Chapter 49: Celebrate
Leshert finally managed to clean up the entire Papal States before Rome’s invitation arrived in Florence.
The diligent and conscientious Knight Commander led the surviving 2,100 soldiers back to Florence. Before leaving the Holy City, there had been 3,500 of them. Those who had died on the battlefield were carefully buried by their comrades, and a cemetery was built nearby. All that was brought back was a small wooden tag—crafted from sturdy, heavy ironwood, about an inch long and half an inch wide. It was engraved with the bearer’s name, rank, commanding officer, and unit, serving as proof of identity.
The soldiers joked that these were like the name tags noblemen put on their dogs, but everyone carefully hung their tag around their neck.
If one were unfortunate enough to be blown to pieces by cannon fire, with their faces disfigured or their limbs torn off, at least this dogtag could prove their identity.
Over a thousand of these “dog tags” returned to Florence with the army. They would be returned to the families of the fallen soldiers, who could use them to claim regular pensions and benefits from the Papal Palace.
When the iconic, towering bell tower of the Cathedral of the Holy Thorn came into distant view, all the soldiers couldn’t help but raise their hands and cheer. They shouted and screamed wildly, embraced their comrades, and kissed each other passionately on the face, expressing their joy incoherently.
They had finally survived those horrific battlefields and returned to their home.
Leshert waited patiently for their celebration. Mounted on his horse, he looked out at the gray walls of Florence from afar. A thin mist shrouded the sky above Florence like a veil. The sun shone through the clouds, and under the Tyndall effect, beams of distinct golden light bloomed. Most of the buildings in the Holy City were white, with marble exteriors. When the churches stood tall in the sky with their Thorned Wings, countless white doves circled them. The city echoed with the faint singing of the choir children, their tender, pure, and soaring voices reaching the heavens like a fairy tale lullaby calling to the angels.
This was the embodiment of sacred hope, the embodiment of happiness on Earth. God had placed His throne on the barren mountaintop, telling all who came to pilgrimage: “Here I shall build my city, and My banner shall fly over the world. Only the most devout may enter here to find peace and receive My blessings.”