Chapter 123 Heart of the Storm (XI)
◎Chaos◎
"Your Majesty, Your Majesty?"
Leshet lowered his voice and called out softly twice. Raphael frowned painfully and sleepily, and squeezed out two broken syllables from his throat. Leshet guessed that he was asking people not to disturb him.
The Knight Commander looked back at the steaming bathtub, then at the dirty Pope, and for the first time he felt confused.
This room belongs to Leshert. Although it belongs to His Excellency the Grand Master of the Knights, the room facilities are not very luxurious. At most, the table is a little bigger, which is convenient for him to handle official business, and there is a carpet.
There is no house suitable for the Pope to live in here, so Leshert plans to give his room to Raphael. It doesn't matter where he sleeps anyway. At worst he can just squeeze in with the deputy captain.
Raphael sat on the carpet as soon as he entered the room. It was not that he could not walk, but that besides the carpet, there were only the bed and the satin-backed chair in the room to sit on. He was terribly dirty, and rather than adding to Leshert's workload of changing sheets and quilts, he might as well just sit on the floor.
So when the Knight Commander entered the room, he saw His Majesty curled up at the foot of the table and sleeping.
Leshet stared at Raphael's sleeping face from a distance. The carpet was not very comfortable. Raphael hugged his knees, seeming to have a strong sense of insecurity. He tried to shrink himself where the light could not reach. His thin body, which could not be fed fat by the servants of the Pope's Palace, could easily curl up into a small ball. He looked... looked like a cat that had arrived in a strange place and had to curl up into a ball of fur to protect its fragile belly before falling asleep.
Raphael pulled himself out of his sleepiness with great willpower. He was still in a daze. He sat there with his head down for a while, covered his eyes with one hand and rubbed them twice, thanked Leshert mumbled, and tried to stand up with the help of the table leg.
Leshet held his arm and helped him. Raphael looked a little sleepy, with redness at the corners of his eyes. Leshet helped him to the edge of the bathtub. The warm steam hit his skin, and Raphael finally woke up a little.
"There's nothing here that would fit, so I found one of my own - and don't worry, it's already been washed."
The Knight Commander explained.
Raphael waved his hands nonchalantly, he didn't care what clothes he wore, just like when he was living among the refugees, starving and digging potatoes. When the conditions were not met, he would not ask for any special treatment like an idiot.
He raised his hand and pulled off the belt. This cheap linen pullover robe was very simple in style, with a straight line from the neck to the knees. Those who could afford it could wear a pair of trousers inside, but those who couldn't afford it could just leave it out. By tying a rope around the waist, this sack-like product that had no aesthetic appeal at all could be turned into a piece of clothing that fits one's body shape.
Raphael took off the robe, which was already smelling bad, and kicked off his pants that had fallen to his ankles, not caring that Lesherte was still standing next to him.
This can be considered a kind of rich disease - after returning to the Portia family, Raphael was considered a noble. No matter what he did, there were always servants serving him. Even taking a bath rarely required him to do it himself. He was not used to it at first, but when such things became part of daily life, the concept of "privacy" would gradually become blurred. Raphael had long been accustomed to this, and only after his rebirth a few years ago did he refuse the servants' overly close service because of his personal sensitivity. But in the final analysis, he didn't mind being watched.
So after classifying Leshet as "safe", he didn't care at all that Leshet was still standing here. He stepped into the bathtub calmly and buried himself deeply in the warm water.
He didn't feel it when he was walking on the road, but once he was surrounded by water of moderate temperature, the fatigue in his body was stimulated exponentially, and even the pain in his bones jumped out to show his presence. Raphael bent his legs and sank into the water. Through the rippling water surface, the bubbles caused by his exhalation were like a string of crystal pearls, rolling towards the water surface and shattering one after another.
A face appeared on the churning water. The knight's long golden hair was still beautiful and shining even after several days of running around. The waves distorted his handsome face into a blurred block of color. Raphael suddenly found it very interesting. The water was so quiet that he could only hear his own violent heartbeat and the gurgling of blood in his veins. These sounds made him strangely fascinated, so much so that he completely ignored the calls from his ears that came and went.
Until a hot, strong hand reached into the water, grabbed Raphael's shoulders, and lifted him roughly out of the water.
"Crash"
A loud splashing sound suddenly sounded in the room. Leshert ignored his half-wet clothes. He was looking down at his men. The young Pope bent his back and coughed violently. He breathed hard in the humid water vapor. The air rubbed roughly in his trachea, making a sharp and hoarse sound. His hair, which was soaked in water, stuck to his face and ears in a mess. The water on the ends of his hair fell in lines, covering up the Pope's noble and majestic aura, making him look as pitiful as an innocent teenager.
