The Reversed Hierophant

The Feast of Divine Grace arrived as scheduled. The bell of the Cathedral of the Holy Thorn, which had been silent since the day of the Pope’s coronation, rang loudly. Following this, the bells of the Papal Palace, the Basilica of Our Lady of Mercy, the Advent Church, the Church of Blessed Sacrament… bells from all over the city rang out one after another. The deep, slow, and gentle chimes spread, awakening the slumbering holy city from the night and welcoming the first rays of dawn.

On this grand festival, the divide between the upper and lower city was significantly weakened. In the dim, impoverished districts, the first to leave their homes at the sound of the bells were inevitably the poor, small workshop owners, artisans, and penniless apprentices. Their incomes were pitifully meager, and they could only rely on such a little unstable salary to survive every day. They did the most vulgar and dirty work in Florence, like a silent but massive foundation of mud that supported Florence’s vast and magnificent body.

Due to their limited assets, they could not afford to live in areas where they had to pay an “urban maintenance fee.” Thus, the only areas left for them are the outskirts of Florence and the surplus land downstream of the river. These tumor-like proliferating houses accommodated half of Florence’s population. They needed to cross two or three blocks and countless streets to reach the spacious and magnificent square of the upper city to receive the blessings of the festival so they always got up early before dawn, dressed neatly, and prepared to go out.

The men wore linen or cotton shirts, covered by short coats of coarse wool, and wore dark soft hats. Their leather shoes were polished to a bright shine.

The women walking beside them wore light-colored long dresses – white was the best, of course. Those skilled in accessorizing would make creative changes to the collars and cuffs, such as designing unique decorations with lace or ribbons, and hanging colored ribbons around their waists – this was a unique artistic sense bestowed upon women by God.

The children screamed and played around their parents, enjoying the joy of the festival to the fullest. The shabby neighbourhood, which used to be dark and depressing, was now filled with a rare warm atmosphere. Loud laughter and brisk footsteps intertwined into a noisy melody. Although the people walking around looked haggard, they all showed joyful expressions.

The roads in the lower city were rugged and dark, the winding roads like tangled balls of yarn. They were narrow, damp, and complex beyond human imagination. Unlike the upper city, where the districts were divided according to family power and bloodlines, the residences here were arranged haphazardly and were basically grouped by occupations. For example, there must be a glass workshop around a rose garden, cloth merchants will live next to tailors, and fishmongers prefer shabby restaurants.

Here, their wages and salaries are insufficient to support them to form a large family. The sparse population and bloodline had to rely on their peers in the same industry to bolster their strength, so as not to suffer losses when they needed the support of blood relatives. Thus, the embryonic form of a guild was born here—just an embryonic form, for they lacked the intelligence and wealth to support the emergence of a more complete system.

Rough, square stones were stacked into crooked, low buildings. Rusty iron railings, abandoned ancient battlements, and fortresses were divided into different dwellings. The ground was soaked with the blood and feces of livestock, and sewage was poured directly from windows and doors onto the streets. Houses grew wildly, greedily vying for space in the perpetually unchanging damp and fetid atmosphere, leaving the already dark streets forever shrouded in gloom, much like the people who lived there.

The crowd from the lower city slowly merged into the light. Rafael’s deacons were at the door of the papal palace to welcome the lords from afar. They had arrived in Florence at the latest the day before but had not come to pay their respects to the Pope. Rafael tolerantly ignored their tense private communications and collusion, and did not pursue it further because none of them were absent.

But they obviously didn’t think so.

“Sistine I wants to take our territory,” the lords reached a consensus under the light of the gas lamp, sitting nervously and angrily, sizing each other up. “Portia betrayed us.”

This was even worse news.

“Portia is already the speaker of the council, and he’s still not satisfied? What else does he want?” someone cursed. “Does he think that standing by the Pope, that kid will give him more benefits?!”

Although they said so, they knew very well that if such an opportunity to control the Pope were placed in front of them, they would betray this loose alliance without hesitation.

“If Julius is determined to betray the alliance, then we can only strike first.”

The speaker looked quite old, with half-length white hair and no expression on his wrinkled face: “It’s not easy to be an enemy of a Portia, so we need to work together, but if anyone wants to betray again…”

The old man sneered: “You’d better think carefully about whether you have the weight to let Portia spare you—be careful not to end up as Portia’s dessert.”

As soon as these words came out, the eyes of several people who had originally looked a little shaken and hesitant suddenly became stern.

Until this moment, they still firmly believed that everything was Julius’s idea, and the Pope… wasn’t that young and immature Pope just a puppet of Julius?

In their view, Julius chose to attack them because he wanted to use the name of Sistine I to reunify the entire Papal States and then elevate Portia to the throne of the Holy City.

He’s dreaming!

Thanks to the decline of the Knights Templar, the ancestors of the lords had finally gnawed off such a piece of juicy meat from the iron-clad papal palace, and they had become the masters of the Papal States’ territories freely. All their wealth depended on these cities. Want to take the land and city-states from their hands?

These hyenas and vipers perched on wealth would never agree even if they died.

When the bell rang for the third time, Rafael appeared on the Miracle Square, wearing a golden vestment and a white robe. On his head was an ancient ring-shaped crown of thorns, made of bronze and gold. These thorns, long and sharp, could easily cut the wearer. Thus, the wearer must always be vigilant and and cautious to keep oneself upright – this was also the meaning of the crown of thorns: not to be tempted by power and the throne, and to always remember one’s identity as the Lord’s shepherd.

