Chapter 1 : The Tide of Battle

**Autumn, 1479. The Adriatic Sea, Venetian Republic.**

The salty sea wind howled across the water''s surface, carrying with it the scent of salt and impending conflict. Dozens of Ottoman warships filled the entire bay, their prows adorned with green crescent flags that snapped and fluttered in the brisk sea breeze. At the forefront of this formidable fleet sailed a particularly ornate flagship, its bow carved with a golden griffin, its decks crowded with burly Ottoman sailors, each armed with curved scimitars, their faces etched with battle-hardened determination.

On the flagship''s forecastle stood a powerfully built man in his forties. He wore a turban studded with precious gems, his body clad in golden chainmail, a ruby-encrusted scimitar hanging at his waist. His features were hawkish—piercing eyes, a hooked nose, thin lips—his face a blend of domineering authority and the distinctive fierceness of nomadic peoples. This was Murad Pasha, commander of the Ottoman Empire''s naval forces.

Since his appointment, Murad had launched continuous assaults against the Venetian Republic''s maritime interests. In just a few years, he had captured several islands in the Adriatic. A month earlier, Murad had personally led forty warships from the Dalmatian coast, conquering territory after territory, his sights now set on Korčula—Venice''s most crucial stronghold in the Adriatic. If Korčula fell, the Ottoman fleet could sail directly into the Venetian Lagoon, threatening the very heart of the Republic.

The Venetian Senate had dispatched veteran admiral Andrea Doria with a fleet to resist, but the Ottoman sailors proved fierce and skilled, and Murad was a master tactician. Within days, the Venetian fleet had lost half its ships and was forced to retreat into the inner bay. The situation was desperate.

"Warriors of Allah, hear me!" Murad raised his scimitar, addressing his troops. "Today''s battle permits only victory, not defeat! We shall take Korčula, sail straight to Venice, and use the Doge''s head to consecrate the glory of the Ottoman Empire!"

The soldiers roared in unison, their voices shaking the very air. War horns sounded, and with three cannon blasts, Murad led his fleet charging toward the Venetian anchorage. Dozens of warships sailed at full speed, the sea itself seeming to tremble beneath their advance.

Simultaneously, a dozen Venetian ships emerged from their anchorage. At the lead vessel''s prow stood a silver-haired old man—Admiral Andrea Doria, commander of the Venetian forces.

"Capture Doria alive!" The Ottoman forces seemed unstoppable, quickly scattering the Venetian ships. Murad led his men onto the Venetian flagship, only to freeze in confusion... the ship was empty.

"A trap?" Murad hesitated, then dismissed the thought. Though cliffs rose on either side, the Venetian forces were at their last gasp. Even if they had laid an ambush, they could muster at most a few ships—nowhere near enough to oppose his fleet. That was why he had dared to attack so boldly.

"Pasha!" a lieutenant reported to Murad. "Doria and the Venetian soldiers have vanished."

"What?" Murad frowned, sensing danger. Before he could speak, a clear, ringing laugh echoed from the cliffs above. "Pasha Murad, you''ve grown careless."

Murad started, looking around but unable to pinpoint the voice''s source. He immediately recognized the speaker possessed extraordinary inner strength.

"There!" Several sailors pointed toward the western cliff''s summit.

Murad looked up and froze.

Atop the sheer cliff stood a man, his white cloak billowing in the wind, golden hair gleaming in the sunlight. He held a silver scimitar casually at his side.

Though distant, Murad''s sharp eyes discerned the man''s features clearly, and he caught his breath. Though male, the man was astonishingly handsome—every feature perfection, handsome without being effeminate. Particularly striking were the laughter in his eyes and the slight curve of his lips, conveying three parts arrogance, three parts mockery, three parts recklessness, and one part wickedness.

Murad had investigated all notable warriors around the Mediterranean. Though he hadn''t met this man personally, he had seen portraits. Who else in the Mediterranean could wear white so defiantly, could be so handsome that even men couldn''t look away? None but Luciano Bianco, the "White Wolf."

