Chapter 81: Golden Ouroboros (Twenty-nine)
◎Revenge◎
Ferrante stood at the door, folded his arms, tapping his elbows rhythmically. When he silently counted to one thousand, Ferrante stood up straight and stared at the closed door. The door inlaid with polished mother-of-pearl and gems blocked out all sounds, creating an independent world inside.
Ferrante suppressed his anxiety again and started counting again. When he counted to the second thousand, he heard a dull noise coming from the room, as if something had fallen to the ground.
Ferrante turned his head quickly and raised his hand to push the door, but at the last moment he managed to regain his sanity and turned pushing into knocking: "Holy Father, is there anything you need?"
Then the Pope's deep and sharp voice came from inside: "No need."
The sound was natural and smooth, as if nothing had happened.
From this brief sentence, Ferrante judged that the Pope might be in a bad mood at the moment. What news did that woman bring?
The man who was in charge of countless black crows had his mind racing. He vaguely guessed something and couldn't help but feel a little startled, and then he became even more confused.
If...if something really happened to the queen, why would her maid of honor come to Florence first instead of going to Rome?
Ferrante narrowed his eyes slightly, and deep thought flashed in his deep blue pupils.
In the room separated from him by a wall, Ashur was kneeling on one knee in front of the Pope. Raphael lowered his head and put his hand on her shoulder, as if he was cooperating with her movements to see what she took out of her arms.
If you ignore the cold light flashing between his fingers at this moment, this is definitely a very harmonious scene.
The sound of porcelain falling and breaking was caused by Raphael forcibly holding Ashur down when he subconsciously tried to stand up, and in the chaos he accidentally knocked over the slender decorative vase next to him.
The ticking of the clock went on slowly, and the tense atmosphere between the two people gradually stretched to the brink of breaking in this excessive silence.
A few minutes ago, when Ferrante counted to the second 956, Ashur, who was originally describing the queen's last scene, suddenly said: "Her Majesty wants me to hand over to you the will she left behind. This is the last will signed by her and has the highest legal effect."
Raphael raised his eyebrows slightly, with a little flush at the corners of his eyes, and sparkling light in his moist lavender eyes. The skin on his cheeks and neck was pale pink like the petals of peach blossoms because of the ups and downs of his emotions, so sweet and clear that people couldn't help but feel distracted.
Ashur walked up to Raphael, knelt on one knee before him - just like she had knelt before the queen countless times before - and then put her hand into her arms.
At this moment, the distance between them was such that they could touch each other's necks with just a stretch of their hands.
"There is a question that I am a little curious about," Raphael said suddenly, "-Why did you betray her?"
The moment these words came out, Raphael and Ashur attacked at the same time, but Ashur subconsciously focused her attention on Raphael's question and moved a step slower, so before her hand completely left her collar, the Pope had already pressed on the side of her neck.
The woman rolled her eyes, and felt a chill on the skin of her neck. She caught a glimpse of a cold silver-white color out of the corner of her eye.
The young Pope held a slender and thin hidden dagger in his hand. The sharp blade popped out from his sleeve, and a dangerous three-inch cold blade extended from his fingertips, just against Ashur's carotid artery.
"I learned the anatomy of the human body from Ms. Astasia. Although I am not very proficient in it, if I move my hand a little further, your beautiful neck will spurt out blood like a fountain. I hope you will not test my patience."
The two pairs of similar eyes looked at each other for a while, and each saw the same indifference and hardness in each other's eyes.
Ashur gave a short, quick smile, and without hesitation, he exerted force on his waist and back, while fiercely reaching out to grab Raphael's neck.
But Raphael was not at all startled by her sudden attack. Just as he had just warned, he did not hesitate or waver and slashed the blade horizontally without blinking. If this move was effective, it would be enough to cut half of Ashur's neck.
However, what the blade touched was not warm and soft human skin, but some hard object.
Ashur
He skillfully used the fabric on the shoulder of his cloak to block the sharp blade, and his arm knocked over a decorative vase. There seemed to be metal sheets sewn in the cloak, which caused Raphael's knife to slip and narrowly grazed the skin on the side of his neck, leaving only a long mark.
After a few seconds, a thin trickle of blood slowly began to flow out of the wound.
The porcelain rolled onto the carpet with a dull thud, followed by Ferrante's tense questioning from the door.
Raphael stared at Ashur without blinking, and dealt with Ferrante casually. They were still keeping a very close distance at this moment, but Ashur, who failed to gain the advantage in the sudden attack just now, was completely at a disadvantage. After the Pope's knife made a mistake, it was obvious that she would not be able to leave her a chance to escape.
Ashur knelt on one knee in silence, and after a while he said, "I didn't expect you to really do it."
I moved my shoulders and felt the wet blood slowly soaking through the clothes on my shoulders.
"Really? Obviously you didn't take my words to heart." Raphael replied softly, "In the name of the Holy Lord, I never lie."
