Cardinal Fonseca stood in silence after learning that the man before him was the Sultan of the Ottoman Empire. Within him, centuries of inherited enmity clashed in a storm of memory—but in the young man's eyes, he saw not hostility, but determination.
At last, he lifted his head and turned to Murat.
"So… you're after Leonardo as well," he said, his voice laced with both awe and a trembling acceptance.
Murat nodded slowly. Fonseca studied his face, as though trying to read the young man's heart through his eyes.
"The enemy of my enemy is my friend," he continued. "But how can I trust you…?"
Murat didn't avert his gaze. He answered in a calm but resolute tone:
"I don't need your trust, Your Eminence. Don't misunderstand me. My men and I have the strength to defeat Leonardo on our own—and by Allah's will, we will."
Fonseca couldn't help but smile inwardly. Yes… definitely a Turk.
After a moment's silence, he took a deep breath and lowered his head, as if remembering the weight on his shoulders.
"I, too, want Leonardo to pay for his crimes," he said. "But right now, he is a cardinal within the Vatican. You cannot touch him. And while I am away… he might already be working to become Pope."
His gaze sharpened as it met Murat's.
"And if he becomes Pope…" he continued, his voice cracking, "then removing him will be impossible. That is why… we must act together. If you stand with me, I can get you into the Vatican. May God forgive me, but… I must do this. Perhaps our meeting here is no accident—but divine design."
Murat paused to think. He looked down at a pebble half-buried beneath his boot. A temporary alliance… could work. It might be the only way to get inside and close to Leonardo.
"Perhaps," he finally said. "But I need to hear your terms first."
Fonseca straightened, adjusting his robe. His voice grew formal, firm.
"You will not harm anyone besides Leonardo. The sanctity of the Vatican must remain untouched. No blood is to be shed within its walls. Once you get him out… do what you must. But his shadow must not stain holy ground."
Murat's brow tightened. For a warrior, such terms felt like heavy chains. But this wasn't just another war. This was about a sacred relic—a stolen legacy—and a darkness that thrived behind the veil of holiness.
"Very well," he said. "But I have a condition of my own."
Fonseca listened intently.
"After Leonardo is dealt with, every property, chamber, and vault he owns—whether in the Vatican or Rome—will be turned over to me. I am searching for a sacred relic that belongs to my homeland. Reclaiming it is my right."
Fonseca considered this for a moment, then nodded. "A fair request."
He slowly raised his eyes toward the heavens, crossed himself, and said:
"In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit—I swear I shall not break my word."
Murat placed his right hand over his heart. His eyes were firm, his voice unwavering:
"By the name of the Allah and His Prophet Muhammad peace be upon him—I, too, swear not to break mine."
Thus, an impossible alliance was sealed. Once opposing faiths now stood shoulder to shoulder against a common enemy. Yet both knew—this alliance was forged only for one war. And the war had not yet begun.
After the oaths were made, Murat turned his eyes toward the prisoner still kneeling at his feet. Slowly, he drew his sword; the steel sang as it left its scabbard, echoing with the cold promise of death. The blade hovered over the captive's forehead, steady in a hand that did not waver.
"If you answer quickly and truthfully," Murat said in an icy tone, "I'll grant you a swift death."
The man's eyes widened in terror. His lips cracked dry, his voice caught in his throat.
"I-I'll talk! Please, I'll talk!" he stammered.
Murat remained motionless for a moment, then called out behind him.
"Kasim! Come here!"
Kasim, who had been assisting in the burial of the dead, raised his head and quickly approached Murat. His eyes were sharp with resolve.
"At your command, my Sultan," he said, taking his place beside him.
Murat gave a crisp instruction: "I'm going to question this man. I want you to observe him—tell me if he's lying."
Kasim glanced at the prisoner, then bowed his head. "Yes, my Sultan." His gaze was locked, already reading the man's body language.
Fonseca said nothing—but he watched closely. Every word that escaped Leonardo's man could shape the fate of the Vatican. Trusting his instincts, he chose not to interfere with Murat's methods.
Murat asked the first question:
"Did Leonardo send you here to kill the Cardinal?"
The man nodded quickly. "Yes," he whispered hoarsely.
Murat gave a slow nod. Then came the second question:
"And the Pope? Did he kill him too?"
The man trembled. He averted his gaze. "I don't know… I was only told to kill Fonseca. I never even saw the Pope. The order came from Leonardo's loyal servant."
Murat narrowed his eyes. "What is this servant's name? Where can we find him?"
The man swallowed. After a moment of silence, he answered:
"His name is Paulo… He runs a brothel in Rome. It's called 'Red Lips.' I swear, that's all I know!"
By the time he finished, sweat streamed down his face.
Murat turned to Kasim.
Kasim gave a slight nod. "I heard it all, my Sultan. He speaks the truth."
Murat calmly turned back and locked eyes with the prisoner. Without a word, he raised his blade and executed a single, elegant stroke. The man's head fell from his shoulders without a scream, without resistance. Only silence remained.
He wiped the blood from his blade and slid it back into its sheath. The crisp mountain air slowly carried away the iron scent of blood.
Then he turned to Fonseca and fixed his eyes on him.
"It seems," he said with conviction, "we now know our first target. This Paulo… If we can find him and make him speak before a court, we can reveal every crime Leonardo has committed. We'll stop him from becoming Pope—and I will deliver his punishment myself."
Fonseca was silent. His eyes lingered on the lifeless body, then slowly returned to Murat.
"A sound plan," he said quietly. "And perhaps this time… justice will finally be done."