Chapter 14 Misty Rose (XIV)
◎The Knights Templar◎
After leaving the training ground, Raphael walked back. Along the way, he saw the monks and nuns bending down and making way for him in the middle of the road. Raphael skillfully dealt with them with a smile. Halfway through his walk, he met the deacon who was in a hurry.
"Your Majesty," the deacon who finally found the Pope breathed a sigh of relief and bowed his head respectfully, "The president of the Roman Royal Bank is already waiting for you in the reception room."
Florence's industry is generally not well developed. Due to its small land area and large population, the economy here is mainly driven by trade. Therefore, many wealthy families that make a living from business will establish a base in the holy city. The Roman royal family certainly has a bank here, but the scale of this bank is not only inferior to that of the giant Portia, but is not even among the top three.
Most of the business of the Roman Royal Bank is only for people related to the Roman royal family. As soon as Raphael heard the name, he understood the purpose of the president's visit.
He should have sent the money on behalf of the Queen of Assyria.
His guess was very correct. The bank president who was waiting in the reception room had specially made a new set of clothes for today's meeting. His curly moustache was neatly trimmed and he was holding a long box tied with a silk ribbon in his hand.
The deacon opened the door for Raphael, and before the president could see the young pope's face, he bowed deeply: "Your Majesty Sistine I, it is an honor to meet you. I am here by the order of Her Majesty Queen Amenla of the Romans to add a little glory to your rule."
His voice was high-pitched and tremolo-like, as if he were singing opera.
But considering what he brought, Raphael was very tolerant of him: "Please sit down, sir."
The bank president shook his head humbly, and after repeated refusals, he gracefully placed half of his butt on the velvet chair, his face flushed with excitement.
He opened the long box he was holding tightly in his hands, and spread out the rolled parchment in front of Raphael with both hands: "This is a gift from His Majesty Amenla to you. It has been converted into gold florins and will be paid to the Papal Palace in batches by the Roman Royal Bank. In addition, the Roman ship carrying iron ore set sail yesterday and is expected to arrive in the Papal States in a month. Please send someone to receive it then."
Raphael carefully looked at the amount on the parchment, picked up the quill in the ink bottle, and signed his name.
After he put pen to paper, the president visibly breathed a sigh of relief. The feeling of having a heavy burden lifted from his shoulders restored his previous joy. He took the receipt again, left the bank receipt and the badge key, and took off his hat to Raphael again: "Then I will not bother you, Your Majesty."
Raphael nodded at him and asked the butler to escort him out. After the door closed, his eyes fell on the small bag containing the badge key on the table.
Putting the receipt in the drawer, Raphael picked up the small bag, opened the bag and poured it down. A Roman Bank badge and a golden key fell on the oak table with a clink.
The golden key can open the safe in the bank, and the badge is a token of handover to the captain who transports the iron ore.
When Raphael negotiated with Sancha, in addition to the money that the Papal Palace urgently needed, he also requested an additional shipload of iron.
In this era, iron that can be used to cast weapons is an absolute treasure no matter where you are. There are no iron mines in the Papal State, but Assyria is a country of minerals with abundant resources. Raphael wants to obtain some iron from the Queen of Assyria to arm his own guard, or even just keep it for the time being, which will be of great use.
But after a lot of tugging, a shipload of iron finally turned into a shipload of iron ore. However, Sangxia promised that they would select the best quality ore and also give Florence two sets of steam light armor power cores as a gift.
This condition immediately captured Raphael.
Ever since a blacksmith invented a simple steam engine fifty years ago, the whole world has begun to frantically explore this new source of power. Houses in the city are connected by pipes of all sizes, and steel pipes spewing white steam stand in the mountains and forests, blocking out the sky.
Weapons are naturally an area that cannot be avoided. It can be said that the first application of steam technology was in gun manufacturing.
The ancient matchlock guns were quickly eliminated and lighter mechanical guns appeared. These small things made of brass gears and metal levers were exquisite and cool, and became the favorites of aristocratic officers. However, because they were made entirely by hand, the price of mechanical guns was staggeringly expensive, and their market share was almost negligible.
Apart from this, another new killing weapon emerged.
The person who first invented it just made a simple imagination: armor is used for defense, and the people being protected are mostly exhausted. If the armor can run by itself, it can take the owner away from danger. How great it would be.
So he created something chilling: steam light armor.
Driven by steam, various parts of the armor are connected in series through gears and ropes to achieve an integrated effect. Through the release of steam, this thing is lighter than ordinary armor and is terrifyingly flexible. The movement speed of a person wearing it on the battlefield is almost comparable to that of a good horse running at full speed. As long as he holds a weapon - no matter whether it is the most ordinary knife or gun, who can escape his massacre?
