Chapter 107 Hope Blue Diamond (Twenty-four)
◎Victory◎
Raphael ran his fingers through Leshet's hair. The damp hair wrapped around his cold fingers like a spider web. The young Pope patiently combed the messy blond hair wet with sweat. His movements were very gentle. He gathered the combed hair together and placed it on Leshet's shoulder.
The Knight Commander was panting softly, trying to slow down his breathing. The deliberately long breaths could greatly reduce the pain in his body. When Raphael's hand loosened his hair and brushed across his cheek, the Knight Commander, who was lowering his head, suddenly tilted his head, and the ferocious beast with gorgeous fur seemed to turn into a furry little animal in an instant, retracting its claws and sharp teeth, and sending its soft fur into the palm of the human. The hot and sweaty skin pressed against the Pope's dry palm, causing the hand that was not retracted immediately to pause.
Leshet simply tilted his face slightly against Raphael's palm. If Raphael wanted, he could immediately withdraw his hand or push Leshet away.
Raphael dropped his eyelids but did not remove his hand.
This posture seemed too tender. The identities of the protector and the protected were strangely reversed at this moment, but there was no disharmony in such a scene.
Perhaps it was because the majestic Knight Commander was wounded and extremely tired, while the frail Pope was compassionate and tolerant like a saint.
Such warmth did not last long. Raphael bent down, shook off the blanket covering his legs, and put one hand on Leshert's shoulders. The Knight Commander's linen shirt was stained with blood and could not be worn. Leshert, who was wrapped in the blanket, opened his eyes and took the initiative to leave the dry and slightly cool comfort. He raised his hand to pinch the corner of the blanket and silently accepted Raphael's kindness.
The blanket was woven with fine cashmere mixed with gold thread. The women workers used needles to pick out the soft and delicate fluff bit by bit, making it fluffy and delicate. The whole blanket required five women workers to spend several months to make. It carried the Pope's body temperature and the scent of myrrh, like a soft and light cloud, covering Leshet's body.
Raphael turned his wheelchair and passed by the Knight Commander. The kneeling man did not move, and the wheel hub made a regular muffled sound. After pulling the door handle, Raphael said, "I hope to see a Knight Commander who can serve as a spiritual beacon for the knights as usual at the military meeting in two days."
He didn't care about Leshert's answer, opened the door and left the overly narrow ascetic room.
Ferrante was waiting in the hall of the Knights Templar. This building, which was converted from the old Roman council hall, had a tall dome and a broad circular foundation, like a semicircular bowl upside down on the ground. A forest of stone pillars supported the dome, and below it was a high pulpit and long wooden chairs with backrests arranged in a semicircle around it. ⑦
There was no one else in the hall at the moment. Ferrante sat alone on the edge of the third row of chairs. The empty stone hall always had an lingering strange chill. Raphael could clearly see the tiny dust particles flying in the light.
The floor of the hall was made of smooth stone slabs that were polished to have almost no gaps. The sound of a wheelchair rolling on it was minimal. Raphael walked through the silent stone pillars and saw a man sitting there alone with his hands on his forehead and his eyes closed, as if he was praying silently ahead.
Raphael stopped and looked at Ferrante, whose body, shrouded in a black monk's robe, was like a solidified statue, bending devoutly towards God.
Raphael suddenly had some random thoughts, it seemed that ever since Ferrante had been with him, except for the initial uniform of the Pope's Guard, he had always worn the simplest black decorative robe. Ferrante had inherited his mother's good looks, and even as an adult, fully grown up, shedding the androgynous refinement of his youth and gaining the sharpness and hardness of a man, it could not conceal the overly gorgeous beauty in his appearance.
The noble ladies secretly compared Ferrante to the vampire duke in the romance novels. Raphael thought about it and found that this description was inexplicably appropriate. He was always elusive, taciturn, with white skin and beautiful appearance. He was used to hiding himself in a loose robe and rarely appeared in the daytime...
Um……
Raphael fell into deep thought.
When he came to his senses, he found that Ferrante had stood in front of him without him knowing when. The director of the arbitration bureau, who was proficient in unconventional methods, walked lightly and silently, like a large cat with soft paw pads. He did not interrupt Rafael's distraction at all. So when Rafael looked up and met Ferrante's eyes, those deep blue eyes that were always emotionless in front of outsiders revealed a little curiosity: "What are you thinking about?"
"Hmm..." Raphael leaned back in his chair, his tone brisk and gentle. Perhaps because the environment was too quiet and empty, he let go of all the complicated deliberations and considerations and let himself say something a little childish. "I was wondering why you always wear monk robes."
