Creed Of Heaven

Chapter 5: The Siege of Monteriggioni 

The clamor of battle cries and the boom of cannon fire jolted Lu Xiao awake from a dead sleep. Shaking his groggy head, he scrambled out of bed and yanked the door open. Chaos had swallowed the Auditore manor—inside and out. 

The air thrummed with tension, the distant shouts and crashes rattling the stone walls. He stumbled into the hall, barefoot on the cold floor, his heart pounding as the reality sank in—Monteriggioni was under siege. 

Outside, Mario's booming voice roared over the training yard, hyping up the troops. "Mercs! Send those gutless bastards packing—show 'em who owns Monteriggioni!" His words cut through the din like a blade, raw and commanding, rallying the men as the first streaks of dawn bled over the horizon. 

Sure, he was a noble, but Mario didn't give a damn about acting prim. His rough, carefree vibe and foul mouth clicked with the rowdy mercenaries. Clad in patched leather armor, they let out a fired-up war yell, jogging toward the walls under their squad leaders' orders. These weren't polished knights; they were scrappy fighters, hardened by years of scrabbling for coin and survival. 

"Mario!" Lu Xiao called out, catching the Monteriggioni lord mid-stride as he headed for the ramparts. "We're under attack? Who's hitting us?" His voice cracked slightly, still thick with sleep, but he jogged to keep pace, the chill air biting at his lungs. 

"Ha!" Mario's face twisted into a sneer, a cold laugh tugging at his lips. "Who else? The Templars' lapdogs—the Pazzi clowns." His good eye glinted with disdain, the scar over the blind one twitching as he spat the name like a curse. 

"Pazzi family?" Lu Xiao swore he'd heard that name before, but his brain couldn't quite place it. The 'Assassin's Creed' lore was a sprawling mess in his memory—names and factions jumbled from late-night gaming binges. 

"Long story. Walk and talk," Mario said, not breaking pace. He waved Lu Xiao along as they hustled to the walls, tossing out a quick rundown on the Pazzi crew. 

The Pazzi were another noble family rooted in Tuscany and Florence, like the Auditores. They'd climbed the ladder through banking too, and that overlap had sparked bad blood between the clans ages ago. "Auditores are Assassins, Pazzi are Templars. Even without the banking beef, we'd never get along," Mario said, his tone hard as steel. "Since the 14th century, the Pazzi have had it out for us. They threw their weight behind the Templars when they raided Monteriggioni back in the day." He gripped his sword hilt as he spoke, knuckles whitening, like the memory fueled his every step. 

"Those dimwits still don't know the Shroud's long gone—moved in secret. Every few years, they round up some grunts, attack the city, and try to snatch whatever Brotherhood Eden Piece they think we've got stashed, hoping to kiss up to their bosses." Mario snorted, shaking his head as they reached the wall's edge. Below, the fields stretched out, dotted with the Pazzi's advancing line—ragged banners flapping in the wind, cannon smoke curling into the air. 

Mario was a brute with a brain—passionate about the Brotherhood's cause, always on the move for it. He'd poured everything into the Italian Assassins. 

But as a lord? He sucked at it. Monteriggioni was falling apart—walls crumbling, no real siege defenses. The Pazzi's cannons were already punching holes in the shoddy stonework. Lu Xiao winced as a chunk of masonry tumbled free, dust billowing where it hit. The town's defenses were a patchwork mess, held together by grit and Mario's stubborn will. 

Still, the Pazzi were just one banking outfit among many. Their cannon stash was meager—barely enough to dent a run-down speck like Monteriggioni. The Auditores and Pazzi had clashed plenty before. Mario hit the walls and barked orders like clockwork, telling the archers to hunker behind the battlements and wait for the cannons to reload before raining hell. "Hold steady, lads—let 'em waste their shots!" His voice carried over the chaos, steadying the line as arrows were notched and bows creaked under tension. 

Cannons came to Europe via the Mongols in the 14th century. These early ones were junk—front-loaded, slow as hell to pack, and a pain to clean between shots. The solid balls they fired didn't pack much punch either. Lu Xiao watched a shot slam into the wall below, cracking stone but not breaching it. The Pazzi crews fumbled with powder and wadding, their shouts frantic as they reloaded under pressure. 

"Loose!" Mario yanked his longsword free and bellowed. The mercs behind the battlements drew their bows in sync, letting arrows fly. The twang of bowstrings snapped through the air, a deadly hum as shafts arced downward like a storm of splinters. 

Monteriggioni had no moat. The Pazzi's grunts shoved a battering ram forward, chanting as they slammed the gate. Arrows dropped from above, nailing or winging the guys working the siege gear. The ram thudded against the wood, a dull boom reverberating up to the ramparts, but the gate held—for now. Blood already stained the earth below, dark patches spreading where the fallen lay twitching or still. 

Mario's crew was a cut above the Pazzi's hired muscle—better trained, sharper in a scrap. Before the cannons could reload, wave after wave of arrows hit their marks, turning the ground below into a screaming mess. Lu Xiao's stomach churned at the sight—men crumpling, clutching shafts, their cries sharp and raw. This wasn't a game cutscene; it was real, messy, and loud. 

Lu Xiao had never seen real combat before. Watching the carnage, he froze for a second. 