But the technology of the steam power core is a secret that is not passed on to outsiders. Every country wants to produce as many power cores as possible, but this thing relies entirely on hand-polished parts, and the degree of refinement exceeds that of the most sensitive watches. The success rate is shockingly low. Once a failure occurs, they have to start all over again, and the consumption of resources is like a money-eating beast.
Every king dreams of having an army of steam-powered light-armored soldiers, but so far no one has been able to put it into action without risking the bankruptcy of the entire country.
At most, there are only a few small teams - of course, no one is willing to reveal the exact number.
The Vatican also has this team.
Raphael frowned slightly when he thought of this.
He was hesitating about who to give the shipload of ore and two power cores to. First of all, excluding Julius, Portia already had enough. What he needed now was a wolfhound, not a hunter who would compete with him for resources.
Although Julius would not easily betray their cooperation, Raphael always remembered one thing: don't test people's hearts, no matter what the result, it will cause harm.
The best option, of course, is to deliver them to those who need them most. Moreover, they are already under the command of the Pope and should be loyal to him, but...
Raphael rubbed his forehead. Even though he had been Pope for five years in his previous life, he still couldn't quite understand what those people were thinking.
As the incarnation of God on earth, the Pope should have his own army. The army here does not refer to the Pope's Guard, which can at most be regarded as the ceremonial guard and daily protection of the Pope's usual travels, but the regular army similar to the Kingdom Legion, the type that can fight on the battlefield with real swords and guns.
There is indeed such an existence in the Florentine Church, and that is the famous Knights Templar.
They are the Pope's gun and spear, and they are the torrent that conquers all directions under the command of God. In the most glorious time of the Holy See, the Knights Templar once planted the Pope's fleur-de-lis flags on all the mountains of the entire continent, and let the glory of the wings of thorns cover all the land. In those years, all pagans were dormant underground, and dared not confront the Holy See directly. Some people were even so scared that they couldn't help shaking when they saw the white armor belonging to the Knights Templar.
It was also during those years that the Holy See, relying on the military force and powerful spiritual baptism methods of the Knights Templar, established its supreme honor, won the glory of the Pope as the king of kings, and offered Florence an eternal status that surpassed all kingdoms in the world.
But hundreds of years passed, and the once powerful Knights Templar gradually declined. The Papal States restrained its edge in conquests and no longer clashed with other countries. Spears were sheathed and horses returned to the stable. All that remembered about the Knights Templar's past achievements were vague historical stories and epics sung by bards.
Raphael never launched any wars during his reign. He even negotiated with neighboring countries for the peace of Florence, so the Knights Templar did not make any achievements during his reign. It can be said that he never thought of the former Pope's sword many times.
Besides being useless, there was another point... He actually didn't particularly like the leader of the Knights Templar.
The Knights Templar were all elite warriors who had been tempered through thousands of trials and tribulations. They had a faith that was more steadfast and terrifying than that of ordinary monks, and each of them was a fanatic who could fight ten people at once. They stayed away from all worldly desires and enjoyments, firmly believing that those pleasures would corrode their souls. So they slept on cold, hard wooden boards, ate hard bread, drank clear water, prayed to God every day, and cleansed their spirits with suffering.
Their leader was of course the best among them, an absolutely brilliant and devout believer, and it was for this reason that Raphael resisted this man from the bottom of his heart.
But... Raphael looked at the badge on the table, thought of the two steam power cores, thought of Florence's poor military strength, thought of the scattered resources in his hands, and thought of the shaky reality of the Papal States...
He sighed silently, rang the brass bell on the table, and said to the deacon who appeared at the door waiting for orders: "Go and invite Knight Leshert to come over."
The knight in light soft armor walked through the flat courtyard and stopped in front of a row of simple square houses. He carefully looked at the sign hanging on the wooden door. After finding the name he wanted, he bent his fingers and knocked on the door: "Captain, someone from the Pope's Palace wants to see you."
His voice was full of respect, a kind of respect and admiration that came from the bottom of his heart for the person in the room. Even when he mentioned "Your Majesty", it was just out of respect.
The room was very small, only enough space for a narrow wooden bed. A pair of thorn wings were placed on a high table against the wall. A young man was kneeling on the ground with his upper body naked. His long golden hair flowed down his back like melted sunlight. His muscular and smooth skin was covered with hideous strip-shaped scars. Some of them had healed a long time ago, while others still had fresh marks of redness and swelling.
The man with his eyes closed had a dignified and graceful face like a classical statue. He heard the voice and opened his eyes, as if the sculpture in the hands of the artist suddenly had a vivid soul. His expression was so clear, gentle, compassionate and tolerant that all the sins of the world would feel ashamed in his eyes.