Ferrante keenly caught the lazy sleepiness in the Pope's voice and said seriously: "Because such clothes are convenient for me to hide. You see, Florence is full of monks. I am not noticeable in it at all. Moreover, I can stuff more things in it without looking fat."
Raphael was yawning lightly and laughed at his last sentence. A thin layer of tears welled up in his eyes. He raised his hand to wipe them away, but Ferrante had already touched the thin and fragile skin of his eyelids.
The fingertips that were used to holding hidden blades, daggers and whips had rough calluses. No matter how careful he was, he inevitably left a little rubbed pink on the corners of Raphael's eyes. Ferrante looked at him, stunned for a moment.
Rafael did not notice Ferrante's sudden pause. He raised his hand and placed it on Ferrante's wrist. Because of the sudden drowsiness and relaxation, even his voice became vague: "...Okay, okay, handsome Mr. Ferrante, could you please take me back?"
Ferrante couldn't hold back his heart, which suddenly softened into a ball. He leaned down deeply and carefully kissed Raphael's eyes: "I am willing to serve you, Holy Father."
The man in the black robe pushed the wheelchair and took the people out of the hall. Leshert slowly walked out from behind a pillar. His face was pale. In addition to the exhaustion caused by blood loss and pain, his dark green eyes were slightly narrowed due to shock.
He stood in the dark of light and shadow, staring at the empty stone bricks, his mind uncontrollably replaying the scene he had just seen, the despicable blasphemer approached the holy Pope intimately, and the deceived young Pope almost indulged in his approach, and even turned his face to acquiesce to his kiss.
The corners of the Pope's eyes were faintly red, and his eyes were watery under his eyelashes, shining beautifully like diamonds under the faint light. Leshert hated his overly sharp eyesight more than ever before, which made it impossible for him to ignore every subtle expression on the Pope's face, including the faint and relaxed smile - he had never seen such an expression on Raphael's face at any time before, when facing him.
It was as if an angel was sleeping peacefully in the clouds, waiting for the first rays of dawn to wake him up.
Lesher
He forced himself to forget it all, but his memory went against his will and replayed that short fragment in his mind over and over again.
A person bending over, and the Pope looking up and smiling.
The Knight Commander looked towards the empty lectern. The huge stained glass window behind the lectern shone bright light, making the area behind the lectern seem as if there was a hazy halo as if the Lord had descended.
Staring at the light for a long time would make people feel dizzy. Leshert closed his eyes in the dizziness.
——Holy Lord, please forgive me... Please forgive me for being mean and filthy at this moment.
The magnificent chariots were galloping across the plains. These huge chariots, each with wheels as tall as a person, were made of heavy wood and iron sheets and required three horses to pull. When they charged, nothing could resist them. Before the emergence of steam light armor, chariots were the most terrifying weapons of mass destruction on the battlefield. Even after steam light armor took control of the entire battlefield with its terrifying dominance, chariots still did not withdraw from the stage of war. They were still able to establish their position with their violent destructive power and swift speed.
Redrick held onto the horizontal bar in front of the chariot, lowered his body, and tried to keep himself steady on the bumpy chariot, staring intently at the chaotic battlefield ahead.
The longbowmen formed a line and shot arrows into the sky. The long arrows wrapped in grease-soaked linen cloth drew a graceful arc in the air and pierced deeply into the rear of the enemy's formation, igniting many small flames and causing a certain panic among the horses.
Redrick spotted a gap where people were in a state of panic and yelled to the driver of the chariot beside him. The chariot immediately deviated in an arc on the ground and rushed violently towards the gap.
Several chariots at the rear also selected their targets. When these tall warhorses with armor plates on their chests dragged the huge chariots into the crowd, shrill screams rang out one after another. Blood gushed out in an instant, and the ground was soon stained with red and white liquid. Human tissue and weapon cloth were mixed into a ball, and dark red pieces of meat and strips of clothes hung on the iron-wrapped shafts.
When the chariots tore through a path, the soldiers holding spears followed closely behind and poured into the chaotic enemy group like a tide.
There is no doubt that Rederic's army had the upper hand in this war, but there was no smile on the face of the young commander. He panted and threw away the chipped scimitar in his hand - this was the one he had captured from the Assyrian army last time. After more than half a month of fighting, it had gloriously completed its mission.
It had been less than a month since his last letter was sent to Florence. During this month, he had participated in nearly fifty battles of varying sizes, with an average of two battles every day. This meant that he and his soldiers were either in the process of fighting or on their way to a fight every day.
