The capital of the Roman Empire, Perigo, was built on a sprawling plain at the foot of a mountain range. Unlike the capital of Calais, which was known as the first city of Syracuse, Perigo was famous for its romance, passion and beauty. Poets have hailed Perigo as “the city most suitable for the blossoming of love”. Adhering to its main belief on the goddess of beauty and love, every corner of the city was steeped in tales of romance, giving birth to a diverse array of arts.

    However, it was the holy city of Florence that truly reigns as the capital of art. The Portia family’s patronage of artistic masters and their insatiable appetite for collecting various artworks have undeniably made Florence the most coveted destination for artists. Perigo, on the other hand, was a paradise for wanderers, poets, and lovers.

    Crowds gathered at the city gates, eagerly waiting for the distinguished guests from Florence to arrive. The streets and windowsills were adorned with lush Perigo roses and snow-white Florentine lilies, filling the city with a fragrant and intoxicating aroma. Flags bearing the symbols of Rome and the Holy See flew side by side from every visible vantage point, proclaiming the friendly relationship between the two. The entire city was lifted by a wave of enthusiastic cheers.

    Redrick, riding his horse, was almost entirely concealed by the uniform armor of the knights. His visor covered his features, but the rigorous training these knights had undergone made them all possess an outstanding and upright figure. Young ladies on either side of the procession threw bouquets of flowers, their cheers filling the air. Though they modestly wore veiled hats to conceal their faces, the corners of their veils were coyly lifted at a corner.

    His position at the front of the procession was a prime spot to attract the crowd’s scrutiny and welcome, a clear indication that those who arranged the seating knew his identity and were deliberately trying to please him.

    Redrick had long been accustomed to such flattery and accepted it with a sense of entitlement.

    He casually caught a bouquet of champagne-colored roses that flew into his arms and tucked it into the gap in his chest armor, hearing a delighted scream from the crowd.

    “He accepted it! Oh my!”

    Redrick puffed out his chest in pride. Although the rules prohibited him from waving to the sides, that didn’t prevent him from nodding his head in greeting.

    The people clearly loved a knight who was polite and willing to cooperate, and their cheers grew louder and louder, like a strong liquor, soaking Redrick in a drunken state of happiness.

    He rarely received such straightforward, unadulterated affection, without any interests involved. From birth, he had been surrounded by the halo of his parents’ noble bloodlines, and later he had smoothly inherited the title of duke. Everyone had surrounded him like bees around a flower, eager to reap the sweet rewards from him, cultivating in Redrick an overly straightforward love-hate nature and an overbearing arrogance in his character.

    Servants flattered him because he was their master who could decide their fate; guests complimented him because he held the things they needed; friends surrounded him because he was the most powerful among them.

    In his mind, those who were good to him must have something to ask of him, so no matter how he bullied the other, it was all part of an equal exchange. As a result, he had never experienced emotions like “regret” or “pity.”

    Until this straightforward but shallow affection engulfed him.

    It was something he had never encountered before.

    Redrick was surprised and bewildered.

    He simply couldn’t understand. Clearly, he hadn’t done anything for them, and they couldn’t get anything from him, but they were acting as if they had just reunited with a long-lost relative.

    ...Are these the people of Perigo are like? As expected of the people from the city of romance, each of them has an enthusiastic and passionate temperament.

    Redrick sighed quietly in his heart, but he didn’t hate this feeling.

    That was until the Pope’s carriage entered the city gate, and a deafening cheer covered every street in Perigo. The evergreen holly trees that had been green all year round swayed, and colored ribbons and petals fluttered down from the windows like rain. The orchestra played the second movement of “Glory Has Come to Me,” and the majestic and solemn music swept across the wind as everyone waved their flowers and flags in time with the music.

    The devout believers had been waiting there for a long time, and when they saw the Pope’s handsome face, as beautiful as the Son of God, they were moved to tears, bowing their heads deeply with the others. The ladies curtsied, and the gentlemen took off their hats and bowed, paying the most devout respect to the Lord of their faith.

    A group of black-clothed monks guarded the sides of the Pope’s carriage. They walked along with the slowly moving carriage, each of them covering half of their face with a large hood, their hands crossed and folded in their sleeves, all of them possessing the solemnity and frugalness unique to ascetics. As they passed by, the people gazed at them with respect and offered them bread and water.

    The long procession finally stopped in front of Perigo’s Mirror Palace, where the Roman nobles and courtiers were waiting. At the head was Rafael’s old acquaintance, Princess Sancha.

    The young princess was dressed in gorgeous clothes, wearing a crown and a gold and red sash with medals on her shoulders. Her sapphire blue gown was studded with sparkling diamonds, and like the other male nobles, she placed a gloved hand on the hilt of her sword at her waist. Although she was younger than everyone else present, her aura was no less impressive than theirs.