Even if a saint walked the earth back then, he would not be purer than him.
"Okay, I'll go right away. Thank you, Ryan." The leader of the Knights Templar thanked him sincerely, wiped the bloody whip on his knees, placed it in front of the thorn wings, put on the clothes on the bed, and the rough linen gown rubbed the wound on his back. His expression did not change at all, and he was obviously used to such pain.
He buttoned his clothes meticulously, put on the cumbersome armor, pushed his long blond hair back and tied it up, looked at himself carefully, and only after making sure that he had not done anything impolite did he push open the door.
Leshert, a devout believer, vowed to devote everything to God. In order to join the Knights Templar, he even abandoned his noble surname and rejected the opportunity to inherit his family's glory. He became a commoner and practiced and lived like other people.
He won the love and respect of everyone with his sincerity, nobility and integrity, and the template of the knight in the epic seemed to be fully interpreted in him.
But Raphael always resisted him inexplicably, and he couldn't explain why.
When he saw the tall figure appear at the door, Raphael leaned back unconsciously and pressed his back against the velvet surface of the chair, as if trying to draw a little courage from it.
"Your Majesty."
After getting permission, Leshert walked in, knelt on one knee, lowered his head, and performed a strict knight's salute to the young Pope.
"Please take a seat, Knight Leshert."
Raphael did not call him "Captain". Everyone knew that Lesherte was most proud of his status as a Knight of the Templar.
He is a soldier, not a regiment leader.
Leshert thanked him and sat down, looking at the Pope with his emerald eyes, waiting for him to explain the purpose of calling him over.
Being looked at with this gaze, Raphael felt uncomfortable again.
It was so sincere, the look in his eyes, as if he wanted to expose himself naked to you, made Raphael wish he could find a box to hide in right there.
He admitted that he did have a bit of a dark desire to control... or whatever, but Lesherte's overly straightforward and sincere type made him completely unable to face it.
He would rather engage in intrigue with Julius, who was like a maze of twists and turns, than face Leshert.
He is willing to tell you anything you ask him, but that's also the scary part.
"A ship will arrive in Florence in a month." Raphael decided to skip all the causes and consequences and get straight to the point. He knew that as long as he didn't say anything, the considerate Lesherte would never take the initiative to inquire about anything. "It carries iron ore and two steam power cores."
When Leshert heard the word "steam power core", his eyes suddenly lit up as he deeply understood the meaning.
"I need the Knights Templar to receive them." Raphael was burned by those shining eyes. Trying hard not to show any expression, he pushed the badge on the table forward.
Leshte understood and respectfully took the badge and put it away. He waited for a while and found that there was no other order, so he stood up and prepared to leave.
But he stood there for a long time, and showed no intention of leaving. Raphael, who was pretending to read the documents, felt a tingling sensation on the back of his head, and had to put down his quill: "Anything else, Knight?"
The Brilliant Knight of the Knights Templar hesitated for a moment, his deep green eyes wandered over the young Pope for a moment, and he asked softly, "Are you...are you feeling unwell?"
"I noticed that you seemed to be enduring pain."
As a long-time practitioner, Leshert was of course very familiar with the feeling of enduring long and endless pain, so he also had a subtle sensitivity to the pain of others.
Although there was nothing wrong with the Pope's expression, he could feel the Pope's fatigue and pain.
Raphael's pupils shrank.
His right leg had been aching slightly since yesterday, as if thousands of tiny needles were pricking his bones. The pain was like a malignant tumor entwined around his leg, twitching from time to time to announce its presence.
Raphael had gotten used to this feeling over the years. He stayed in bed with his eyes open without saying a word until dawn. After getting up, he looked calm and even his walking did not give him away. No one noticed anything unusual about him, but Lesherte actually did.
The young Pope stared at him for a long time before looking away. He said with some indifference and resistance: "No, you misunderstood, Knight. Goodbye."
The intention of sending the guest away was clear as day. Leshert stood there for a while, like an innocent big dog that was suddenly kicked while smiling and trying to show goodwill, hesitating and not knowing what to think.
"I say, goodbye, knight," Raphael repeated more coldly.
Leshert hesitated for two seconds, but finally chose to obey the Pope's order and left the room with his head down, filled with rich aroma.
Julius came from the other end of the corridor with his attendants and some documents that needed the Pope's review. From afar, he saw the back of a man in armor leaving the Pope's reception room. He squinted his eyes and looked at the back for a while, thought for a moment, and dug out the name from his mind.
Leshert? What did Raphael want from him?
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