"You... cough cough cough, what are you doing!" Raphael angrily tried to break free from Leshert's hand that was holding his shoulder, but after struggling for a while he failed.
The Knight Commander looked at him expressionlessly.
When a person who is usually mild-tempered turns cold, the deterrent effect will always be greater.
He stared at Raphael. His sight saw Raphael's frowning and wet face, but his mind kept recalling the scene over and over again. The young man who was completely submerged in the water had his eyes half closed. His golden hair was like a jellyfish with its tentacles extended, floating gracefully and slowly with the water flow. He looked at the water surface, and his lavender pupils seemed to see everything and yet seemed empty.
This picture is full of a certain artistic tension and beauty, which reminds Leshert of the "Narcissus in the Water" that hung on the wall of his living room many years ago. The beautiful young man who was chasing an illusory dream was deceived by his own reflection in the water and drowned in the water willingly. There was no fear or sorrow on his face. The painter gave the deceased a sweet expression as if he had encountered a dream, making death a beautiful fantasy that is within reach.
At this moment, Raphael and Narcissus' expressions overlapped strangely to some extent.
Leshert called him twice, but there was no response, so he decisively pulled the man out of the water.
"...If you were any later, you would have drowned in it."
There was suppressed anger in Leshert's voice.
Raphael glanced at him and said coldly, "I am not a fool who would commit suicide in the bathtub, Your Excellency the Knight Commander."
Leshet didn't say anything else. Raphael struggled again, and this time Leshet let go, but a light red fingerprint was still left on the skin, like some strange mark.
The Knight Commander stood there silently, waiting for Raphael to get out of the bathtub, then he handed him the clothes without saying a word.
Raphael used one hand to wipe the water off his hair with a linen towel, and took the clothes with the other hand. The posture was not very convenient, so Leshert simply shook the robe open and draped it directly on Raphael's shoulders, then lowered his head to tie the belt for him.
The thin velvet uniform was extremely soft and skin-friendly, but the material was not very absorbent. The hem of the uniform hung beside the calves and naturally pulled to the knees as Raphael sat down on the chair.
Transparent water droplets slid down the curve of the texture, finally flowing over Raphael's bare ankles and rolling into the carpet.
Leshet walked over and wanted to take the towel from Raphael's hand to wipe his hair. Raphael turned his head lightly, avoiding his hand, with a somewhat cold expression, which was completely different from the intimacy they had shown on the road before. This sudden change made Leshet a little at a loss.
He stood there in a daze: "Your Majesty?"
Raphael rubbed his wet hair and threw the linen towel, which had become soft due to being soaked with water, on the table. For a moment, he wanted to take advantage of this anger to say something, but seeing Leshert's somewhat hurt expression, he finally said nothing: "...You should go out. It's time to rest."
It was still afternoon, and the excuse for getting Lesherte out of the way sounded a little awkward.
The Knight Commander's eyelashes drooped, covering a little of his emerald eyes. After a while, he took a step back, as if he was going to leave, but soon, the leg that was retreating bent and he knelt on the ground.
"If I have committed a mistake that displeases you, please punish me, just like before, using pain and blood to make me remember your teachings." -
The noble Knight Commander bowed his head to the Pope in front of him.
The whip was placed on the table within reach. The knight commander, who was loyal to his duty, obviously did not forget to check on his duties morning and evening. The handle of the whip was shiny with wear.
Raphael's face completely darkened.
He raised one foot and stepped hard on Leshert's shoulder. He didn't hold back and the Knight Commander's body was tilted.
"What do you mean? Are you disobeying me?" Raphael asked bluntly.
He touched the whip, the top of the hard whip made of rough hemp rope was pressed against Leshert's throat. The Pope leaned slightly closer to Leshert, and said in a half-smiley voice: "Or are you asking for a reward from me?"
His words were like a sharp blade, tearing open the emotions that Leshert had been hiding. The motionless Knight Commander shuddered all over and twitched reflexively, an action that was an attempt to break free from the shackles of the Pope.
Raphael pulled the corner of his lips. He realized that he had said something inappropriate - at least not now. He quickly put down the whip and gently kicked Leshert's thigh with his toes. His tone became much calmer: "Stand up. As the leader of the Knights Templar, why do you kneel down at every turn?"
"I haven't gotten enough sleep these past two days, and I'm in a bad mood." The Pope gently comforted Leshert.
"But I have to say that you really should learn a softer way of communicating." Raphael said absentmindedly, trying to change the subject.
Leshert stood up silently, glanced at the whip on the table, and suddenly said: "I don't care - if this can make you happy."
When these words came out, even Raphael was shocked. His lavender eyes widened involuntarily and he leaned back slightly. This was a posture with a hint of defense. Raphael was good at dealing with all kinds of malice, but he was not so used to facing kindness - especially kindness that did not want to get any return from him.
