people scurrying around him, speaking rapidly in Sicilian dialect. Then, a faint light flickered on his eyelids, more like a flame than a lamp. Finally, pain and itching spread throughout his body like fire.
It was the pain that made Elio leap to his feet. Hands immediately reached out, trying to pin him to the bed; but then, startled, they pulled away. The impromptu rescue team of monks, militiamen, and artisans retreated, each with a different expression as they watched the golden flames suddenly reignite on Elio's body.
As they witnessed, the golden flame quickly repaired every wound on the unconscious victim's body.
"This is simply a miracle..." the young monk murmured, "I really hope—"
"He was on the verge of death," said the militiaman. "That's not a miracle, it's survival. Now, disperse and go about your business! Who will tell Giotto about this?"
The carpenter said, "Giotto is still in town putting out fires!"
"Then tell Gatlin!"
"Gatlin is also putting out the fire!"
Elio awoke amidst the chaotic shouting. He struggled to his feet, bewildered at first to find himself lying in the monastery. Then, startled by the sight of the charred, broken limbs of the wounded around him, he scrambled to his feet, but his rapid rise caused him to black out and nearly fall to the ground. The militiaman, still talking, turned and saw the scene, startled as well, and quickly reached out to help him.
"Are you all right, kid?" he asked in his Sicilian dialect.
Elio, who finally managed to speak Italian, was confused. "What?"
Hearing Elio's accent, the militiaman was stunned for a moment, then turned around and shouted, "Father!"
"Father!" The rescue team shuttled among the wounded and carried his cry, "Father!"
Others asked, "Why, who died?"
"No one's dead," the militiaman said speechlessly, "but there's a little nobleman here who speaks Tuscan!"
Elio was inexplicably handed over to one of the few priests in the town who could speak this "elegant language". The priest, who was short of staff after the disaster, immediately requisitioned this labor force. While struggling to gesture to Elio to get water and cloth, he wondered if it was because he had not spoken Tuscan for too long that it was so difficult to communicate with this young man?
But thankfully, no matter how linguistically incomprehensible, body language is universal. Elio learned the necessary Sicilian pronunciations with astonishing speed, and before anything else, he focused on helping rescue people. Monks hurried back and forth among the wounded, occasionally tearing their robes away from the wailing of the wounded as they rushed to the next person needing care. Barbers and surgeons, armed with razors, saws, and other surgical tools, wandered around the area of the seriously injured. Elio couldn't bear to look at the place he had just left, but the creepy creaking sound still mixed in with the other sounds, impossible to ignore.
This place is simply hell. Elio, who was born in peacetime, couldn't help but think so.
For his recent "resurrection," one of Elio's clear attribute rings had been shattered. But in his quest to save as many people as possible, Elio's remaining clear attribute rings were shattered in that short afternoon. By the time the fire was extinguished in the evening, Elio, like everyone else, was nearly collapsed from exhaustion. Yet, he bravely stood in line to receive the hard bread and chickpea soup distributed by the church.
The bread was so hard that Elio could even hear it creak when he knocked on it. The priest, who had been busy all day, sat down next to him and laughed. In front of Elio, he dipped his own bread into the soup before slowly biting into it. Elio followed suit, his face pale (he had never eaten anything so disgusting during his time wandering Gotham), and he ate the bread with great difficulty.
Who would have thought that he would have to eat soft toast with raisins and red beans in the morning and eat the same thing at night? But seeing everyone around him eating so heartily, Elio could no longer avoid the question he had tried so hard to ignore.
And the question is, obviously, where the hell has the Ring taken him?!
The Ring remained uncharacteristically silent. Elio pondered the question, trying to fill his head with the lessons he'd learned in history class, rather than with the bread he had in his hand, which was so hard he could hit someone with it. As he was struggling with his thoughts, a quiet commotion erupted at the abbey gates, and many people looked up, including Elio.
As everyone's gaze converged, a young man with messy golden hair walked in.
Not only was his hair a mess, but his face was also covered in unwiped black dust, revealing that he had just rushed in after putting out a fire. Elio looked at him suspiciously, realizing that he was short and looked not much older than himself, perhaps even younger. If he hadn't noticed that wherever he walked, there would be echoes of soft voices, either confessing or expressing gratitude, and that when he held the injured person's hand and listened to their conversation, his frown and solemn expression revealed a sense of sadness and anger unique to a "protector", Elio would probably have been deceived by his overly simple clothes (which were also patched with many patches) and mistaken him for just anyone.
"That's Giotto," said the priest.
He said this as if the name had a natural weight.
So that's Giotto, Elio thought.
"The one next to him is Gatling," the priest said, taking a sip of his soup. "Although he has a quick temper, he's also a genuinely good man."
