From Corsica to the Fourth Rome

"quack--"

The rough hissing of crows hovered in the woods. This group of scavengers that smelled the smell of blood had covered the branches, staring at the corpses below with pure black eyes.

"You're really fucking evil."

Grosso cursed and muttered, rummaging for an iron kettle to rinse the blood off his body.

Grosso, who personally participated in the battle just now, felt something strange. The fighting quality of this group of horse bandits was simply worrying. No one could survive three moves under his own hands.

Judging from their rudimentary equipment and low quality, they are more like a group of makeshift beggars and thugs than vicious horse bandits.

It would be okay if these people took risks for the sake of cartloads of silver coins, but their fighting power was actually aimed at intercepting and killing Lawrence, which was very intriguing.

Lawrence walked out of the carriage, waved his hand to blow away the strong smell of blood in front of his nose, found Grosso and asked with a frown:

"Has it been dealt with? How is the situation?"

Grosso wiped the blood on his body and said:

"A lot of them ran away, and the rest are basically dead, but there should still be a few alive."

As he spoke, Grosso randomly found a horse bandit who was lying on the ground, kicked off his robe to reveal his naked and skinny body, shook his head and said:

"But it's strange. Look at these people, they are as skinny as skin and bones. They probably can't even have a full meal on weekdays. I have never seen such miserable people in any place."

"Well, something is indeed wrong. Find me a living person and see if I can find out anything."

Lawrence nodded slightly and said, still preparing to get some information from these horse bandits.

Grosso also neatly carried a dying horse bandit to Lawrence, who was almost about to die. After that, he personally rode a draft horse to guard the area to avoid enemy reinforcements.

Lawrence glanced at the horse bandit's chest, which was still bleeding, and was too lazy to talk nonsense with him. After all, it was still unclear whether there would be a second wave of attacks here, so he said straight to the point:

"This is only half a journey from Versailles. If you go to Versailles and find a doctor, you might still be able to survive. Now, let me ask you an answer. If you are satisfied, I will take you with me. If not, you can just lie here and wait for the crows to peck you. Your eyes."

Although it was very miserable, the horse bandit nodded without hesitation.

Even being imprisoned in a dungeon and waiting to be sent to the guillotine is much better than having the crows peck open his chest bit by bit and eat his internal organs in this barren mountain.

"Who sent you here?" Lawrence asked coldly.

"Arco Lawton" the horse bandit struggled to spit out a very ordinary name, which sounded like the name of a small boss.

"Who do you belong to?" Lawrence continued to ask.

Hearing this question, the horse bandit paused for a moment, seeming to hesitate, but his desire to survive immediately defeated all thoughts, and he said slowly:

"I don't know his name. I just know he's called the King of Beggars and lives in the sewers of Paris. I haven't seen him either."

"The King of Beggars?"

Lawrence read the name nonchalantly.

A sewer rat may claim to be a king, but he is essentially just a gang leader.

For such a character, Lawrence could kill him with just one finger, not to mention a slap, and it was impossible for him to be so ignorant that he would send someone to attack and kill him.

After asking a series of questions, Lawrence probably got all the information these horse bandits knew.

They are all beggars, thieves or poor people active at the bottom of Paris, and they are all nominally under the so-called King of Beggars.

But tonight, they were suddenly summoned by their leader, who hurriedly asked them to ride horses to follow Lawrence's convoy and intercept them halfway.

Apart from this, these horse bandits knew nothing, and the leaders who summoned them did not tell them any additional information.

"What happened? Who did it?"

Grosso, who rode around on horseback, found nothing unusual. After returning to the convoy, he saw that Lawrence's questioning had ended, so he immediately stepped forward and asked.

"The person who directly ordered the attack was a gang leader."

Lawrence shook his head and said:

"What do you call the King of Beggars? He's just a rat in the sewers."

Grosso nodded. He had only been in Paris for a short time, so naturally he had no idea who the so-called King of Beggars was.

"So, we're going to start with this Beggar King?" Grosso asked.

"That's not necessary. I'm afraid he's just a thug. There must be someone else behind it." Lawrence still shook his head and said:

"But he actually dared to accept the order and send people to attack and kill me. It seems that after returning to Paris this time, he will conduct a rat eradication operation in the sewers."