    Rafael stepped out of the carriage and offered a subtle smile to Sancha who was waiting there. Sancha stepped forward, winking mischievously at him behind everyone’s back. Instead of curtsying, she placed her hand on her chest and bowed slightly: “Rome has been waiting for your arrival for a long time, Your Holiness. Your presence fills the hearts of Rome’s believers with gratitude.”

    As the most luxurious palace in Perigo, the Mirror Palace had been expanded and renovated countless times over the decades, making it one of the most magnificent palaces in the entire country. The palace was named after its 3,728 floor-to-ceiling mirrors made up of 10,423 pieces of glass. The crystal-clear mirrors reflected the luxurious murals on the ceiling, and every few meters in the hall, there was a three-tiered candelabrum present. The mirrors reflected the candlelight, illuminating every corner of the palace.

    In the largest Spring Goddess Hall in the Mirror Palace, a grand banquet was entering its final preparations. Countless servants and maids were scurrying back and forth, and dozens of lamplighters turned the cranks on the walls to lower the huge chandeliers on the ceiling, one by one, lighting them one by one and then raising them back up. The entire restaurant was suddenly resplendent.

    By the time the guests began to arrive, the palace had been completely transformed. The magnificent spectacle left the Florentine envoys in awe, while the Roman nobles and courtiers puffed out their chests in pride. The two groups quickly mingled and began to converse, all the while keeping a close eye on the movements of the servants at the door.

    The most important dignitaries had yet to arrive. It was customary for the more prestigious individuals to appear later.

    At that moment, Rafael was in a small, floral-decorated hall on the second floor. Sitting across from him was Her Majesty Queen Amandra, who ruled over the two huge empires of Rome and Assyria. Sancha smiled sweetly as she filled their teacups and then bowed before retreating, her skirt disappearing behind a round arch.

    The tea table was covered with a lace tablecloth. The gossamer-thin cloth draped over the edge, and the pattern left on the table was three tightly closed rosebuds. Each of the three roses pointed in a different direction, like three crimson blades, two of which were directly facing Rafael and Amandra.

    Rafael stared at the pattern of the three roses for a moment before smiling at the queen across from him: “It seems you’ve given me a gift that I can’t refuse today, leaving me quite flustered.”

    This was the first time in his two lifetimes he had ever seen this world-famous queen.

    Even though she already had a daughter of marriageable age, the queen was still as stunningly beautiful as ever. She wore a long dress of golden red silk, adorned with fine white mink. The sleeves, which were puffed up, tightened at the wrist, accentuating her figure with exaggerated lines. She wore a golden eagle pendant on her chest, which was obviously Assyrian in style. Her long, golden-brown hair was bound by a pearl-encrusted crown, and the white mink lining of her dress was pressed against her hair. The cloisonne? enamel and the circled gemstones shimmered like a flowing river of fire in the light. The overly rich and magnificent colors did not overshadow the queen’s presence but instead made the wild and proud temperament on her body burst forth a hundredfold.

    She was an undeniable queen, a woman who had secured her throne through her own means and wisdom.

    Rafael saw in her eyes the bearing of a monarch.

    “Does that make you nervous?” Amandra’s voice was a little hoarse, as sticky as honey, but her tone was very gentle, and her pitch was low and slow, eliminating all sense of oppression.

    A clear sign of goodwill, Rafael judged.

    “Perhaps more flattered than anything,” Rafael also softened his tone, adjusting his approach to the conversation.

    “Ah, it was just a little surprise, I thought you might like it,” Amandra’s eyes curved gently. The years had not been entirely kind to her, but the fine lines they had bestowed had not diminished Amandra’s beauty in the slightest. Those wrinkles were like the delicate veins on a rose petal, growing gently on her skin. “It’s also the basis for our conversation.”

    Ah, here comes the main topic. Rafael perked up slightly. “As we discussed earlier, I’m here for the issue of Princess Sancha’s succession—I think the situation in Assyria no longer allows you to hesitate any longer. When will the legislative assembly be held?”

    Amandra said softly, “It’s set for February—that’s not a problem.”

    She didn’t seem eager to discuss the matter, even though it was a major concern of hers and she had been planning and scheming for it for a long time, even inviting Rafael from Florence to Perigo.

    The queen calmly picked up her teacup and blew on the hot mist. “Florence’s grand trial in June had shocked every country. Your courage is admirable, and even Calais has been deeply moved by it.”

    So Rome and Calais were indeed privately in contact.

    Rafael smiled. “Foolish people always have inappropriate ambitions.”

    “Yes, they never know when to stop, but—” Amandra gently set down her teacup, the porcelain cup and saucer making a crisp sound. The queen raised her eyes, revealing her sapphire blue eyes. The old scar under her right eye was like the thorn of a rose. “What surprised us even more were your subsequent actions. It turns out that the Knights Templar still possess such a formidable power, capable of dominating the Papal States. It inevitably reminds one of the glory of the Knights Templar’s heyday many years ago, when the banners of the Holy See were planted all over the world.”

    Rafael’s heart skipped a beat.

    Here it comes.