Chapter 807: Chapter 715: Repent!

The crowd eager to attend the All Saints’ Day Mass had already started flooding into St. Peter’s Cathedral Square like a tide.

Schmitz discarded the newspaper, and instead of squeezing into the surging crowd, he turned and walked towards the side door on the south side of the cathedral.

At the door, several Swiss Guards stopped him, loudly declaring, “Stop! You cannot enter here.”

As an Austrian, Schmitz could barely understand Italian. He immediately took out a folded document from his pocket and handed it over.

“I am following the instructions of Assistant Priest Elcole to handle some matters and have come back late. You must let me in; I am due to hold the candelabrum in today’s Mass. Oh, it’s in the third row, fifth column.”

He spoke in Latin.

He had never imagined before, that this thing he’d learned as part of a noble’s education since childhood, would actually come into play one day.

After the squad leader of the guard examined his priest’s robe and checked the document carefully, he signalled his men to briefly search Schmitz, and then let him into the cathedral.

Schmitz walked down the corridor with his head bowed, a sigh of relief in his heart: Thank you, Jesus, those guys didn’t deceive me, this thing really works!

He couldn’t help but recall the scene when he met Dominic in a tavern that day, the first “organization” member he had come into contact with.

Schmitz had originally just intended to confront the Pope in person over his betrayal of the Crusaders, but the “organization” had offered him a more “direct” option.

A radical organization that claimed to want to restore the prestige of the Holy See.

They were dissatisfied with the Pope’s weakness.

They ridiculed the Pope for coming into power through bribery.

They fiercely criticized the Pope for not daring to acknowledge the holy war in Poland!

And so, Schmitz joined them.

What was different was those in the “organization” only dared to talk, but he was willing to give up his life for certain things!

As Schmitz turned the corner, he took off the priest’s robe, put on a prepared wig, and instantly changed from a priest into the appearance of an Italian noble.

Indeed, the cathedral was too crowded with people, and the priests all had their own tasks; any slight disturbance would be noticed immediately, and it would be difficult to make a move.

The area in front of the Pope, occupied by the great nobles, was the best choice.

He recalled the route the “organization” had planned for him, passing through windows and narrow doors in corners, until he saw the garden; he encountered no one along the way.

Schmitz fumbled beside the third fountain on the left side of the garden, took out a waist-high black cloth bag, glanced around cautiously, and after making sure no one was there, quickly stuffed it into his jacket.

The hard feel of the cloth bag clearly told him that inside was an M1741 rifleman gun. However, the buttstock and barrel had been sawn off to make it easy to hide.

Schmitz, stepping out from behind the last ground floor window, now stood underneath the corner of the cathedral wall, and the melodious sound of music came immediately from the northeast direction.

The All Saints’ Day Mass had already begun.

Schmitz held a Bible to his chest to hide the outline beneath his clothes and then mingled into the nobles on the square from the side and rear.

After a series of opening proceedings, Pope Pius VI finally arrived at the platform in front of St. Peter’s Cathedral’s main entrance, escorted by several Cardinals.

Schmitz took a deep breath and began to shuffle his feet to ensure that the Ritual Priest up front wouldn’t block his line of sight.

“Hey, watch out!” A resplendent woman in her thirties who was bumped by him turned around discontentedly, but when she saw his sorrowful brown eyes, she hesitated and said, “Oh, handsome sir, you look somewhat unfamiliar.”

Schmitz turned his head and said in Latin, “Schmitz. Otto Molt von Schmitz.”

Seeing him moving forward, the noblewoman immediately followed and laughed, also speaking in Latin: “You’re not Roman? Ah, let me guess, there’s a touch of artistry about you; you must not be from Upper Germany…”

Pope Pius VI started to read the sacred words aloud.

Schmitz also chose the best angle and turned to hand the Bible to the noblewoman.

“Oh, thank you, you must be very devout, right?” The noble lady showed a charming smile, “I know, you must be Dutch, the place where the master Eko comes from.

“Right, you can call me Stephanie. I come from Lampedusa…”

As she was speaking, she saw the handsome young man reach into his collar.

She feigned shyness immediately: “Are you, planning to give me a surprise?”

The next moment, the “Dutch handsome man” pulled out something long from his embrace, shook off the black cloth on it, and it turned out to be–

A gun shining with a cold light.

“Ah–Don’t!”

Schmitz, pointing the gun at Pope Pius VI, shouted with the biggest voice he could muster: “He who distorts the word of God does not deserve to be His representative on Earth any longer! Repent!”

His finger pulled the trigger.

The flint struck the pan harshly, the angry sparks igniting the gunpowder in the barrel.

“Bang–”

Almost instantly, a Cardinal standing to the left of Pope Pius VI shouted “Watch out,” and bumped his shoulder into the Pope.

“Puff.”

Blood splattered.

The Cardinal and Pope Pius VI both tumbled to the ground together.

Schmitz had no chance to reload, so after firing the bullet, he threw the M1741 on the ground, snatched back the Bible from Stephanie’s hands, raised it high, and cried out:

“May my Lord protect the holy Crusaders! The holy war shall win a glorious victory!”

The surrounding nobles, priests, and guards lunged at him instantly, “Catch him!”

“There’s an assassin!”

“Don’t let him escape!”

Before anyone else could get close, Schmitz had already taken a small knife from his pocket and stabbed it into his chest without hesitation.

“Herbert… no one can… take away your glory…”

The young man holding the Bible fell, and the entire square was immediately filled with screams, curses, and cries for help, with thousands of people running around like a swarm of bees that had lost its constraint.

5 hours later.

Pope Pius VI, who had just regained a bit of color on his face, looked towards the chief of the Holy See’s secret investigators, his heart still trembling, “Who sent the assassin? Why kill me?”

The Cardinal who had bumped him had been hit by a bullet in the right shoulder, blood splashing all over his face, and even now the hot, bloody scent was in his nose.

The secret investigator signaled the doctor to leave, then bowed to the Pope, “The assassin’s name is Schmitz, Your Holiness. From the belongings found in the inn where he stayed, he appears to have been an officer from Southern Germany.”

Archbishop Chiaramonti immediately frowned, “Austria?”

Pope Pius VI considered it and nodded, “Get to the bottom of this immediately.”

“Yes, Your Holiness.”

After the secret investigator left, the Pope looked again at Chiaramonti: “So, Muzareli has gained the full support of the Emperor of Sanctum?”

“It’s very likely, Your Holiness.”

Pope Pius VI’s expression turned extremely gloomy: “What shall we do? Punish the Austrians?”

“No, Your Holiness, that is certainly not the best strategy.”