Chapter 124 Heart of the Storm (XII)
◎Captive◎
Sang Xia waved her hand to shake off the blood on the knife. She did not use the saber that her mother had forged for her, but even the most ordinary knife could shine with a completely different kind of sharpness in her hands. The fallen corpses were spread all over the ground with hideous faces. The queen sat on her horse with a calm expression, sizing up their faces, and no one knew what she was thinking.
Another horse came briskly from behind her. The woman on the horse covered her head and face with a scarf, revealing only a pair of somewhat old eyes. She glanced coldly at the corpse on the ground, and only when she looked at Sang Xia did she show a bit of human warmth: "The closer we get to Dudlai, the more people are coming. Which side are they from?"
Sanxia: "Alexander VI - or my good fiancé, what difference does it make? They don't want to see me here. It will only be good for them if I die here."
The woman thought for a moment and said, "Maybe not necessarily. If Queen Roman wants to support--"
When she said this word, she could not bear the nausea in her stomach. She paused for a moment before continuing, "If you die in Calais to support your fiancé, everyone will blame Alexander VI."
"That's right," Sanxia laughed. The young queen's smile was very beautiful, with a kind of freedom and passion like the spring breeze blowing wild roses in the fields. "So this is interesting. My enemies want me to live, but my allies want me to die."
She just sighed, and then asked about the more serious matter she was more concerned about: "Has Raphael arrived in Dudley?"
The woman nodded. "The last letter came from the outskirts of Dudley. It has arrived at the Templars' headquarters. Caltrops infiltrated Dudley according to his instructions. You will take over their command for the time being."
It had not been long since Raphael handed over the caltrops that Queen Amenra had carefully trained for her children. Raphael originally planned to incorporate them into the Pope's Guard under Ferrante, but this idea was quickly discarded. After years of lurking, they were no longer suitable to be guards in the spotlight, so Raphael temporarily used them as Holy Crows. This time he sneaked into Calais and brought all the caltrops in Florence. Communication was inconvenient near Dudlais, so he simply handed over the command of these people to Sangxia.
Therefore, when everyone thought that Sangxia had entered Calais with only a small escort, there was actually another streamlined armed force waiting in Dudlay.
"Francois keeps sending people to stop me. It seems he is getting anxious. The final battle of Dudley will probably start before I arrive. We have to speed up, Ashur."
The queen looked in the direction of Dudlai in the distance. Her light honey-colored skin was as smooth as pearls, and her long curly hair was scattered behind her. Ashur stared at her quietly and couldn't help but sigh softly: "You and your mother are really becoming more and more alike."
"Really?" Sang Xia turned her head and looked at her in surprise, then narrowed her eyes and whispered, "Then I hope I can win the battle of revenge like her."
"You will," Ashur said firmly. "Eternal Heaven will always protect His children."
Sang Xia gave a noncommittal laugh, squeezed her legs against the horse's belly, and galloped away like an arrow.
The assassins sent by François did slow down Sancha's speed. When she was still one day away from Dudlais, the final battle to determine the ownership of the throne of Calais broke out in Dudlais. This world-famous capital became a battlefield for the second time in just a few years - and the warring parties were even the same as last time.
Raphael stayed extremely obediently in the Knights' base throughout the whole process. There were originally more than 800 members of the Knights sent to Calais by Florence. After Alexander VI ascended the throne, more than 400 of them returned for various reasons. As a result, Raphael could only mobilize less than 400 people immediately. This number is not small, but if he wants to maximize its effectiveness in the battle between the two regular armies, he still has to consider it carefully. ◢
On the sixth day after Dudley became a battlefield, Alexander pushed the battle line out to the suburbs outside the city.
This was originally a lush royal forest. In order to prevent his nephew from setting an ambush there, Alexander ordered the felling of most trees taller than a person more than a month in advance. The lush forest immediately turned into sparse hills, like the top of a man experiencing a midlife crisis. After taking off his wig, you can even see the reflective scalp.
The two armies engaged in a fierce battle here. Alexander VI tore off the heavy cloak embroidered with the royal emblem and threw it on the ground, staring with gloomy eyes at the figure in the distance - his nephew, his opponent.
