Luciano de Vicari has faced many opponents in his lifetime, from brutish swordsmen to sly rogues, zealous monks, even some devious noblemen. It was not the first time nature itself rose against him either, just reciting the incident with the Apple of Eden in the dungeons a few weeks ago. What made his current struggle different was that it was unfair...and not for the foe this time. The Templar was caught greatly off-guard when the sharp knife found his shoulder and made him fall into the jaws of the rushing Arno river. Survival instincts kicked in immediately as he desperately tried to pace back up to the surface before running out of the little air he had. However, the pain and the shock temporarily paralysed his right arm, not to mention he moved his other limbs with great difficulty as well from the exhaustion. As the waves crashed above him, the dreadful realisation flashed into his mind: he was not invincible.

...but he did not need to be. He mustered the last ounces of his fading strength to rip out the knife from his flesh. Everything dulled into a blood red haze. With a confused and suffocating mind, Luciano stretched his muscles for one last decisive movement: upwards. The water seemed to graciously part before him as he finally broke through to the surface. The fresh and crisp nighttime air was like a flask of water for the desert-stranded - almost inebriating. He drank it in greedily and looked for an opening he could grasp and finally get ashore.

But the river was not so willing to let go of its fierce friend. After the death-defying rush for survival ended, the Templar's body suddenly did not seem that superhuman and he sank once more into the water, the current dragging him helplessly along.
He did not let the crippling panic overtake him this time though—he had air and could think reasonably clearly. He was too weak in his current state to be able to come up to the surface, much less climb back to the ground. He could not become stronger, so he had to make himself lighter. He reached for his robust longswords which have surprisingly remained steady on his waist all the way until now. He had a heavy heart about this, but could think of no other options. Time was running out. He unbuckled the two sheaths and let his trusty weapons drift away as a sacrifice for the hungry Arno.

With the extra weights gone, he wasted no time in pushing upwards again. To conserve his energy, he let the current keep him afloat and looked for a way out. Eventually, he spotted a small boat dock and swam to it. His steps felt like that of a giant as he sluggishly ascended on the wooden stairs. He was drenched from head to toe, even his otherwise very comfortable attire felt somewhat icky now. Not to mention that for the first time in months, his dear blades were not accompanying him on the journey. Save for a backup dagger he always carried hidden in his outfit, he was completely unarmed.
At least there were no thieves around anymore, he thought. Not surprising—the current took him a long distance away from the original scene and with the time he spent underwater after the fall, it could have been reasonably assumed that he was as good as dead.

He was not. He had a promise and now, the name of the person he would carry it out on.
Nothing would stop him.

...or perhaps the blood loss would, he noted after taking a glance at the rather sizeable wound on his shoulder. Unfortunately, there were no doctors around this late into the night, so he knew he had to bandage himself up and get a good rest until next morning. As he started slowly walking towards his home on the empty street, he gave a thought to the three people he left behind. Were they going to be fine without him?

If they were half as tough as him, he thought, they were going to be.

————

Disregarding his exhaustion after all the night's events, Luciano rose early the next day, having changed his clothes and wrapped a rather visible dressing on his shoulder. He brought with him plenty of gold pouches as well, to be used for various services, as he stepped out into the buzzing city of Florence. His first path took him to the nearest doctor, who observed his injury more throughoutly.
“I know who you are,” the medic quipped casually as he was working on adjusting the bandage properly.
“Do you?”
“Many recognise that face and that posture. Rarely with kind feelings.”
“Good.”
“They think you dead.”
“Who?”
“Us [i]dottori[/i], we see and hear more than you would believe. But we, or at least most of us, hold ourselves to the oath and don't meddle in these matters. This is why, [i]Messere[/i], I cannot tell you anything else.”
“Why say anything in the first place?” The doctor's interesting behaviour finally piqued the Templar's interest.
“You see, my prices are very generous. Some...additional compensation for additional services never hurts a common man like I.”
“You're very bold, [i]signore[/i]. Expecting my money for tiny bits of doubtful information... Are you not afraid I will do something else to get the rest of it out of you?”
“Well.” The doctor chuckled. “I see you are missing your...signature weaponry. Besides, you would not make an attempt on a healer's life in broad daylight, surely?”
“Nothing's beyond me.” He looked at the masked man with a piercing glare. It was like this fool was trying to taunt him. “Here.” After a thought, he threw a full pouch on his stand. “This is not ‘compensation’, per se, but a deal. I may come back later and kindly ask you to reveal some of your secret knowledge...and you will do so without much hesitation. Understood?”
“...of course. [i]Grazie mille, Messere.[/i]”

Although he spent a little more money than he originally planned, Luciano also acquired a new, potentially useful ally and informator in the process. He felt rather satisfied at the situation as he next made his way to the most skilled Florentine blacksmith he knew.
“Give me your best blades,” he asked bluntly, but the older and bulky smith only gazed at him from inside his stand.
“Might I say, this is a very common request. I have a wide selection of bladed weapons, in various shapes and sizes... It would be impossible to pick a single one out from all the great works.”
“The most powerful, then. A sword so sharp that it can cut a foe's head clean off and so strong that it can fell an armoured brute.”
The blacksmith only grunted at the Templar's words before retreating back to his workshop, then reappearing and placing an elongated and quite sturdy blade down for Luciano to see. He grabbed it and swung a few times in the air, all the while nodding as if impressed.
“Do you have another?” he asked, much more courteously now.
“This is a very expensive weapon, [i]Ser[/i]—the need for more than one never arose.”
“Forge me a second one, then. I'll be back later to claim it...and take this until it's done.”
As he expected, he had to expend all his carried money to be able to pay for the sword and even then it was barely enough. He was still very content however: he was no longer unarmed, having gained a weapon almost equivalent in strength to the ones he lost.

With his health and some of his fighting capability restored, Luciano now felt ready to finally finish his mission and fulfil his promise. First though, he had to find where the thief known as Marciano was. He headed back to the Basilica...