Rafael held a short staff wrapped in a thorn totem and bowed slightly to the people guarding the bottom of the grand steps, which drew a wave of cheers. The thirteen lords of the Papal States, headed by Julius Portia, bowed respectfully to the Pope on both sides, and from their positions, it could be easily seen that Julius occupied the highest position, but was intentionally or unintentionally isolated. ɌäＮŐʙЕᶊ

I don’t know what Julius said in the letter he wrote to them, Rafael thought as he walked, it must be some kind of terrible threat, otherwise these greedy and timid lords wouldn’t all be here, and they wouldn’t have such obvious hostility towards Julius.

They were almost so wary of Julius to the point they were afraid he would shoot them dead in public.

But it was also good this way. The young and handsome Pope gave the lords an impeccable smile. His already radiant face seemed to glow with this smile.

Even the lords who looked down upon this ‘puppet pope’ couldn’t help but be dazzled for a moment by this smile.

But Rafael quickly passed them and walked up the steps.

Redrick stood beside the scarlet curtain at the top of the steps, holding a roll of parchment, his face looking extremely grim. He was dressed in full ceremonial attire, standing next to Julius, who was similarly dressed. Both had deep purple eyes and the distinctive contours of the Portia family. However, when they stood together, everyone’s eyes would first fall on Julius.

The secretary-general with iron-gray hair helped Rafael up as he walked over, and noticing this gesture, Redrick’s face grew even darker. He rudely pushed past and began to report on his work in a torrent of words -these things should have been reported to the Pope much earlier, but the damn Rafael did not allow him to set foot in the Pope’s palace at all!

Redrick was amazed at his own patience, having been denied an audience at least six times. If someone had dared to refuse him entry in the past, he would definitely take his guards to tear down that person’s door and throw it on the streets to trample on it.

But that bastard was now the Pope of Florence.

Redrick knew the Pope’s status better than anyone else, especially since his father had once worn that glorious crown. He had enjoyed the authority of the Pope’s son, so he saw it more deeply.

…Despicable bastard, Redrick looked at Rafael grimly and cursed him viciously in his heart. The man had seized glory and power that didn’t belong to him. Even if Julius was currently blinded by him, it was only temporary. One day, Rafael would have to spit it all out and return to the mud of the slums from which he came, to rot with his wretched past.

Rafael suddenly glanced at him with a cold look. Redrick was startled and felt like he was seen through. However, Rafael quickly looked away and continued to look ahead: “I understand. You may go.”

His tone was very calm, but precisely because of this calmness, Redrick’s anger suddenly flared up – no one had ever spoken to him like this!

However, he didn’t say anything in the end. Not only did he not curse or mock Rafael like before, he didn’t even utter a word of complaint.

It seemed that the repeated rejections and coldness had caused the arrogant duke to subconsciously develop a sense of awe towards Rafael, even if he himself hadn’t realized this subtle shift in his attitude.

It was like training a dog; after being scolded enough times, even the most vicious dog would show respect to its master.

Rafael’s mouth curled up silently.

Julius turned his gaze and stared at Redrick who had obediently retreated for two seconds. There was no emotion in his cold eyes behind his glasses as he watched his blood nephew walk away.

“His last name is still Portia.” Amidst the noisy cheers, the head of the Portia family reminded him softly.

Rafael smiled nonchalantly: “I’m just teaching him to have the necessary respect.”

Having said that, he released Julius’s hand and sat down alone on the papal throne.

Julius’s hands were empty, and the warmth he had felt was mercilessly withdrawn. He couldn’t help but frown and swallowed the words he had been about to say.

He just wanted to say that the people of Redrick’s maternal family wouldn’t be happy to see Redrick and Rafael get along, no matter what kind of reconciliation it was. They still harbored the dream of having Redrick inherit the position of Pope Vitalian III, although Julius knew very well that this was impossible, but unfortunately, there were always more fools in the world.

The secretary-general of the papal palace was busy with affairs, and even during the celebration, he could not rest. Julius was soon called away to another place, and a well-dressed middle-aged man came to Rafael’s seat in a timely manner.

“Holy Father,” he bowed deeply to Rafael, and when he looked up again, there were even tears of excitement in his eyes, “Oh my God, I can finally see you. I heard the news of your coronation in Besançon, and I couldn’t wait to grow wings and fly to you to swear my allegiance, but… please forgive me, the people of Besançon cannot do without me, my city is really poor, I can’t even offer you a rich enough gift…”

He took out his handkerchief and wiped the tears from his eyes in a pretentious manner.

Rafael watched his performance patiently with a smile, and replied graciously: “I forgive you.”

“Thank you very much, merciful Holy Father. Your glory is supreme, and your compassion prevents me from deceiving you any longer… Oh God, I shouldn’t say this, but if you were to suffer any harm, and this harm was due to my concealment, then I would be punished by God for my hesitation today.”

The smile in Rafael’s heart grew even wider, but he still put on a look of appropriate vigilance. “Lord Besançon, what do you mean by that?”

Besançon seemed eager to pour everything he wanted to say into Rafael’s ears, but for the sake of a complete performance, he still managed to finish expressing his rich and complex inner thoughts, although to Rafael, his eagerness was almost impossible to hide.

“It’s the Portias, I think you should understand,” Besançon winked at the ‘puppet pope’ who was controlled by the Portias, and sure enough, as he had expected, the pope’s smile disappeared when he mentioned the surname.

“This ambitious family has cut off the way for us, the pious lords, to be loyal to you. Alas, you may not know, we originally wanted to do our best to send enough gifts for your coronation, but the Portias stopped us. They seemed to think that the Portias needed the funds more than the papal palace.”

Besançon shamelessly revealed the secret, and at the same time happily watched the pope’s expression grow uglier, and his heart was filled with joy.

Yes, that’s right. Break up with Portias as soon as possible. In the end, no matter who loses, the lords will be the winners.

As for this clumsy lie…

It couldn’t really be considered a lie, it was just a slight artistic modification, and besides, the Portias weren’t exactly clean to begin with.

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