On the rooftop, Apilius had already put away his smile, his gaze returning to the distance, re-entering a state of icy, rigorous rational calculation.
The addition of the Undead Illusion Sword undoubtedly added a lot to his confidence in his plans.
However, as a ruler, one must not put blind faith in probability; even a 99% chance of success still held a 1% risk of losing everything.
As a city lord, he had to make good use of every ace in his hand.
He took out his phone and dialed a special number. The mobile signal ascended through the atmosphere, reaching the Church Court's space-based communication satellite base station, then passed through special trans-coding and encryption before descending back down to Solomon City on the Apennine Peninsula.
Inside the Sistine Chapel, a slender hand picked up the phone.
"Lord Apilius of the City."
"Your Majesty, Pope Innocent."
"Your Crusaders have brought me some troubles."