Although such fatigue tactics were stupid, they were very effective. On Assyrian territory, the Pilgrim Alliance, which had a numerical advantage, had plenty of time to waste their time. In addition to dealing with battles, Redrick also had to gather refugees, organize construction, and ensure that the base he had conquered was stable enough.
After the promulgation of the "Religious Freedom Act", his work suddenly became much easier. The number of Assyrian people who came to seek refuge increased, but this also led to more spies sneaking in.
Rederic encountered many difficulties, but the Duke, who was always arrogant and only knew how to give orders, unexpectedly did not complain to Florence, but silently tried to find ways to solve these problems. The Holy Crow in the army wrote letters to report all the actions of the Duke of Lucern to Florence. Rederic was of course well aware of this. In the past, he would have been furious, feeling that he was being monitored and insulted. However, since the letter of commendation written by the Pope himself was delivered to him, he seemed to care less about the existence of the Holy Crow.
No, it cannot be said that I no longer care. Rather, it is more like I care more in a strange way.
The Holy Crow, who was laboriously writing a report in the little light of the campfire, thought silently, and involuntarily glanced at the opposite side - Duke Lucern, who had just finished a battle, was sitting there, holding a piece of firewood in his hand, poking at the fire boredly, with arrogance and impatience written all over his face. However, no matter how impatient he was, he had no intention of leaving, but looked up from time to time.
It's like this again... The Holy Crow, who was being watched while writing a report, showed a dark and painful look towards his knees. Even if a person has a clear conscience, he would feel guilty if he was watched by the monitored person while writing a report like this! Especially since they both knew exactly what he was writing...that's even stranger!
He must want me to write something nice about him! The Holy Crow, who had been stared at for almost a month, wrote angrily and thought at the same time. As a Holy Crow who had been trained by Mr. Ferrante, he would always be loyal only to the great Holy Father! No one should think of letting him abuse his power for personal gain!
The force of the Holy Crow's writing on the paper became stronger and stronger. When he finished writing the last word and was about to roll up the paper, Redrick, who had been sitting there acting nonchalant, changed his posture and raised his chin: "Hey, are you done?"
All the hairs on Holy Crow's body stood up: "...Yes, sir."
He preempted her: "But I'm sorry, this cannot be shown to you. Only the Holy Father can open it."
His eyes began to wander between the paper and the fire, as if he was ready to throw something into the flames as soon as Redrick reached out his hand.
Even if I burn it, I won’t show it to you.
Redrick was amused by his action and rolled his eyes fiercely: "I'm not... Never mind."
He stood up and grabbed his hair tightly. He seemed to think his behavior was ridiculous. His face turned pale and blue. He stood there, clicked his tongue, and walked away, stomping heavily on the ground.
Confused by his inexplicable behavior, the Holy Crow sat there with a bewildered look on his face. Before he could come to his senses, Redrick came back with heavy steps.
The Holy Crow looked at him with great vigilance.
The young duke, who had just finished the battle, still had blood and dust on his face. The war had tempered him to be much more mature, and he already had the shadow of a man. He lowered his head slightly, looked at the holy crow in the black cloak, and muttered, "Tell him that this battle will be won - this is your judgment."
He added at the end, trying to cover up his mistake, as if he felt that his promise was a little ridiculous and had to be said through someone else's mouth.
A question mark appeared on Holy Crow's face again. Redrick didn't even wait for his answer. He turned his head again and hurried away with heavier steps than before, as if there was a fire burning his butt from behind.
There were still many things waiting for his decision in the military camp, the most important of which was the faint rumor from Florence that the Pope would visit Assyria. The authenticity of this matter was of course beyond doubt. A monarch could not never set foot on his own land. If Raphael wanted to truly control this huge and wild country of Assyria, he could not hide in Florence and wait for everything to settle before coming out to accept the crown. Only by truly being in the war and grabbing his own glory from it could a monarch have the best choice.
Raphael was naturally not afraid of war, and he and Julius continued to argue about this trip in private. However, everyone knew that when the Pope made up his mind, no one could change his decision. But this did not mean that he should really go to war like a general. Most of the time it was a political show. But even if it was a show, Redrick had to make sure that the performance was real and safe enough.
The recent frequent battles undoubtedly indicate that the dynamics of the Pilgrimage Alliance and Calais are abnormal. Perhaps this is a conspiracy against the Pope. He must find out what the Pilgrimage Alliance and Calais are up to before the Pope really arrives, and then clear all conspiracies and traps.
This is his duty as a general.
The author has something to say:
I have nine classes tomorrow, starting with morning reading at 6am and ending at 8:30pm. Just thinking about it makes my scalp tingle.
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