Ashur seemed to be amused. A hint of teasing appeared on her serious face, which made her look much more lively. The woman glanced at the blade on the side of her neck with the corner of her eye: "Holy Lord? The Holy Lord ordered His spokesperson to hide a hidden blade in his sleeve? This Holy Lord does not seem to be ordinary and unconventional."
Indeed, who would have thought that hidden under the Pope's robe was not the Gospel and the Holy Thorn Crozier, but the hidden blade favored by assassins?
This inferior, concealed and bloody weapon should never be placed together with the holy and bright Holy See.
Raphael lowered his eyes calmly, without giving a direct answer, and said evasively: "But it comes in handy now, doesn't it?"
Ashur was silent for a moment, then raised her eyelids. In that very brief silence, tears seemed to flash across her eyes.
"You've had a hard time these years, haven't you?" she said softly.
This almost motherly concern made Raphael stunned for a moment, and his hand holding the knife tightened instantly: "Please don't change the subject."
In fact, ever since he opened his eyes again in this world, he always had a dagger in his sleeve that he had never shown to anyone. This sword was tied to his sleeve when he traveled, and was placed under his pillow when he slept. Even when he took a bath, he would not throw it away.
It's so sad. He owns a world and hundreds of millions of believers, but he is like a poor wretch begging for survival in the cracks.
"Okay," Ashur stopped talking, "but I need to reiterate that I have not betrayed the queen."
She repeated calmly, each word seemed to have been chewed thousands of times between her teeth, gnawing on flesh and blood before being spat out, carrying a strong smell of blood and murderous intent: "In this world, I am the only one who will never betray her."
Raphael did not comment on her confession: "Then how did you get here?"
Ashur and Yamenla led two teams to the new camp separately. In order to take care of the queen who had just recovered from a serious illness, Ashur brought more people and took on the responsibility of being the vanguard to clear the way ahead. However, on the road she had cleared, the army that besieged the queen appeared - how did so many people bypass Ashur's raid?
Raphael didn't know their marching plan. He just discovered a problem based on his simple experience in political struggles. As the orthodox monarch of Assyria, the death of Amenra would definitely cause an uproar. The political legacy she left behind was so rich that others could hardly imagine. The Assyrian throne alone was enough to make people fight for it, even if there was the queen's own bloodline far away in Rome - so what?
As long as you can take control of those panic-stricken troops first, anyone can become the next Chilebailaetu!
To launch a coup, the most important thing is not to eliminate the enemies who are also ready to make moves, but to completely wipe out the power of the old master.
As the queen's most trusted lady-in-waiting, she held some military power and was likely even in possession of the queen's last will and testament - how could Ashur have easily managed to get to Florence by passing through countless people's pursuit?
Similarly, as the person who holds the Queen's will and can decide the ownership of all the Queen's inheritance, if Ashur is truly loyal to the Queen, he should go to Rome as soon as possible to find the Queen's legal heir Sancha, instead of coming to Florence to find Raphael, the illegitimate son who is not allowed to be seen in public.
With the sudden death of the queen, Assyria, which lost its last legitimate monarch, fell into complete chaos. Every minute and every second was an expensive and non-renewable treasure. To Raphael, Ashur's choice to come to Florence was a completely unreasonable one.
Even though she told him the last words of his mother, whom he had never met.
Raphael felt as if his soul was split into two halves. One half controlled his body, thinking calmly and judging rationally like a machine, leaving all emotions out, and coldly examining the value of Assyria that had lost its monarch; the other half of his soul floated above his body, curled up into a ball, sadly immersed in its own world.
"Whether judging from your political status or identity, you should go to Roman to find Sanxia and give her the will - if this will really exists." Raphael said, "If you hadn't betrayed her, I can't understand why you abandoned Roman and chose the Papal States."
"Or do you want to gain greater benefits from me?" Ashur raised her head and looked at the indifferent Pope. The other party's thinking speed was so fast that she was a little scared. That kind of absolute rationality was enough to make everyone in awe. The Pope spoke at a constant speed, "Although Sanxia has the title of Roman Queen and Grand Duchess of Assyria, it also means that all the political resources around her have been divided up over the years. There is no place for you, who has retired from the old master. If you want to gain more, you can only take a risk and choose a less advantageous person. That person had better urgently need you, an illegitimate child who can't see the light of day. No one except you can prove his origin-"
His gaze pierced into Ashur's eyes like a knife: "Like me."
The nobles did not mind the existence of illegitimate children, nor did they mind giving part of their property to their own bloodlines, but this did not apply to Raphael.
He is one of the most special people in the world. Secular morals and laws have extremely strict requirements on everything about him. From birth to death, he must be flawless.
Because he is the Pope of Florence, the leader of hundreds of millions of devout believers, the spokesperson of the Holy Lord on earth, and the highest moral role model in the world.
He must be pure, glorious, noble, and broad.
The Pope must be born in wedlock - his birth must be blessed and permitted by the Holy Lord, otherwise how can he be His pastor?
"I can't give you what you want." Raphael took back the deadly weapon and said coldly and tiredly.