Murad frowned slightly. This man''s fame wasn''t solely due to his appearance... That silver scimitar in his hand was the famed "Moonlight Blade." Luciano was the Mediterranean''s foremost master of scimitar techniques, and coupled with his notoriously arrogant and eccentric personality, he was far less agreeable than his looks suggested.

Seeing Murad studying him thoughtfully, Luciano understood. "Pasha Murad, withdraw your forces. Otherwise, I fear you''ll become a dead pasha, along with your dozens of ships."

Murad scowled. Just then, the bay''s waters began to tremble slightly, as if thousands of troops were converging from all directions.

Watching the Ottoman fleet descend into chaos, Luciano smiled faintly. "The October spring tide raises the sea level... Don''t you think this cliff-encircled bay resembles a giant bowl?"

Murad''s eyes widened in disbelief. Before he could react, Luciano suddenly drew his blade. Even in broad daylight, the Moonlight Blade''s cold gleam made Murad''s vision blur. Luciano called out leisurely toward the distance, "Grey Falcon, what''s taking you so long?"

Murad started, his mind flashing—the two most troublesome figures in the Mediterranean were the Wolf and the Falcon...

He whirled around. Standing opposite Luciano was another man, similar in build and age, but where Luciano exuded recklessness, this man radiated calm elegance. Compared to Luciano''s dazzling handsomeness, this man''s good looks were restrained, clean and refined. A gray knight''s cloak accentuated his otherworldly bearing. In Murad''s eyes, this man''s appearance and demeanor were truly extraordinary. In his hand was a black longsword... "Blade of Justice." Murad''s brow furrowed deeply. Leonardo de Monte, the "Grey Falcon."

Leonardo looked up at Murad, his smile cold. "Pasha Murad, you''ve invaded our waters without cause, harmed our people... Today, we''ll give you a basin of seawater to cool you thoroughly." With a flick of his wrist, he drew his sword. Simultaneously, Luciano leaped from the cliff, not falling but turning mid-air, running along the cliff face while dragging his scimitar. As he moved, the Moonlight Blade sparked against the stone, followed by the sizzling sound of burning fuses...

"Retreat!" Murad shouted. The cliffs were packed with gunpowder! The sound just now must have been the Venetians channeling seawater to the cliff-top channels. The cliff face now served as a dam—if it burst, torrents of seawater would pour down. Not even his dozens of ships, let alone hundreds, could withstand such a deluge.

"Retreat! Retreat now!" Murad''s lieutenants ordered the sailors to turn their ships and flee the bay.

"None shall escape!" On the opposite cliff, Leonardo suddenly leaped out, spreading his arms like a seabird riding the bay''s howling winds. With no visible support, he soared upward, swinging his sword toward the bay''s sole entrance. A sword aura swept across the water''s surface. Murad felt the wind shift direction, carrying a whiff of sulfur and gunpowder. Before he could utter another word, the entrance erupted in roaring flames.

With fire blocking the front and Luciano having circled the cliffs, igniting all the buried gunpowder, massive boulders rained down. Ottoman ships scattered, dodging falling rocks.

Leonardo and Luciano now stood on the only safe slope atop the cliffs. Leonardo turned and shouted to the soldiers prepared on the summit, "Open the sluices!"

Simultaneously, a series of explosions echoed through the bay. In an instant, seawater burst forth like a caged beast from the now-unblocked cliff top, pouring down in an overwhelming cascade toward the dozens of Ottoman warships.

Instantly, Murad and his forty ships were swept into the raging waters.

The Ottoman fleet was washed toward the bay''s mouth, ships capsizing, men thrown overboard, complete chaos. From their ambush spot, Andrea Doria emerged with ten warships. Venetian soldiers in small boats, each holding several nets, captured Ottoman sailors one by one. Suddenly, someone shouted, "We''ve captured Murad Pasha!"

