Re: Steel and Gunpowder

The man stopped five paces away from the raised stage, ignoring the drawn Swabian broadswords pointed at his neck by the elite guards.

He offered a sweeping bow, dragging his feathered hat low across the floorboards.

"My most sincere apologies for interrupting such a beautiful ceremony, Viscount!" the Italian declared loudly.

His German was heavily laced with an arrogant Florentine accent that echoed across the hall.

"But the mud on these miserable northern roads is a nightmare, and I simply could not miss the grand finale!"

"Who are you?" Konrad demanded. "And why shouldn’t I have my guards put a pike through your chest right now?"

The Italian laughed brightly, unfazed by the lethal threat. "Ah! I absolutely love it. My name, My Lord, is Benvenuto Cellini."

Benvenuto Cellini? He was a Florentine goldsmith, an incredibly brilliant sculptor, and a highly unstable mercenary.

He was infamous for designing the most intricate, advanced mechanical locks and customized firearms in all of Italy.

But he was even more famous for murdering his business rivals in the streets of Rome in broad daylight and getting away with it because his art was too valuable to the Pope.

He was a rogue, armed genius who only worked for the absolute highest bidder.

"I know who you are, Cellini," Konrad stated. "You are the Vatican’s favorite jeweler. What the hell is a man like you doing in Swabia?"

Even so, before the arrogant Italian could answer with another theatrical quip, a sudden furious movement broke the discipline of the Swabian guard line.

One of the five elite guards Marshal Eckhard had explicitly left behind to protect the altar suddenly stepped forward.

"You..." the guard hissed, his face turning pale with fury.

Konrad glanced sharply at the soldier.

It was Lukas.

He was one of the best killers Eckhard had personally selected for the newly minted Captain ranks, left here to secure the keep while the main army marched north to ambush the Bavarians.

"Stand your ground, Lukas." Konrad warned, not taking his eyes off the Italian mercenary.

"I know this miserable bastard, Lord Konrad!" Lukas spat. "He came through my family’s village in the Alps three years ago. My older brother commissioned a silver locket from him for his wife. When the winter harvest failed and my brother couldn’t pay the final ten florins... this artist didn’t just take the locket back... he hired two local cutthroats to break into my brother’s house and beat him to death in front of his children! Over ten miserable florins!"

The Great Hall went silent.

Cellini didn’t look guilty. He simply sighed, adjusting the lace cuffs of his velvet sleeves.

"A contract is a sacred ledger, my young friend," Cellini replied. "I spent four sleepless nights engraving that silver piece. Your brother insulted my genius by refusing to pay the agreed price. You should understand that, living under an industrialist."

"Hmm?" Konrad murmured.

Though Konrad understood the mechanics of the act, letting a foreign mercenary insult his elite guards inside his own Great Hall was bad for maintaining military morale.

Konrad turned his head slightly. "Lukas," Konrad said quietly. "I know Eckhard trusts you. I know you survived the Bohemian slaughter and earned your rank in the mud. But state your full name for the ledger."

The young guard swallowed hard, forcing his arms to steady the heavy Swabian broadsword.

"Lukas von Richter, My Lord." he answered fiercely. "Captain of the third Swabian halberdier company."

"Well, Captain von Richter." Konrad grunted, crossing his arms over his velvet doublet. "Since this Florentine bastard murdered your own blood over a few coins... I suppose you have a legitimate, legally binding claim to his life."

Duke Wilhelm, still standing on the stage, panicked.

The fat Duke, sweating inside his hidden breastplate, threw his hands up in horror.

"Konrad! Are you insane?!" Duke Wilhelm shouted. "You cannot just execute a famous Vatican artist in the middle of our wedding. The Pope will use this as an excuse to excommunicate us all! You will ruin the alliance!"

"Shut your mouth, Wilhelm." Konrad snapped.

The fat Duke entirely flinched, stepping back in shock as the Swabian warlord humiliated him in front of a thousand guests.

Cellini’s smile finally vanished. He realized, suddenly, that Konrad was not playing a game.

The Swabian was willing to let his guard chop him to pieces right there on the floorboards.

The Italian’s hand tightened around the hilt of his rapier, his eyes scanning the room for an exit.

But before Lukas could charge forward, Lady Katarina stepped forward.

The Princess of Bavaria grabbed the velvet skirts of her wedding dress and took two steps toward the very edge of the platform.

She placed herself between the Swabian warlord and the Italian assassin.

Katarina looked down at Benvenuto Cellini.

"You are a talented artist, Signor Cellini." Katarina stated "But my husband is a busy man, and I am freezing in this dress. So before Captain von Richter separates your valuable head from your shoulders..."

She leaned forward slightly. "...exactly what kind of revolutionary mechanical blueprint did you steal from the Vatican archives to try and buy your miserable life today?"

Konrad frowned. What was she talking about?

He hadn’t heard a single whisper from Isolde’s vast network of shadow-walkers about a stolen blueprint.

He didn’t know anything about missing documents from the Vatican archives.

If Katarina was right, and this Italian artist was holding a mechanical design stolen from the Pope’s secret vaults, it was a massive prize.

The Vatican hoarded centuries of highly advanced Roman and Byzantine engineering secrets.

Though he was thrilled by the prospect of free technology, a question followed.

How did Katarina know this? Did she secretly know this Florentine bastard?

Had she been communicating with Italian mercenaries behind his back while sitting quietly in the guest wing all month?

"Huh?" Benvenuto Cellini blinked.

The Italian mercenary stared up at the Bavarian princess, his fingers twitching near the ornate hilt of his rapier.

Despite riding through weeks of mud and rain, Konrad noted that the Italian’s long hair was meticulously styled.

It was brushed and tied back in an intricate, deliberate grooming variation that mocked the rough cuts of the Swabian soldiers.

"I do not know what you are talking about, Princess," Cellini laughed. "I am a simple artist. I came here to witness a grand wedding, not to peddle stolen papers."

However, Konrad was not looking at the Italian mercenary anymore.

His eyes had shifted to the left.

The Duke was staring at Cellini with an expression of panic.

He remembered scanning the guest logs that his quartermaster Hans had prepared weeks ago.

There had been a dozen obscure Italian dignitaries listed on the Bavarian side of the ledger, invited by Duke Wilhelm to witness the alliance.

Most of them had failed to show up, blaming the northern winter and the muddy roads.

But Cellini was here... he wasn’t an intruder; he was a guest. He was explicitly invited by the Duke of Bavaria.

Cellini worked for Wilhelm. The Duke had hired the infamous Florentine artist to come to the wedding.

But if Cellini was supposed to be here as part of the Bavarian retinue, he was late.

The wedding was already happening... the Duke had been sweating all week because his most lethal asset hadn’t arrived on time.

Cellini had clearly run into a problem on the roads. And knowing the Italian’s volatile reputation, he had probably been busy slaughtering whoever got in his way.