Sometimes he simply couldn't understand why Julius, Ferrante, and now Lesherte had given him their love.
In his opinion, everything was on the track he had designed. He placed what he owned on the scale, carefully considered, exchanged, and purchased what the other party owned. The starting point of these transactions was nothing more than reason and interests. In this way, he gained the support of Julius, the loyalty of Ferrante, and of course Leshert.
He admitted that the whipping and torture in the prayer room were deliberate. A devout knight commander would not be swayed by fame and fortune, so he put his emotions on the scale. He deliberately fueled Leshert's heartbeat, but he never thought of making this emotion public.
To put it bluntly, he just wanted Leshert to do things for him. He didn't care whether it was for fame or for emotion, as long as the goal was achieved.
Furthermore, Julius and Ferrante were enough to trouble him, and he declined to pay any attention to Lesherte.
So you can imagine how upset Raphael was for his careless words.
Leshert didn't say anything else. He left without saying a word, leaving Raphael sitting there with a frown on his face.
Maybe there's something wrong with me, Raphael thought, I shouldn't be so easily angered.
He didn't even know why he was so angry just now.
If only Poli or Astasia were here… Raphael made a mental note of this.
The armies of the two emperors fought dozens of battles of varying sizes around Dudlai, and all the rail construction in the cities around Dudlai was basically destroyed. They were all wary of the other side using the rails for rapid transfer, especially as the closer they were to Dudlai, the more complete the railway facilities were, and the greater the threat to both sides.
Alexander VI was once a Duke of Cavalry who had followed his brother in battles. His military talent had not been worn out by the luxurious and decadent court life. The uncle and nephew were deadlocked in the suburbs of Dudley for eleven days. During this period, both sides sent people to secretly go to the Templar Knights' base, not to obtain assistance, but simply to ask the Knights Templar not to help each other.
Leshert readily agreed to their request.
On the thirteenth day of the stalemate, six months after Francis IV returned to Calais, Queen Sancha also entered Calais with her guards.
She came to support her fiancé, and all the people of Calais along the way saw the young queen riding a warhorse. Her long curly hair was like the wings of a bird spreading in the wind, and her tight riding clothes outlined her beautiful and powerful figure, like a bright flame.
People looked on in amazement as she galloped past with her guards, and in just a few days, the news of Queen Roman's arrival spread throughout most of Calais.
People like to listen to such romantic stories. The legend of a hero saving a beautiful girl has a huge market in any era, and a queen who bravely comes to save her fiancé - this story has all the interesting elements and is enough to become the latest legendary story on the poet's strings.
Soon, Queen Sancha's beauty spread throughout the Syracuse Peninsula. People praised her for her beautiful face as radiant as the sun and her courage to risk everything for love.
Not to mention how Alexander VI cursed when he heard the news, Francis IV was not as happy as outsiders imagined.
He did not ask for help from Sangxia. Borrowing an army from Sangxia was all he intended to do. He never thought of letting Sangxia set foot in Calais in person.
The emperor sat in the room with a sinister look on his face. Viscount Yulia sat beside him trembling with fear, holding a book in his hand and pretending to read. In fact, he could not concentrate on reading anything, but since the emperor "invited" him to read, he had to pretend to be reading with great interest.
Yulia felt that Sanxia's news was a good opportunity, so he asked tentatively, "Now that Her Majesty the Queen is here, we will win faster, right?"
Francois stared at the paper on the table, his tone emotionless: "Maybe."
"Then why are you unhappy?" The extremely handsome viscount put down the book, walked quietly to the emperor, knelt beside his legs, rested his chin on the emperor's knees, looking well-behaved and pure.
François casually placed his hand on Julia's head and patted it twice like a pet: "My dear, shouldn't you be more unhappy than me?"
As the emperor's lover and the legitimate future queen, Yulia's identity would become extremely embarrassing when she arrived, even though Sangxia had never commented on his existence.
Yulia concealed his emotions with a smile. The little emperor squeezed out a sneer from his throat and patted his head lazily: "So, we have to be a little faster and get rid of my good uncle before she can do anything."
The author has something to say:
Well... by the way, I sorted out the plot. This book is almost finished. The next book should be "Danqing Ling". The advance collection has been put in the column. It is an expansion of the small world of "Human Dimensionality Reduction". It will not be very long, probably less than 200,000 words. There is another brain hole, one is quick travel, the theme is roughly "the supporting characters in ancient texts have many question marks every day" and "did I do something wrong to find logic in ancient texts?" The main theme is a relaxing life, a life of a supporting character with normal logic in the world of ancient texts. The planned supporting characters include the family doctor in the domineering president's body-abusing novel, the illegitimate prince in the queen's rebirth novel, and so on.
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