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Mainline History: 22 February 1525, Northern Italy.

The deer was raw, that much was clear to Ardent. Rare was a word for pretentious people. The French king was taking his time eating the venison, cutting it into tiny bits with a table knife and dragging those into his spoon, before chewing them. Why one would bother to use anything but their hands for eating was a mystery for the young condottiere.

"Where are the marvels that will break Charles's army?" Francis took a sip of wine and put the goblet on the table.

"Bring us Leo's package, kid," Ardent's new master ordered.

Why me? Ardent sighed. Am I a butler now? Was I stupid taking employment with him, or plain dumb? Going out into the chill of the night, he hurried to the carriage, then stopped, scratching his head. Which was the old geezer parcel? There were about a hundred bundles, all looking the same. Shrugging, he picked one at random and returned to the royal tent.

"I present you Leo's newest invention," the foreigner said, taking the package. After opening it, he extracted a weird arquebus; slim and medium long, and by far different from anything Ardent had seen. "It's accurate up to three thousand feet, and fires multiple shots," the man continued. "The reloading is done by activating this bolt," he demonstrated the action, which carried a neat mechanic sound, before handing the weapon to the king. The click sounded pleasant to the young soldier's ears. Like music, or even better.

Leonardo, the old man with long white hair, took over the presentation. "It's called a sniper rifle. We have selected a hundred smart men to be trained in their use. With your endorsement, my liege, we'll turn the Spaniards into Swiss cheese."

"Swiss cheese has holes," Salvatore completed, noticing the king's befuddlement.

"Hahaha…" Francis the First laughed, letting the rifle down on the table. "Of course, my friend, you have my blessing. Can you train them before the battle?"

"It will be done, Your Majesty," Leonardo bowed.

The king turned his attention to Ardent's patron. "And what reward should I bestow to you, my dear Salvatore, for bringing me invaluable information and armaments? Do you want titles? Money?"

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The man smiled and bowed, his right hand over his heart. Salvatore's white teeth reminded the young bodyguard of a shark. The gesture looked obsequious, but Ardent knew better. There was something more to his new master, a weird vibe he couldn't put his finger on, but was there. "My liege, serving you is the honor of my life. If I may…"

"You may. Ask me anything that is in my power, and you'll have it."

"My only wish is to allow my friends and I to appear in a group portrait beside you. I have a device that can do it in moments."

The king laughed again. "I wish to see for myself such a wondrous feature."

"C'mon, guys, let me see some smiles!" Salvatore said.

The rest of the group finally came alive. First, Mickey, a burly man who looked much like a mean sergeant Ardent served with once upon a time. He was rolling his eyes and smirking, nonplussed by royalty. Then there was Ralphy, or was it Raphy? A man in his forties, with a young face but the eyes of a drunkard. He offered his hand to help a third man rise, despite the latter looking younger than him. The latter's name was Donnie, so far as Ardent recalled, and he had a weird, waxy-looking skin. The fourth Italian, Leonardo, joined the group.

"Don't forget the bandanas," Salvatore said. "I can't sell the memorabilia without the bandanas." Albeit Mickey rolled his eyes, the four men extracted each a piece of colored fabric from their pockets and put it on their faces. "Kid, keep this straight, and at this height," Salvatore shoved a black rectangle in Ardent's hands, before kneeling in front of the king, with his back to the monarch. "Dream team, say cheese!"

"Camembert!" Francis giggled, raising his glass. Rushing to take back the device from his bodyguard's hands, Salvatore showed it to the king. "Amazing," the monarch whispered, his eyes widened. "And it moves! Is this device unique?"

"I have a few more, your Majesty," Salvatore said.

"Name your price," the king blurted. "If I could gift one of these to Suleiman, he'll ally with us in no ti—"

"Suleiman? Fuck you in the ass while you screw your mother, today and tomorrow!" A red veil descended over Ardent's sight, and his hand moved by itself. In a wide arch, his schiavona sword jumped off its sheath and detached the king's head from his body as easily as cutting a melon. In the young warrior's lateral sight, the four masked men gasped in horror, while Salvatore covered his face with his elbow, protecting himself from the spray of blood. The king's head rolled on the carpet, displaying bulging, incredulous eyes.

Then came the unbearable pain. Every single muscle ached, his ears buzzing with an ominous, permanent thunder. Letting the sword go, Ardent fell first on his knees, then laterally on his shoulder, his skull hitting the ground. His eyes met the king's, the severed head being just in front of him. Francis's mouth gasped like a fish out of the water, forming a soundless word: Why?

With muted thumps, everyone else in the tent, except for Salvatore, collapsed while blue words shone into Ardent's eyes: Breakthrough achieved. Branching 16th-century alternate reality detected. Welcome to the System! Then he fainted.