'Gonna face this eventually. Might as well get my head straight now.' His hands shook as he clenched them, forcing the nausea down. He wasn't here to gawk—he had a job to do. 

Gritting his teeth, he grabbed a stiff longbow from the wall's weapon rack—rarely used, tough to draw. His arms flexed as he pulled the string taut, lining up a Pazzi officer barking orders from horseback. The bow was a beast, meant for power over finesse. His shoulders burned as he held it steady, muscles straining from months of training paying off. 

'"Suck it in…"' He held his breath, steadying himself against the natural sway of breathing. Clairvoyance wasn't just range—his dynamic vision was sharper too, tracking every move. The officer's red cloak fluttered as he rode, the plume on his helmet bouncing with each stride. Lu Xiao's eyes locked on, the world narrowing to that one target—every detail crisp, from the sweat on the man's brow to the reins gripped in his fist. 

The officer galloped between squads, his loud commands carrying up to the walls. Smart guy—positioned just past most archers' range. Lu Xiao's bow could stretch further, but it took serious muscle to wield. Mario's mercs were strong, but none were sharpshooters. They skipped this sniper-grade gear—too tricky to aim at full draw. Lu Xiao's arms trembled slightly, but he held firm, the string biting into his fingers as he adjusted his stance. 

"Hah!" Lu Xiao let out a sharp grunt as he fired. The feathered arrow screamed off the bow. The release snapped through him, a jolt of force that rippled from his core to his fingertips. 

Mario watched, expectant. One second later, the still-moving officer took it square in the forehead—no scream, just wide eyes as he toppled off the horse, dead. The arrow owned packed a punch. His body hit the ground with a dull thud, cloak splaying out like spilled wine. 

"Whoa!" The horse freaked, whinnying loud. The Pazzi grunts froze, then panicked as their commander bit it. Chaos rippled through their ranks. Shouts turned to curses, some dropping weapons to stare, others stumbling back as the line wavered. 

"Nice one!" Mario pumped a fist, grinning, but snapped back to business. "Keep shooting! Cavalry, with me—prep for a chase!" He clapped Lu Xiao's shoulder hard enough to stagger him, then turned to rally the riders forming up below. 

Predictably, the Pazzi fell apart without their officer. Some bolted right then, setting off a domino effect—soldiers scattering in a leaderless mess. Dust kicked up as they fled, trampling their own wounded in the rout. The cannons stood abandoned, crews peeling away to save their skins. 

'Creak!' Monteriggioni's hefty gate groaned open. Mario led the cavalry out himself, charging hard. "Forward! Big bounties are waiting!" His longsword gleamed as he spurred his horse, a hulking figure in patched armor tearing into the fray. The mercs followed, whooping like wolves on the hunt, their lances leveled. 

Cash was the mercs' fuel—nothing lit them up more. Mario, in his prime and fierce as hell, tore into the fleeing Pazzi, cutting them down. The fight was one-sided now—no contest. Blades flashed in the dawn light, blood arcing as the cavalry carved through the stragglers. Lu Xiao watched from above, the clash unfolding like a brutal dance—Mario at its center, relentless and unstoppable. 

Lu Xiao stayed on the wall, picking off the few Pazzi elites still holding their ground with precise bow shots. Small-time feudal scraps like this were all about shaky command chains—drop the head, and the body flops. 

Monteriggioni won big, even snagging five of the Pazzi's cannons as a bonus. He lined up another shot, Clairvoyance guiding his aim to a stubborn captain rallying men. The arrow flew true, dropping him mid-shout, and the last pocket of resistance broke. 

Mario was stoked, doling out the promised rewards like he'd said. The mercs whooped, piling into the town's tavern with their loot. Living with death on their heels, they didn't save—cash burned fast on booze and good times, since tomorrow wasn't guaranteed. The tavern's wooden doors banged open, laughter and clinking coins spilling out as the night turned rowdy. Lu Xiao could hear their songs from the wall, rough and off-key, celebrating a win they might not live to repeat. 

"Shame," Mario muttered, watching the rowdy bunch stumble off arm-in-arm. "I'm no good as a lord. Can't make this place thrive—don't even have a brothel for the boys to unwind." He leaned against the battlement, gazing out at the town's dim lights, his scarred face softening for a rare moment. Monteriggioni stretched below, a cluster of squat houses and empty streets, quiet now that the fight was done. 

Lu Xiao's mouth twitched. Coming from a modern, sanitized world, Mario's gripe threw him off. But in 15th-century Europe, brothels were standard—every decent-sized city had at least one. Monteriggioni's issue wasn't funds; Giovanni's banking kept Mario flush. What he lacked was the drive to build the place up. A remote dump with no draw, it couldn't pull traders or grow. The fields beyond were fertile, the hills rich with potential, but Mario's heart was in the fight, not the future. 

"Forget that," Mario said, shaking it off. He laughed, clapping Lu Xiao's shoulder with his usual gusto. "Come with me. I've got something cool to show you." 

His grin was back, wide and reckless, as he jerked his head toward the manor. Lu Xiao rubbed his aching shoulder, the adrenaline fading into a dull buzz, and followed, curiosity tugging him along through the settling dust of victory.