Chapter 254 205: The Lanzafame Family

For him, dealing with a greenhorn like this was all too easy.

He was confident that in all of Pisa, only his father, Cesare, was worthy of his serious consideration. Everyone else was beneath his notice.

"I don't think I need to remind you all how foolish and shortsighted the common poor are. They see only immediate gain. To them, the future isn't worth as much as a moldy loaf of black bread.

Offer them the slightest benefit, and they'll swarm around our backsides like dogs, ready to be ordered about. They're only a small step above slaves.

Although I am loath to imagine our great Administrative Officer Cesare and his family in this light, as a member of the Governance Council, I still have a duty to remind you all of a simple historical fact.

The last person to so thoroughly court the favor of the poor was Caesar, a thousand years ago. And for a few mouthfuls of bread, the poor of Rome sold the Republic to him.

Their ancestors drove out the arrogant Tuckwin, only to welcome a Caesar as Emperor. What a supreme irony!

Those who trade freedom for bread will, in the end, lose both!" Simone roared again.

This roar elicited a huge reaction.

Some council members began to shout, "Tyrant! Tyrant!" "This is our Pisa!" "Repubblica di Pisa!"

"What were you about to say, Rolando? Please continue," Chief Justice Soderini said, trying to rescue him.

"My point is, we don't need to look abroad to find those who despise the prosperous Pisa we have built.

He may have already put a price on Pisa and sold it to the Marquis of Canossa." Rolando turned to face the crowd once more.

He tried to shift everyone's attention to Simone, but his words clearly lacked Simone's force.

"I hope you're not insinuating something about someone present here, Lanfranchi boy," one of the council members said. "A non-member accusing a member of the Governance Council is grounds for imprisonment."

"Come now, Lord Cellini, why be so harsh with a young man? His wisdom comes only from books; it hasn't been tested by life. And don't forget, his surname is Lanfranchi. He is the son of our great Administrative Officer, the most powerful Governor in history, Cesare.

Therefore, we must forgive him," Simone said with a smile.

"Don't be so cruel, Simone. Relax, Rolando. The council members present have no intention of making an enemy of your family."

"Yes, the Lanfranchi Family has paid a high price to secure such loyalty." Simone stared at that council member, and the man who had supported Rolando lowered his head.

"I... I meant no offense to any of you esteemed gentlemen. But I am certain that if my father were here, war is not a result he would want to see."

"Ah yes, the great Cesare Lanfranchi," Simone said with a sneer, twisting the ring on his finger.

Rolando forced himself to look away, trying his best to keep his emotions in check.

"Pisa's situation is not good. How many idle people are in the city right now?

If we start a war, everything will get worse. More people will lose their jobs. How many families will be consumed by the flames of war? How many widows will wail for husbands who died on the battlefield? How many children will lose their fathers?

Life has weight. Everyone in Pisa is already struggling just to survive.

I ask... I ask the Governance Council to grant me time. I will find a way to identify the culprit behind this attack. To prevent another crime from being committed."

"Then let us vote," Soderini said, rising to his feet.

In the end, the Governance Council voted 23 to 22 to approve his request. But he was only given three days. If he couldn't find the culprit within three days, the Council would hold a vote on going to war.

After the vote, they walked out of the mansion.

Simone clapped Rolando on the shoulder.

"You can't win against me, kid."

"You'll be the ruin of Pisa," Rolando said, pushing him away.

"Then at least it will be ruined by my hands," Simone roared with laughter, pleased with Rolando's reaction.

Rolando didn't want to argue with him and headed toward the chaotic streets.

The narrow, muddy streets, the filth underfoot nauseating, were contrasted by the stunning houses of the rich on the other side. It was like two different worlds.

On some streets, houses and shops were packed so closely together they nearly touched above the muddy paths, casting everything into shadow.

Some bodies were being collected by pushcarts—people who had died on the streets from unknown diseases or starvation. The carts were mostly pushed by desperate-looking men, themselves terrified of both hunger and the deadly stench rising from the dead around them.

Rolando turned to look at Pisa's walls. They were a pale, bone-white yellow, and her towers stood proudly, each one only a lazy arrow's flight from the next.

Pisa now was like a corpse that had not yet been fully placed in its coffin, but was already beginning to rot.

Suddenly, a tattered-looking street vendor blocked Rolando's path and bowed respectfully to him.

"The son of Cesare de' Lanfranchi?"

"Yes. Is something wrong?" Rolando returned the bow respectfully, despite the man's strange odor. The teeth he revealed were yellowed and filthy.

"Thank God that arrow didn't pierce your brother's heart."

"Thank you for your concern, friend." Rolando's mood lifted slightly. He nodded and patted the man's shoulder.

'Still, I have to quickly bring the Governance Council's decision to my brother.'

But the vendor blocked Rolando's path once more.

"I am not your friend, Lord Lanfranchi. If that arrow had pierced your brother's heart, it would have bounced right off the stone!"

With that, the vendor spat a thick glob of phlegm at Rolando.

"Everyone, over here! This is Cesare's son! A Lanfranchi!" the vendor shouted.

The name Lanfranchi quickly drew a crowd of nearby citizens.

"What are you doing?" Rolando asked, not understanding the vendor's actions.

"He gave the workers and citizens loans, demanding repayment in two years, but then he recalled them all within a week! I worked my fingers to the bone, but with a stroke of his pen, I lost my entire business, and my family has to sleep on the streets!" the vendor continued, pointing to a mother and daughter huddled in rags in a nearby corner.

"The Lanfranchi are liars! I was cheated too! I was forced to mortgage my daughter!"

"He's a Lanfranchi! Look at his silk clothes! And we have nothing!"

"They're full of lies! What credit! What 'chance for the have-nots'! They took everything from us to fill their own bellies!"

"Usurers! Jews!"

"They're worse than Jews! Antichrists!"

"..."

The crowd was incensed.

"There must be some misunderstanding. My brother would never do such a thing!" Rolando said urgently, looking at the vendor.

"No, there's no misunderstanding. Look at the people around you. Do they deserve to live on the streets? I know many merchants who also lost everything because of you!

You and your brother, and your father too—you're all Scorpions! All Demons! You only care about profit, even though you package yourselves so prettily.

You've betrayed your great-grandfather and your grandfather! They would never have done this! The arrows they shot came from Heaven!

Because they knew that when they had nothing, it was Pisa that took them in!

But you, their descendants, have made the Pisans into have-nots!"

"Beat him!"

"Teach him a lesson!"

"Send him to Hell!"

"..."

The people surged toward Rolando, shouting. A wave of pain instantly washed over his entire body as he was kicked to the ground.

The metallic taste of blood quickly spread through his throat and nose.

The filth on the ground and the stench of rotting corpses enveloped him, making it hard to breathe.

Just as the pain was about to overwhelm his consciousness, the clamor in his ears stopped, and the pain began to subside.

The people around him had stopped moving.

Rolando tried to struggle to his feet, but the pain was too much.

"Do you need help?"

A voice sounded in Rolando's ear.

He forced his swollen eyes open. Through his blurry vision, he saw a young man dressed as a Cultivator.

The young Cultivator extended a hand to him.