Templar's Creed

Chapter 30

And then, as if summoned by their very thoughts, a figure emerged from the shadows, casting aside the cloak of darkness that had concealed him. The Templars around the fire tensed, swords flashing in the flickering light as they prepared to meet this new threat. But the figure that stepped forth was no stranger. He was tall, with the same sharp features and piercing gaze that marked him as one of their own.

"Rodrigo Borgia is of no concern to you," he announced, his voice a command that brooked no argument. The room stilled, the only sound the hiss of the dying fire. "For he is no more." The words hung in the air, a cold wind that seemed to suck the life from their very lungs. It was a revelation that shook the very foundations of their world, a truth that none had dared to speak aloud.

The Templars exchanged disbelieving glances, their swords hovering in the air as they searched the shadows for signs of a trick. Yet, as the figure stepped closer to the flickering light, the truth became undeniable. It was none other than Cesare Borgia, the Pope's own son, his eyes gleaming with an intensity that belied his youth.

"Cesare," Francesco breathed, his voice a mix of awe and suspicion. "What brings you here, and what madness do you speak of?"

Cesare's smile was cold, his eyes like chips of flint in the firelight. "Madness, is it? Perhaps it is madness to think that a mere mortal can challenge the will of God." He stepped closer to the fire, the flickering shadows playing across his face like the dance of the damned. "Rodrigo Borgia is no more," he repeated. "He was weak, a pawn in a game he did not understand. But fear not, for the throne of the Templar Order is not vacant. I have claimed it for myself."

The room erupted into chaos, a cacophony of shouts as the Templars turned on one another. Yet, amidst the confusion, a single voice rang out clear and true—the voice of Carlo Grimaldi. "You lie!" he bellowed, his sword flashing in the dim light. "You could not have killed the Pope!"

Cesare's smile grew wider, his eyes gleaming with a malicious satisfaction. "I assure you, my dear Carlo, that I speak the truth. The old man is dead, and I am the new head of the Templar Order. I have taken what is rightfully mine, and together, we will reshape the world in our image."

Carlo's hand tightened around the hilt of his sword, his knuckles white with rage. "You are a snake," he spat, "a treacherous, unholy snake!" His blade flashed through the air, aimed at the heart of the young man who dared to claim such power. Yet, he had underestimated his foe.

Cesare's reflexes were lightning fast, his own sword parrying Carlo's attack with ease. His eyes, cold and hard as diamonds, bore into Carlo's soul, a silent promise of the fate that awaited all who dared to oppose him. The room stilled, the other Templars watching the confrontation with a mix of fear and fascination.

"You dare call me a snake?" he spat back, his voice like a whip crack in the tense silence. "I am the hand of God, the scourge that will cleanse this world of the weak and the unworthy. You would do well to remember your place."

Jacobo, unable to stand by and watch his ally be slandered, stepped forward, his sword drawn. "You will not speak to him like that, you treacherous cur," he growled, his own anger flaring. But his valor was his undoing. With a flick of his wrist, Cesare's blade danced through the air, cutting Jacobo down before he could even raise his weapon. The room stilled, the air thick with the scent of blood and betrayal.

Giovanni, who had been watching the scene unfold from the shadows, felt his heart clench in his chest as Jacobo fell, his lifeblood painting the cobblestones a stark crimson. Yet, the sight of the young Templar standing tall and defiant fueled his own resolve. The time for subtlety had passed.

With a roar that seemed to shake the very air, he leaped into the fray, his blade a silver streak in the night. The remaining Templars, caught off guard by his sudden appearance, stumbled back, their eyes wide with shock and fear. They had underestimated the wrath of a man whose family had been torn apart by their greed.

Jacobo's lifeless body lay at Carlo's feet, a grim testament to the fate of those who dare to stand against the Borgia scion. Yet, even as he mourned his fallen comrade, Carlo's eyes never left the figure that had emerged from the shadows—the one who had brought such pain and suffering to the world he had sworn to protect.

Giovanni's blade sang through the air as he descended upon the remaining Templars, a maelstrom of steel and fury. His movements were fluid, each strike precise and deadly, a dance of vengeance that had been choreographed by his grief. Yet, amidst the chaos, one man remained eerily still, Cesare Borgia.

As the last of his soldiers fell, the room grew quiet. The only sound was the steady drip of blood from the edges of the swords that now pointed at the new leader of the Templar Order. But rather than cower, Cesare stepped forward, his smile unwavering, extending a hand in greeting. "Giovanni Auditore," he said, his voice a smooth, dangerous purr. "I've heard much about you, the legendary Assassin who stalks the shadows. I am honored to finally meet the man who has caused us so much...inconvenience."

Giovanni's eyes never left the hand, his own blade still dripping with the lifeblood of the men he had just slain. His grip on the hilt was tight, his knuckles white with tension. "I am no legend," he said, his voice a low growl. "I am a father seeking justice for his children, a husband seeking vengeance for his wife."

Cesare's smile never wavered, his gaze as cold as the steel of the weapons that surrounded him. "Justice," he mused, "a curious concept. Tell me, Giovanni, do you truly believe that your actions will bring you peace?"

Giovanni's eyes narrowed, the raw emotion in his voice belying his deadly calm. "It's not peace I seek, but balance. For every life you've taken from me, I will take a hundred from you."

Cesare chuckled, the sound like shattering glass in the tension-filled air. "Such passion," he said, his tone mocking. "But what good is your vendetta if you cannot even kill a man who stands before you?"

With a flick of his wrist, he disarmed Carlo, sending the man's sword clattering to the ground. Before Carlo could react, he was pushed hard into the center of the clearing, stumbling towards Giovanni. The Assassin's eyes flickered with anger and confusion, this was not the confrontation he had envisioned.