Although Lawrence only has twenty precision shooters in Paris, as long as he spreads the word, I believe that both the military system and the police system will be happy to clean the sewers in Paris for him.

At this moment, several frightened coachmen nearby heard Lawrence's words, and hesitantly stepped forward and said:

"Sir, did you just say the King of Beggars?"

"Yes, do you know this person?"

Lawrence turned around and asked. These coachmen live in the market every day, and they must have a deeper understanding of these characters in the underground world.

The leading driver nodded and said:

"I don't know much, but this man is quite famous in the slums. Quite a few thieves and robbers work under him. It is said that thousands of people belong to him."

"Thousands of people? It seems that the backstage is tough enough." Lawrence nodded and said. For such a large gang to gather in Paris, there must be someone behind them to protect them.

"Yes, that's right." The coachman said immediately:

"Actually, the backstage of the King of Beggars is not even a secret in Paris. It is Jean Du Barry."

"Jean Du Barry?"

Lawrence was indeed a little surprised when he heard the name.

However, Lawrence was not surprised that Jean Du Barry was related to the King of Beggars. Since Jean Du Barry ran a large number of gray industries such as casinos and brothels, his hands would definitely not be very clean.

As for Jean Du Barry, who introduced Madame Du Barry into the upper class, although he did not have a particularly high status in the Duke Richelieu's faction, he was still considered a key member and protected a so-called King of Beggars. Of course it's not a problem.

What really surprised Lawrence was that Jean Du Barry was very likely to be related to the attack.

"Behind Jean Dubarry is the Duke Richelieu. The Duke of Richelieu will only order an attack on me unless he has a stroke. And if the Duke of Richelieu really wants to attack me, he will not send out such robbers."

Lawrence looked at the corpses and pools of blood on the ground, frowned and thought:

"And Jean Dubarry himself would not be stupid enough to do such a thing. I have no enmity with him, and killing me will not do him any good."

While Lawrence was deep in thought, Grosso suddenly discovered something and shouted loudly:

"Hey! Lawrence, come and take a look!"

Lawrence, who heard the shouting, immediately pulled away and ran to Grosso, who was gathering the horses left behind by the attackers.

Grosso patted a black horse in front of him, walked around the black horse with a serious expression, couldn't help but smacked his lips, and said:

"Boy, do you see something is wrong?"

Lawrence glanced at the tall horse, its smooth and shiny fur and strong limbs. His face suddenly showed surprise, and he nodded and said:

"This is quite a good horse."

After that, Lawrence took another look at the remaining horses. They were all strong and energetic, and their furs had been carefully taken care of, making them look smooth and comfortable.

Grosso nodded and said:

"These horses are all six or seven years old, and they are definitely among the best. Moreover, although I don't know what breed they are, their size must be the hunting horses used by noble gentlemen for hunting."

"A hunting horse for hunting?"

Lawrence raised his eyebrows and took a closer look at these horses that were all raised with the same body shape, and gradually finalized his idea in his mind.

Whether it is the King of Beggars or Jean Du Barry, their wealth and status cannot allow these beggars and poor people to come to intercept and kill them on hunting horses specially designed for nobles.

In other words, these horses must have been provided by someone else.

Combined with the background of Jean Du Barry, these hunting horses most likely came from the Duke Richelieu's mansion or manor.

And it is impossible for the Duke of Richelieu himself to make such an irrational decision as to launch an attack. He is such a person who has the motive and ability to launch this attack.

All the clues have been strung together, and the target is ready to be revealed.

"It seems that my dear Count Falcone really hates me so much that he can do such a mindless thing. I kindly asked the Duke of Richelieu to bring him greetings before."

Lawrence stroked the fur of the hunting horse in front of him with a gloomy face and whispered:

"But I really have to thank him for taking the initiative to hand me a knife."

After simply cleaning the battlefield, Lawrence ordered the six horse bandits who were still alive to be brought to the car, preparing to send them to Versailles for treatment.

After all, they were witnesses to the attack, and keeping these horse bandits would also bring a lot of convenience to Lawrence.

Grosso then took several shooters to cycle around the surrounding area. After thoroughly confirming that there was no danger, the team returned to its original position and continued to march towards Versailles.

Due to this sudden attack, the convoy's movement became more cautious. It did not arrive in Versailles until nearly midnight and stayed directly at the manor of the Duke of Choiseul.