The red-haired Gatlin looked similar to Giotto, both looking disheveled, having just emerged from a fire. He turned and saw Elio, who was staring at them in a trance. He whispered something to Giotto, who then raised his head from the pile of wounded and looked over.
"What are they looking at?" Elio asked the priest.
A mysterious smile appeared on the priest's face. "You."
Elio felt as if he had been momentarily distracted when Giotto rushed over, even catching his free hand with surprising agility, staring at him with shining eyes. "I heard everything! If you hadn't been here, today's casualties would have been even worse. Oh, I really don't know how to thank you enough!"
Gatlin followed, his expression calm, as if he was used to Giotto's behavior. Elio was overwhelmed by his enthusiasm and quickly withdrew his hand. "It's nothing."
Perhaps sensing his embarrassment, Giotto smiled and released his hand, sitting down cross-legged like the others. The monk finally found an opportunity and squeezed in some food, which Giotto didn't refuse. He expertly gnawed on the bread, which was as hard as a brick, and turned to the priest and said, "The fire's been put out, but a lot of the house has been burned. I told them to rest for a night and rebuild the house tomorrow; it takes more than a day anyway."
The priest simply said, "Very good, very good. Everyone must be exhausted."
"I'm just sorry to bother you to take them in for a while longer," Giotto said embarrassedly.
"God is our refuge and strength," the priest said without hesitation, "and a very present help in times of trouble."
They spoke these words in Tuscan, a language closer to what Elio considered 21st-century Italian. Gatlin didn't participate in the conversation, silently munching on his bread. Elio had intended to give him a polite glance, but his eyes were drawn to the vibrant flame tattoo on his face, and he couldn't help but stare a few more times.
Gatlin suddenly looked up and said to Elio, "Thank you for what happened today."
He spoke Sicilian, so Giotto translated with a smile, "He said thank you."
Elio nodded. "Please tell him I said 'You're welcome.'"
Giotto relayed this message and then asked Elio, "Where are you from?" But seeing Elio's hesitation, he stopped asking and instead earnestly invited Elio to stay overnight at his house. Elio wanted to say that he could sleep under the eaves of the monastery like everyone else, but his body honestly nodded in agreement and he stayed in Giotto's leaky little room that night.
"We're going to fix the roof tomorrow," Giotto said humorously, "but let's just look at the stars tonight."
Gatlin remained silent, and Elio assumed he didn't speak Tuscan, so he remained silent. But when he, too, sat cross-legged on the bed and looked at Elio with Giotto, the assassin realized something.
"Can you show me your flame?" Giotto asked directly.
To avoid startling Elio, he thoughtfully lit his own fire first. It was a familiar orange flame, dancing beautifully against the starry sky, illuminating the faces of the three men. Gatlin briefly lit his own, too, and a vibrant red blaze coalesced.
"We too are flames awakened between life and death," Giotto explained, "but I believe ours is very different from yours, for yours can be used to save lives. This is an extremely precious ability, and I understand you'll be welcome wherever you go, but I'd still like to ask you to stay and help me for a while. I'll do my best to repay your kindness! Of course, if you're in a hurry to leave, I understand perfectly, but please don't force yourself. Our entire town has already been indebted to you, and tomorrow morning I'll call a few good men to help you pack up all the rewards we can offer. The roads out there are tough, Elio, but we'll take you wherever you want."
In the firelight, Elio looked closely at Giotto's expression, then laughed bitterly.
"I'd love to stay," he said, extending his hand. "But you see, I can't even produce a spark right now. I'm afraid it'll be hard to ignite the fire you heard about today." Actually, his ring had burned out, but Elio didn't find any similar gemstone rings on their hands, so for now, he said, "If you don't mind, I think I could stay and help build a house or something."
Giotto took his hand familiarly, looked at him in surprise, but showed no regret. "That's okay! You must be very tired today. Please rest for a while at my house. Because you saved so many people today, everyone will rush to entertain you and won't let you work hard to build the house."
At this, he winked playfully at Elio.
"Perhaps they will even be eager to have you stay in their house," said Giotto. "And then you must tell them that you have settled down here with Giotto!"
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The author has something to say: *The Italian that Oreo had just learned was similar to Tuscan in that era, and very different from Sicilian. In Sicily, this language was generally only used in writing by the nobility and educated people.
**“God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble.” From Psalm 46:1 in the Bible.
***The content of the first generation of tutors is very little in the original work. I will make a lot of tricks, and it is very likely to be far from your imagination of the first generation. I will warn you here first... [Poor][Poor][Poor]
And here's Giotto: What is this, a cure? Don't be slow!
Still Giotto, not long after: No
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