The two swords crossed half of the battlefield and collided fiercely. Behind the swords were two pairs of extremely similar eyes. Alexander VI had fierce eyes. Compared with his young nephew, he was sturdy and had strong limbs. In this era of scarce materials, this was a healthy body shape that was more sought after, just like a fat beast had a better ability to survive, so it was naturally easy to win the favor of females.
Francis IV still had a smile on his face, but there was no meaning in that smile; it was just a mask-like expression that made Alexander want to vomit.
He shook his nephew's sword away with all his strength and whispered, "Even if you trace it back to the previous generation, you are the most sick one in the Calais royal family. You will lead Calais to the abyss."
"Oh, it sounds like you are forced to seize the throne for the sake of great justice." The little emperor curled his lips strangely. He did not have any unhappy expression. Whether he learned that his uncle was plotting treason or heard that his fiancée suddenly went to Calais, his empty heart had never produced any emotion symbolizing "anger". He just found it very interesting.
It was so interesting, betrayal and coveting, spying and greed, human nature was more interesting than all the games in the world, and he could always see the most exciting scenes.
The chariot pulled by four horses roared into the battlefield. The creaking fallen trees became an invisible obstacle. Alexander VI steered his horse nimbly to avoid the impact of the chariot. He was shocked to find that François had no intention of avoiding the mad big guy - he went against the chariot without dodging, and when the chariot was about to hit him, he suddenly reached out and grabbed the frame. He was pulled off the horse's back and thrown onto the chariot.
Almost at the same time, the huge impact force of the chariot broke the bones of his left hand. He rolled in the frame, and his dislocated left hand hung at his side. The mad emperor stood up nonchalantly, cut off the neck of the charioteer who didn't expect anyone to get on the chariot with a sword, and pushed the limp corpse off the chariot. Half of his body was covered with blood spurting from the opponent's carotid artery.
François slowly wiped his blood-soaked palms on the shaft, let his left hand hang shakily by his side, and grabbed the reins with his right hand again. He licked his teeth, and a hideous and excited smile appeared on his face, which was mostly covered with blood.
"Ah, it's time for my favorite hunting game again."
The little emperor talked to himself that the running chariot made his whole body unstable, but the excitement of falling off the car at any time made him even happier. He suddenly laughed wildly. This kind of laughter was simply not something a human could have. Only the devil bathing in lava and sulfur could make such a sound.
"Run! Run! Uncle, run!"
He laughed crazily, roared loudly, and urged the chariot to run wildly to chase the embarrassed shadow in front.
"Run! Hahahaha, I'm going to catch up with you! Faster, faster!"
He roared with all his might, his entire face turned red from the effort and extreme excitement, the veins on his neck were taut, his expression was twisted into a weird and crazy look, the soldiers who heard his roar—
—Whether they were his subordinates or not, they all shuddered, goose bumps appeared all over their bodies, and a strange fear surged in their hearts.
They had seen bloody fights and were certainly not afraid of the harm of swords. They went to the battlefield to kill people, but no one felt happy about it. However, facing such an emperor - he was definitely immersed in excitement and pleasure - this knowledge made them even more afraid.
A strange atmosphere permeated the battlefield.
People watched in horror as François drove the chariot after his uncle, as if he was chasing a panicked deer in a hunting ground. The targeted Alexander VI was fleeing in a panic. No one could be indifferent to the pursuit of the chariot, no matter if he was a soldier or a king, so everyone saw this funny scene.
The young emperor who enjoyed hunting down his own uncle like a madman, and Alexander VI who was chased and made miserable.
Alexander VI's guards rushed forward recklessly trying to protect their master, but the human body was useless in front of the steel chariot, and the only consequence was to be hit and turned into blood foam. They could only desperately protect Alexander VI and retreat to the rear, while mobilizing other chariots to obstruct the little emperor.
François didn't care about these obstacles. In his eyes, they were just some necessary fun parts of the hunting process.
He enjoyed it and crushed them without hesitation.
