The August heatwave transformed into a viscous fog at midnight, steeping the beech forests at the southern foot of the Alps in a dark green, cage-like hue. The flickering candlelight within the carriage lamp suddenly became erratic, and the hairs on the back of the passenger's neck stood on end.
The coachman's scream tore through the silence, as a sticky liquid began to seep through the cracks of the carriage door, winding its way in and outlining crimson patterns on the blanket.
The carriage lost control, careening wildly down the narrow forest path at an extreme speed before overturning heavily by the roadside. The Visconti serpent-emblazoned flag, impaled on the carriage shaft, had long since been torn to shreds by arrows.
As the last guard's body slammed heavily onto the muddy ground, the escapee, who had scrambled out of the carriage, suddenly realized that the pursuers were intentionally driving her into this eerie, terrifying mass grave.
"We'll go through!"
The escapee clutched the golden cross inherited from her mother, her fingertips cutting her skin from fear, but she paid no attention to it now.
Her personal maid trembled, following closely behind her mistress, just as the moonlight pierced through the clouds.
They then discovered three bodies, clad in Milanese plate armor, hanging upside down from the branches of an ancient oak tree twenty paces away; their deaths were quite gruesome.
Although the night was pitch black, those were undoubtedly the guards who had gone ahead to scout.
The escapee suddenly recalled that when she was seven, a fortune teller had grabbed her ink-stained hand and exclaimed, "On the night when the shadows of Gemini overlap, you will hear the oars of the Styx ferryman…!"
Now, the sound of oars truly rang out.
It wasn't from the so-called Styx, but the metallic tremor of twelve steel crossbows being simultaneously drawn.
"Lady Bianca…!"
The maid turned her head in confusion to look at her mistress, who had pushed her forward. The next moment, several crossbow bolts pierced her body.
The extreme pain caused the maid to lose her life before she could even scream.
And her dying cry revealed the escapee's identity—Bianca Maria Visconti, claimant to the throne of the Duchy of Milan.
She was on her way from Milan to her family's southern castle, but it seemed now that she wouldn't escape.
The newly established republic immediately issued a warrant for her arrest.
They were afraid, afraid of her husband's return.
Her husband, Francesco Sforza, was currently leading three thousand mercenaries from Savoy, rushing back to Milan day and night.
Bianca pulled out the steel rapier from her crinoline with a backhand, turning to run in another direction.
The jungle there was denser, and she hoped to escape into it to evade the pursuit.
Crossbow bolts flew from the side, grazing her cheek and leaving a bloody mark, as a few severed strands of golden hair slowly drifted in the air.
Bianca gritted her teeth and continued to run. She knew the enemy was toying with her, but she couldn't stop running or turn back to fight. She had to survive.
A crossbow bolt accurately pierced her left leg. Bianca cried out in pain and fell into the mud. She heard the crisp crunch of snail shells being crushed by the pursuers' boots.
Her dark red cloak was torn to shreds by thorns, revealing a Sicilian linen chemise embroidered with gold thread in the lining—this was a birthday gift from her late Duke father.
Five dark figures approached from different directions, all wearing the comical masks typically worn by Venetians during festivals.
However, in this atmosphere, the mysterious smiles on the masks appeared sinister and terrifying.
The leader tossed a blood-stained pocket watch in his hand; the Visconti Basilisk serpent on the watch cover was dripping blood, clearly a trinket recently plundered.
"My lady is quite the runner, worthy of a woman who has followed Lord Sforza onto the battlefield," the leader of the pursuers said with the exaggerated flair of a theater actor, his sword tip toying with a string of pearl necklaces. "Considering you are fleeing with so many treasures, we can let you die like a true princess."
Bianca stared at her pursuer, feeling an inexplicable sense of familiarity.
This escape should have been very secretive. She suddenly thought of someone and shouted resentfully, "Francesca Piccinino!"
Upon having his identity exposed, the leader removed his mask and smiled, meeting Bianca's gaze.
"You should have been loyal to Milan, why…!"
"My lady, are you joking? When your father ultimately chose Sforza, that fickle scoundrel, as his heir, my father could only die in grief and indignation. Think about it, when your husband betrayed Milan and defected to the Pope, defected to Venice, it was my father who turned the tide and saved Milan, but in the end, he received nothing, while your husband, like a wild dog, is about to gain all of Milan just for sleeping in the same bed with you!"
Piccinino realized he had lost his composure and immediately reverted to his hypocritical facade: "Now the Venetians and those fools in Milan are offering a hefty reward for your head; this is the end you deserve!"
Bianca suddenly felt a sense of release. Even if she was just an illegitimate daughter, she was ultimately the last bloodline of the Visconti family.