He looked at Ashur. Even he knew that this woman had followed Amenra across the country, from Assyria to Rome. After so many years of hardships, Ashur had changed from a bright Assyrian girl into the tough woman she is today. She never married and had dedicated the best and most precious time of her life to the queen. Now she wanted peace and happiness for the rest of her life... Perhaps it was power or something else, Raphael didn't care.
He just felt disappointed.
Ashur suddenly raised her hand and grasped the hidden blade. The sharp blade immediately cut her palm, and drops of blood dripped down her wrist.
A fire ignited in the woman's eyes. The wasteland in her eyes was burning fiercely. The fire reached up to the sky, as if it was going to burn through the sky.
This is the flame of revenge.
"I don't want those things!" Ashur growled, "I don't want any wealth or power!"
Her voice was hoarse, like the howling of a she-wolf who had lost her cub: "I want you to avenge! Revenge for your mother, for the queen!"
The scarlet and hot blood slid down the hidden blade onto Raphael's hand. The wet, hot and sticky touch made him shudder all over and he subconsciously let go of his hand.
Ashur swallowed his throat, stuffing all the painful screams mixed with tears into the depths of his soul that never saw the sun, letting them rot and ferment along with the thorns and mud: "You are right, they want the army left behind by His Majesty, and they also want this will, and they even tried to threaten me with the Queen's body-"
At this point, Ashur's face twisted hideously. For a moment, this woman was scarier than a demon. "They tried to threaten me, and then I cut off their heads, but I didn't have much time. The last thing I did before leaving was to catch the assassin who killed the queen."
The cold will-o'-the-wisp in her eyes burned with resentment.
"That bastard—a vile, vile lunatic, a damned brute—who, in the palace at Calais, gave the order to take the life of the mother of his betrothed."
Raphael suddenly raised his eyes and stared at Ashur.
"You said this was an order from Francis IV? Where is the evidence?"
"I can't give you evidence. The assassin who delivered the fatal blow committed suicide under my torture. This was the last message he left behind. He was so afraid that the tyrant would come to kill him, so he ended his own life first." Ashur replied.
"But even if I don't give you evidence, can't you really figure out the whole story?"
Raphael was silent.
How could he not understand? Rather, after knowing who the murderer was, he suddenly felt a sense of realization: "As expected."
But then another thought struck him like a thunderbolt.
In her previous life, the queen also died on the battlefield of Assyria, but that was in 1084 of the Christian calendar, which was two years later.
If this was done by Francis IV, what made him do it two years earlier?
The only unexpected event, the only unexpected event in recent times...
Raphael's hands on his legs clenched into fists involuntarily, and his whole body began to tremble uncontrollably.
——The only unexpected event was that he saved Duke François, who should have died, from the young emperor.
Because of the chaos on the Assyrian battlefield, he received the false news of the queen's death and made a wrong judgment. In order to check and balance the little emperor, he urgently ordered Julius to forcibly save Duke François as a weight to restrain the little emperor in the future, and in disguise, he also made his vigilance against the little emperor public.
Could it be that it was precisely because of his wrong choice that François became wary of the Queen in advance, and as a means of reducing the influence of Roman, Assyrian and the Papal States, he decided to kill the Queen two years earlier?
If...if he hadn't done that, if he had thought about it again, if he had waited for more news...
Raphael could not restrain his overly pessimistic and extreme thoughts. He knew that his current thoughts were too terrible, but he could not stop thinking like this. The rational and cold-blooded him judged the correctness and rationality of this idea. It was as if there was a black hole with infinite attraction in front of him, which was going to swallow up his soul and emotions and shatter him into pieces.
Ashur was so immersed in her own emotions that she did not notice the Pope's slight trembling and broken eyes.
"...After the assassin committed suicide, I fled Assyria. Most of the queen's guards were killed or injured in the chaos. I ordered the remaining people to hide themselves until the queen's heir really appeared. I chose to come to Florence - I need to find someone who can avenge your majesty. Sang Xia is of course a candidate, but I wanted to meet you first. Until just now, when you picked up the sword and slashed at me, I knew that I had found the right person."
Ashur showed a strange smile: "You are exactly the same as the former queen. There is an unquenchable fire in your heart."
The queen's fire came from the disintegration of Assyria and the years of displacement. Where does the fire in your heart come from?
Her voice was like the sound of chaotic water separated by a thick membrane. Raphael seemed to hear it, but he couldn't hear it clearly. He held on to the armrests of the chair tightly, only in this way could he not slide off the chair. The Pope's soul wailed miserably in the invisible space and time.
I sobbed and tried to shrink myself into a corner where no one could find me.
——Oh my God, he indirectly killed his mother?
The author has something to say:
I'm sorry, I really don't mean to abuse Rafa, but the plot is really arranged like this. I was shocked even when I was writing it. How could I, who wrote the outline, be so cruel, cold-blooded and heartless! ! ! ! I don’t understand! ! ! What did I think before! ! ! How cruel! ! ! Ashur was the queen's only fan. She didn't really care about Ashur, but she loved the queen and her family. But when the queen died, she just... started to go crazy...
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