The sweet dream of the manor housekeeper was disturbed by the arrival of Lawrence and his entourage, but he did not dare to complain at all and hurried down to the main building to greet them while still wearing silk pajamas.

"This, Monsieur Bonaparte, what's wrong with you?"

The manor housekeeper personally held an oil lamp, looked at the blood-stained carriages and the dying wounded in front of him, and asked with wide eyes.

Lawrence waved to his men to bring the horse bandits forward, and ordered the manor steward:

"To put it simply, we have been attacked and I need doctors to treat the wounded."

"Attack? My God, how could you be attacked in Versailles? Are you not injured? There is a private doctor in the manor. I will send someone to ask him over."

The manor housekeeper covered his mouth in surprise and said in a panic, and then quickly assigned his servants to settle Lawrence and his party.

At the same time, in the residence of Duke Richelieu.

"It looks like the weather will be nice tomorrow."

On the balcony of the main building of the mansion, Duke Richelieu was still lying in the rocking chair as he had been a few hours ago, looking uneasily at the bright moon above his head.

The teapot on the round table next to it was already empty, but Duke Richelieu did not ask his servants to add more.

On weekdays, the Duke of Richelieu has already fallen asleep at midnight.

But tonight, even though there were a few obvious bloodshot eyes, Duke Richelieu still endured his sleepiness and sat on the balcony blowing the howling evening breeze.

His eldest grandson, Count Falcone, rushed out of the mansion in the evening and never returned. At first, Duke Richelieu didn't pay much attention to it, just thinking that his stricken grandson was going somewhere to vent his anger.

However, more than two hours ago, the housekeeper reported a very strange thing to Duke Richelieu:

A group of ragged beggars were actually authorized by Count Falcone to ride dozens of hunting horses from his hunting estate in Saint-Cloud.

Saint-Cloud is a small town located between Paris and Versailles. This special location also gave Duke Richelieu a hunch that something was wrong.

This bad premonition also kept Duke Richelieu awake all night, and the night breeze has been blowing until now.

At this moment, the housekeeper of the mansion once again walked cautiously behind Duke Richelieu, bowed and said:

"Your Majesty the Duke."

The butler's voice was obviously hesitant.

"What's wrong?" Duke Richelieu asked slightly old and tiredly:

"What's the bad news again?"

"No, it's Lord Falcone. He's back from outside."

"Oh?" Duke Richelieu finally regained some energy, sat up slightly, and ordered in a cold voice:

"Bring him in."

A few minutes later, Count Falcone stood behind Duke Richelieu.

At this time, Falcone was no longer the famous playboy in Paris. His beautiful blond hair, which he was once proud of, had long become a bird's nest, and there were even lice jumping in it. He didn't know the last time he washed his hair. when.

The shirt on his body was even more dirty, with juices from various meals splashed on it without being washed. Even the Duke of Richelieu, who was a few meters away, could smell the putrid smell on his body.

There was no trace of brilliance in his eyes, and the bloodshot eyes were several times denser than those in Duke Richelieu's eyes.

If it were a stranger, he would never guess that this was the future heir of the famous Richelieu family, but would just think that he was a lunatic from a slum.

"Where have you been, dear Falcone."

Duke Richelieu turned to look at his eldest grandson and asked in as soft a voice as possible.

Count Falcone froze on the spot and did not answer for a long time, like a standing corpse.

After half a minute, he suddenly said urgently:

"Nothing, Grandpa, let's go out for a walk."

"Going around?" Duke Richelieu glanced at him with a frown and said:

"You're not going to be riding around St. Luke's with dozens of beggars, are you?"

Count Falcone remained silent without saying a word, looking down at the floor. After a long time, he slowly said:

"I won't hang out with those untouchables."

"Oh? Who are you?" Duke Richelieu stood up from the couch and walked to Count Falcone and asked.

"kill."

Count Falcone suddenly raised his head, stared at Duke Richelieu, and suddenly gasped and said:

"I sent them to kill people."

"Kill? Kill who." Duke Richelieu stayed where he was for a moment, his mind suddenly going blank.

When this name was mentioned, Count Falcone's whole body was trembling, even his gums were trembling, and his growling voice seemed to come from between his teeth:

"Laurence Bonaparte"