Chapter 715: Repent!
The crowds already waiting for All Saints' Day Mass began to flood into St. Peter's Square like a tide.
Schmitz discarded his newspaper and, instead of joining the surging crowd, turned towards a side entrance on the cathedral's south side.
At the entrance, several Swiss Guards stopped him, calling out loudly:
"Stop! You can't enter here."
As an Austrian, Schmitz could barely understand Italian. He immediately pulled a folded document from his pocket and handed it over:
"I was sent by Deacon Ercole to take care of some matters and returned late. You must let me in; I'm supposed to carry the candelabra during today's Mass. Oh, I'm in the fifth seat of the third row."
He spoke in Latin.
He had never imagined that the things he learned during his aristocratic education as a child would one day prove useful.
A guard squad leader looked at his clerical robes, carefully examined the document, and then signaled his subordinates to conduct a quick pat-down before letting him into the cathedral.
His mind couldn't help but recall the day he met Domenic in a small tavern—the first member of the "organization" he had encountered.
Schmitz had originally only intended to confront the Pope directly about betraying the Crusaders, but the "organization" had offered him a more "direct" option.
A radical organization claiming to restore the prestige of the Holy See.
They were dissatisfied with the Pope's weakness.
They mocked the Pope for ascending through bribery.
They condemned the Pope for refusing to acknowledge Poland's Holy War!
And so, Schmitz joined them.
The difference was that those in the "organization" only dared to speak, while he was willing to sacrifice his life for certain matters!
As Schmitz rounded the corner, he shed his clerical robes and donned the wig he had prepared, instantly transforming from a priest into the image of an Italian nobleman.
Indeed, the cathedral was too crowded, and priests each had their duties; any unusual movement would be noticed, making it impossible to act.
The area in front of the Pope, occupied by the high nobility, was the optimal choice.
He recalled the route the "organization" had planned for him, moving past windows and through narrow doors in corners until he saw the flower garden, encountering no one along the way.
Schmitz fumbled around the third fountain to the left of the flower garden for a moment, then pulled out a waist-high black cloth package. He glanced around cautiously, and once he confirmed no one was present, quickly tucked it into his jacket.
The hard feel of the cloth package clearly told him it contained an M1741 Chasseur Rifle. However, for easier concealment, both its stock and barrel had been sawn short.
After slipping out the last French window, Schmitz found himself standing beneath the cathedral wall, as melodious music immediately drifted from the northeast.
All Saints' Day Mass had already begun.
Schmitz held a Bible to his chest to conceal the outline beneath his clothes, then blended in with the nobles on the square from the rear side.
After a series of opening rites, Pope Pius VI finally arrived on the high platform in front of St. Peter's Basilica's main entrance, surrounded by several cardinals.
Schmitz took a deep breath and began to shift his position, ensuring that the ceremonial priests in front wouldn't obstruct his view.
"Hey, watch it!" a glamorous noblewoman in her thirties exclaimed, turning her head in annoyance after he bumped into her. But when she saw his melancholic brown eyes, she paused. "Oh, you're quite unfamiliar, handsome sir."
Schmitz turned back and said in Latin:
"Schmitz. Otto Moltke von Schmitz."
Seeing him shift forward and to the side, the noblewoman immediately followed, smiling as she, too, spoke in Latin:
"You're not from Rome? Ah, let me guess, you're full of artistic flair, so you can't be from Upper Germany..."
Pius VI began to recite the Holy Word in a loud voice.
Schmitz also found his optimal angle, then turned and handed the Bible he was holding to the noblewoman.
"Oh, thank you. You must be very pious, aren't you?" the noblewoman said with a charming smile. "I know! You must be Dutch, from the land that produced Master Eyck.
"By the way, you can call me Stephanie. I'm from Lampedusa..."
As she spoke, she saw the handsome young man reach a hand into his collar.
She immediately feigned shyness:
"Are you... planning to surprise me?"
The next moment, the "handsome Dutchman" pulled a long, narrow object from his coat, shaking off the black cloth covering it. It was—
A gun, gleaming coldly.
"Ah—no!"
Schmitz raised the gun, pointed it at Pius VI, and shouted with the loudest voice he could muster:
"You who twist God's prophecies are unworthy to be His representative on Earth! Repent!"
His finger squeezed the trigger.
The flint struck the pan sharply, and furious sparks ignited the gunpowder in the barrel.
Bang!
Almost instantly, a cardinal to Pius VI's left yelled, "Watch out!" and slammed his shoulder into the Pope.
Thwack!
Blood spattered.
The cardinal and Pius VI tumbled to the ground together.
Schmitz had no chance to reload, so after firing, he threw the M1741 to the ground, snatched the Bible back from Stephanie's hands, raised it high, and cried out:
"May God protect the holy Crusaders! The Holy War shall achieve glorious victory!"
Nobles, priests, and guards from all sides instantly rushed at him:
"Catch him quickly!"
"Assassin!"
"Don't let him escape!"
Before anyone could get close, Schmitz pulled a small knife from his pocket and, without hesitation, plunged it into his own chest.
"Herbert... No one... can take away your glory..."
The young man clutching the Bible collapsed, and the entire square instantly erupted with screams, curses, and cries for help, as thousands of people, like an unleashed swarm of bees, began to push and run chaotically in every direction.
Five hours later.
Pius VI, whose face had only just regained a bit of color, looked at the Holy See's Chief of Secret Police, saying with lingering trepidation:
"Who sent the assassin? Why did they want to kill me?"
The cardinal who had pushed him aside had been shot in the right shoulder, splattering his face with blood; the coppery scent of it still lingered in his nostrils.
The secret agent gestured for the doctor to leave, then bowed to the Pope and said:
"The assassin's name is Schmitz, Your Holiness. Based on the belongings we found in the hotel where he stayed, he appears to be an officer from South Germany."
Archbishop Chiaramonti, who stood nearby, immediately frowned and asked:
"Austria?"
Pius VI nodded thoughtfully, then instructed the Chief of Secret Police: "Investigate this thoroughly at once."
"Yes, Your Holiness."
The agent departed, and the Pope looked at Chiaramonti again. "So, Muzarelli has already secured the full support of the Holy Roman Emperor?"
"It's highly probable, Your Holiness."
Pius VI's expression turned exceedingly grim. "What should we do? Punish the Austrians, or declare support for Poland's war?"
"Neither, Your Holiness, I believe, is the best strategy."
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