No matter how hard she tried to erase this lineage, it would remain unchanged in the eyes of others.
Her last consciousness lingered on the cold, sharp pain of Piccinino's sword piercing her chest.
In a daze, Bianca seemed to see the white doves she had released in the courtyard of Monza Cathedral when she was fourteen—now those birds were gushing from her wound, each feather stained with glowing blood beads, flying towards the crescent moon swallowed by dark clouds.
"Mr. Piccinino, I hope you won't forget our agreement."
"Of course, I won't forget! I'm just a bit worried if the Emperor's promise counts."
Piccinino turned to look at the Austrian beside him, his mood quite complex.
He never expected that the Emperor's envoy would seek out a minor figure like him.
Francesca Piccinino was the second son of Niccolò Piccinino, a renowned Milanese mercenary general.
Not long ago, General Piccinino, an important Anjou general who unfortunately died in the siege of Naples, whose real name was Jacob Piccinino, was his own elder brother.
Niccolò Piccinino had served Milan during his lifetime. After Sforza married Bianca, he angrily left and served Duke Rene of Anjou (Good King Rene), becoming an enemy of the King of Aragon and the Duke of Milan.
After Duke Rene of Anjou (Good King Rene) was completely defeated, he was recalled by the Duke of Milan and reorganized the mercenary group in Milan, while the troops in Naples were handed over to his eldest son, Jacob, to continue serving the Anjou nobility of Naples.
Afterward, Niccolò led his army to battle Sforza, who had defected to Venice, but failed to win. He died shortly thereafter in grief and resentment, entrusting the mercenary group in Milan to his second son, Francesca Piccinino.
After Niccolò's death, Sforza returned to Milan, and Duke Filippo then placed Piccinino's mercenary group under Sforza, uniting the two most effective mercenary groups of the Duchy of Milan.
Previously, the Duke of Savoy was attacked by the Duke of Burgundy. According to the alliance between Milan and Savoy, Sforza was ordered to lead several thousand mercenaries to assist, while Piccinino was assigned the task of remaining and defending Milan.
He had over a thousand men under his command, stationed near Milan.
When Duke Filippo died, the city was in an uproar.
Piccinino, not wanting to get involved, negotiated with the newly established republican government. They would provide military supplies, and Piccinino would continue to protect Milan.
Originally, that was the end of the matter, and Piccinino had no other thoughts.
Sforza was still rushing back with his army. Only when he returned and contended with the wealthy people in the city could Piccinino decide who to ultimately support.
However, the arrival of the Emperor's envoy showed him a third path.
"Fulfill your father's last wish? Become a true noble with vast lands and many castles?"
To be honest, Piccinino's heart immediately stirred when he heard the Austrian envoy's words. The Emperor was even willing to promise him large tracts of land around Brescia, as long as he provided assistance and turned against his current allies when the Emperor needed it.
Of course, the most important thing was to eliminate Sforza. Once this significant threat was removed, how could those scholars and merchants in Milan, who had never even touched a sword, possibly be a match for mercenaries?
Now the first step was complete. With Bianca dead, Sforza had no legitimate claim to seize and rule Milan, and things would be easier from now on.
Piccinino ordered his subordinates to cut off Bianca's head and handed it to the Austrian: "I hope the Emperor truly keeps his promise as you said."
"You do not need to repeatedly question this. The Emperor does not lack land, and those who perform meritorious deeds will naturally receive generous rewards—our generous Majesty will not mistreat meritorious officials like the stingy Duke of Milan."
This touched Piccinino's heart. He nodded slightly, then turned to look at the headless corpse on the ground, muttering, "I wonder if the Venetians will honor this. Take this too; if we can exchange it for money, share it among the brothers. How much was the bounty again?"
"A thousand ducats, General," his subordinate replied, carrying the body.
"Tsk, tsk, the Duke's daughter is indeed different. Mr. Envoy, you see I've given you this head, can you…?"
The Austrian envoy's face darkened. If they were to take the corpse to exchange for money, everyone would know who killed Sforza's wife the next day. This was clearly forcing him to pay.
These mercenary leaders were all greedy for money.
Fortunately, his superior had anticipated this situation. He pulled a bag of gold coins from his waist and threw it to Piccinino: "Five hundred florins (florins and ducats are basically equivalent), that's all there is. There are still many valuables in the carriage, just take them back with you. Be careful not to leave any traces when fencing them."
"Alright, then we part ways here."
With a glance from Piccinino, his subordinates immediately began digging a pit, preparing to bury the body on the spot.
"You must act cautiously."
"Yes, yes, I understand."
The Austrian looked at the perfunctory Piccinino, sighed softly, wrapped Bianca's head in a black cloth, and set off to report back to his superior.