On the cliffs, Luciano and Leonardo looked down to see a sailor netting Murad, bringing him before Admiral Andrea Doria''s ship.

Murad had likely never been so humiliated in his life. The famed Ottoman naval commander now lay trapped in a net at old Admiral Andrea Doria''s feet, a prisoner.

"Hahaha..." Andrea Doria stroked his silver beard, laughing heartily.

On the cliff summit, Luciano and Leonardo exchanged glances, sharing a knowing smile.

The Battle of Korčula ended with the Venetian forces suffering not a single casualty while annihilating forty Ottoman warships and capturing Commander Murad Pasha, severely crippling Ottoman power.

Days later, Venice and the Ottoman Empire reached a peace agreement, with Venice recognizing certain Ottoman rights in the Mediterranean. The years-long maritime conflict finally drew to a close.

**Spring, 1480.**

Venice welcomed its first spring rain. After the shower, morning sun broke through the clouds, glinting off the buildings lining the canals. Last winter had been merciful—though snow had fallen several times, the cold hadn''t been severe. With nearly half a year of peace, merchants had resumed trade, and Venice once again flourished.

That morning, a young man carrying a medical kit rushed into the city from outside. The hem of his clothes was stained with blood. Stumbling and crawling, he reached the constable''s office and began pounding on the door knocker. Between strikes, he cried, "Terrible! Murder! So many dead!"

Several guards emerged. Seeing the young man, who appeared to be a physician, they asked, "Sir, where did this happen?"

"Outside the city! On the main road outside the city, so many dead!" The young physician''s tongue seemed tied, his legs trembling slightly—clearly terrified.

Two guards exchanged glances. "Which gate?"

"W-West Gate..." the physician stammered.

"You take him inside to report to the captain," one guard said. "Constable Leonardo seems to be patrolling the streets. I''ll notify him."

...

Meanwhile, Leonardo was patrolling the southern market with two assistants. Recently, Venice had enjoyed peaceful times—not only were there no murder cases, but even petty thieves were rare. The constable''s office had grown idle and restless.

Leonardo walked ahead, yawning unceremoniously, feeling bored.

As they passed Venice''s largest tavern, The Golden Lion, Leonardo began to doze. Suddenly, he sensed movement behind him. Instinctively, he ducked, catching a glimpse of white sleeve brushing past his cheek.

The person who had intended to tap Leonardo''s shoulder missed, muttering discontentedly, "Stupid falcon."

Hearing that familiar voice, Leonardo looked up, blocking the second attempt. He glanced at the man before him, curling his lip. "White Wolf."

Luciano withdrew his hand, resting his scimitar on his shoulder, adopting his usual rogue''s pose as he regarded Leonardo. "Grey Falcon, your forehead looks dark."

Leonardo''s face instantly darkened. *This damn wolf hasn''t been seen for months, and the first thing he does is curse me.* "What brings you here?"

"Just visiting with my brothers." Luciano shrugged casually. "You know Giovanni de'' Medici of the Medici Bank?"

"Oh." Leonardo nodded. "He''s celebrating his birthday and retiring soon, right?"

"Mm." Luciano nodded. "My eldest brother is an old friend. All us brothers came."

"Your brothers are here too?" Leonardo asked.

Luciano rolled his eyes. "Why so familiar? They''re *my* brothers."

Leonardo returned the glare, continuing forward with his two assistants. Seeing Leonardo leave, Luciano caught up in two steps, tapping him. "Hey, I''m staying at the White Pheasant Manor. Remember to visit tonight for drinks. I''ve got a barrel of excellent Tuscan wine!"

"Fine." Leonardo nodded, about to leave when a guard came running from afar, shouting, "Constable Leonardo! Trouble!"

Leonardo paused, blinking, then looked back at Luciano behind him. "You unlucky wolf, months without incident, and trouble appears as soon as I see you!"

Luciano widened his eyes, glaring back at Leonardo. "I told you your forehead looked dark! Don''t blame others."

Thus, the two stood before the tavern, glaring and grinding their teeth.

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