The Restoration of Rome: In the Name of Augustus

Chapter 12 Night Escape

"Three hours," Assassin repeated the time, his voice low. "Jaber...we were all used."

He turned to Accord and Lyon: "The plans have changed. We'll wait here until nightfall. From now on, your breathing and footsteps must follow my rhythm."

As night fell, the white figure that had been sitting motionless like a statue all afternoon suddenly stood up without warning.

"Keep up."

The assassins vanished into the night like ghosts.

He remained completely still, indistinguishable from a rock, until the footsteps of the patrolling soldiers on the city wall faded into the distance, then darted out like a gecko, using the faint blind spot created by the alternating light of the two torches to slip into the next shadow.

He ordered Lyon and Accord to follow in his footsteps and imitate his rhythm.

They stopped in front of a cliff face covered with withered vines and emitting a foul stench.

He parted the vines, revealing a rusty cast iron grille behind it, almost blending into the rock face. There seemed to be an emblem branded on it, but it was long since blurred.

Lyon touched the emblem, mustered his courage, and whispered to the Assassins, "This is... a drain from the Roman era? After all this time, is it still usable?"

"able."

Assassin opened the grille and climbed in first, while Lyon, urged on by Accord's encouraging gaze, hesitated before following.

As the grille was closed by the last Accord to enter, the whole world seemed to be instantly emptied.

A strong stench assaulted my senses, and every breath became a torment that required courage.

Beneath my feet was nearly half a foot of silt, soft and slippery, with a strange sucking sensation, like a man-eating swamp.

Lyon could only crawl down, struggling to emerge from the cold, sticky chaos using his elbows and knees.

The Assassins nimbly navigated one fork in the road after another, finally emerging from a faintly lit opening.

Lyon and Accord stumbled out one after the other, collapsing onto the damp ground, the rough stone slabs beneath them providing a reassuring sense of solidity.

Just then, a series of orderly footsteps, mixed with the rustling sound of metal scales rubbing together, extinguished this brief moment of ecstasy like ice water.

Assassin reacted extremely quickly, grabbing Lyon and Accord's collars with both hands like iron clamps, lifting them up roughly, and then throwing them together into the shadows of a narrow crack in the wall with an irresistible force.

The three bodies were embedded tightly in the crack in the wall.

It was a patrol team. Fortunately, they didn't head towards where the three were hiding, but instead passed by and disappeared into the alley in the distance.

Assassin turned his head and whispered, "I need to go back to the outpost to get some things. Wait here for me."

"Wait, sir... warrior," Jacob hesitated, "your 'outpost' must be heavily guarded, or even... a trap. If you unfortunately... fall victim to their poison, who will cure us?"

"Then there's no need to undo it. Just wait to die," Assassin coldly uttered before his figure vanished in an instant.

Time seemed to stand still in the dark corner.

Accord's breathing was heavy and disordered, sounding particularly jarring in the deathly silence. Leon could feel his uncle's arm, which was pressed tightly against his, trembling slightly.

Just then, Accord jerked as if burned, almost standing up. Lyon instinctively grabbed his wrist tightly.

Accord snapped in a low voice, "Fool, if you don't run now, when will you?"

Lyon gripped Accord's hand tightly, shaking his head: "Have you forgotten about the poison?! The poison!"

"I don't care if it's poisonous or not, I've had enough!" Accord gritted his teeth and said bitterly, "This guy is inhuman, completely unreasonable, I'm not putting up with him anymore! So be it, let him take the hit. We'll just hug each other, God help us, we'll get through it. Maybe he's just bluffing, how could he possibly have such a miraculous poison?"

"Then—run?"

Having made up their minds, the two acted swiftly. Accord led the way, with Lyon close behind, and they crouched low in the darkness, making their way through the alleys and streets.

"Let's go to the port, hide there until morning, and see if we can catch a merchant ship bound for Jerusalem or Constantinople."

Lyon nodded; they really didn't have a better option.

Suddenly, the ground began to tremble violently, the vibrations caused by hundreds of military boots treading on the stone slabs.

Then came the countless rhythmic scraping sounds of armor, as soldiers wielding scimitars and round shields surged in all directions like a tide, while the clear, sharp echo of taut bowstrings resounded overhead.

"Over here!"

Their lungs gurgled like broken bellows, and soldiers surged forth from behind them like hunting dogs that had caught the scent of blood; their footsteps and shouts were already close at hand.

Lyon's legs felt like they were made of lead; every step he took felt like his last.

They frantically turned into a narrow alley, but at the end of the alley, countless torches suddenly appeared, accompanied by the rustling of armor and boots. The light they emitted was as bright as day, dispelling all the darkness, and Lyon and Accord's figures were instantly exposed to the sight of the armored soldiers.

In that moment of utter despair, Accord let out a short, sharp gasp, as if it were choking.

His gaze was fixed on the robe of the leading knight, which was embroidered not with Arabian scimitars and crescent moons, but with…

"The Toulous family crest?!"

Immediately afterwards, the torchlight illuminated the knight's gaunt face, weathered yet exuding a scholarly and serene air.

"My God..." Jacob's voice trembled with extreme shock and ecstasy; he almost screamed, "Earl Raymond?! What are you doing here?!"

The middle-aged knight, known as Earl Raymond, frowned slightly, his sharp gaze quickly sweeping over the two disheveled "European faces," one large and one small, being chased by Muslim soldiers.

His gaze lingered on Jacob's face for a moment, as if he recognized this priest who didn't quite look like one, and he looked incredulous:

"Jesus above, Jacob, aren't you the choir leader in Constantinople? What are you doing here?" His gaze then shifted to little Lyon beside him, his expression strange. "And with a child? Did you stumble upon some noblewoman's bed while singing?"

Accord chuckled wryly, "It's a long story, but my friends behind me don't have the patience!"

Raymond nodded, and with a mere wave of his hand, his knights sprang into action, forming an impregnable barrier between Lyon, Accord, and their pursuers. The Latin accents Raymond and his knights spoke, familiar to them, sounded more powerful and moving than any hymn at that moment.

A Latin proverb flashed through Lyon's mind: "Fortune favors the brave."