Finally, Alexander VI rolled off his horse into the protection circle of his guards in a very embarrassing posture. He was dragged forward by the guards and avoided the fierce impact of the chariot by a hair's breadth. Another carriage rushed over and collided with the chariot. The roar made Alexander's ears throb with pain.
He got up from the ground covered in dust and looked back. A man jumped out of the carriage that could be said to have saved him. The moment he saw his face clearly, Alexander VI frowned, then put on an impeccable smile.
"Lord Leshert!"
He shouted loudly.
Leshet jumped down from the scrapped carriage, looked back at him, nodded politely, and walked to the chariot that was smashed into pieces. Francois' legs were pressed under a heavy wooden pole, and he lay there unable to move. When he saw Leshet coming, the overly crazy smile on his face had not faded, and it turned into another strange expression.
"You-you?" He muttered, then threw his head back and chuckled, as if he was completely immersed in his own world.
Leshet ignored his mumbling and first tied up the little emperor's hands with ropes. When his dislocated left hand was grabbed, an uncontrollable ferocious look appeared on the little emperor's face. Leshet didn't care at all. After tying up the man, he moved the wooden pole with force and dragged him out from under the chariot.
The dusty Alexander VI finally came to his senses from his shock, and the fear he had just felt was quickly washed away by the joy of victory.
Although Leshert's arrival was somewhat puzzling, there was no doubt that his nephew was captured and he won!
He limped over - he had sprained his foot when he rolled off his horse just now - and pressed the sword against Francis IV's neck. When they saw the chariot overturned, some of the soldiers who had realized that something was wrong quietly dropped their weapons and ran away, while others - mostly Roman soldiers who came to support them - hesitated and stood where they were.
It has been a truth since ancient times that to catch a thief, you must first catch the leader. Now that the leader has been captured, what else is there to fight for?
"You bastard, you villain, you beast who deserves to go to hell!" Alexander VI, who was almost scared to death by the chariot chase, twitched his mouth and cursed François viciously in a low voice. At the same time, he was thinking quickly in his mind whether to kill his nephew "accidentally" or imprison him according to the unspoken rules of the royal family.
This is not an easy decision to make. Nobles have the right to redeem themselves, let alone members of the royal family? It was one thing for the person to die afterwards, but it was another thing entirely to kill his nephew with his own hands in public.
After hesitating for a moment, he drew back his sword, stared at Francois's bloody face, and said through gritted teeth: "Lock him in the bell tower."
The clock tower was a building used to imprison royal family members who committed treason and rebellion. No criminal could walk out of there alive, and they either committed suicide or died alone - this was the end of most of them.
The royal battle in Dudley ended in an unimaginable way, with an inexplicable sense of comedy. The Knight Commander who suddenly intervened in the battle also became a hot topic. People praised him for his courage and integrity, and for risking his life to save an emperor amidst thousands of troops. His virtues were worthy of the glorious reputation of the Knights Templar.
The latter was of course what Alexander VI had to advocate for him with great difficulty. Facing his savior, the emperor gave him due courtesy. At least Florence chose him at the last moment, so he would be magnanimous and forgive their previous hesitation.
As for why Leshet rushed out at that delicate moment, it was of course Raphael's order.
"No matter what, I need Francis IV to lose this war, but we cannot intervene too much, so - only you," the young Pope was sitting behind his desk, looking at his Knight Commander, his tone soft and steady, "The Knights cannot enter the battlefield, you have to save Alexander VI from danger in your own name."
If Alexander VI had defeated Francis IV with an overwhelming advantage, that would be another matter, but the situation has become so entangled that it proves that both sides are evenly matched. Raphael needs an unexpected existence to add some weight to the scale.
This existence could be Leshet, it could be the caltrop lurking in Dudelai, or it could be Sangxia, but the one who is most convenient to show up at the moment is Leshet.
This mission sounds extremely cruel. For one person to enter a chaotic battlefield and capture - or kill - an emperor, what's the difference between this and committing suicide?
The Knight Commander listened carefully, without any objection, knelt on one knee in front of the Pope, and kissed the Pope's fingers on his leg: "I obey your orders, Your Majesty."
The author has something to say:
Da da da~The little flying stick is coming!
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