The Reversed Hierophant
Chapter 13: Resemblance to an Old Friend

The expressions of some of the people present changed rapidly. They subconsciously began turning their heads to look for allies, exchanged glances with each other, and brooded about what to do next.

The Papal States has a total of thirteen city-states besides Florence. Currently, to “facilitate unified management” and “better serve His Holiness the Pope”, their lords have established a thirteen-member council for the Free City State Alliance. Each lord took turns as the chairman, and in the past few years, it had been the Portia family’s turn.

It was said that it was “out of loyalty to the Pope”, but everyone knows what the real purpose is. The Papal States were torn into pieces, and Florence was deliberately excluded. Wasn’t it just to better seize the power of the Papal States and gain a completely independent status?

What is Julius Portia doing now?

Rafael took in the changes in the expressions of most people present and smiled very slightly. Of course, there was no need for him to extend his hand for Julius to kiss the papal ring at this moment, but so what?

That’s what he wanted to do. He wanted to force Julius to bow to him right now.

At this moment, here – in full view of everyone, bow your head to him and swear allegiance to him.

Irrefutable. Indisputable.

The moment Julius lowered his head, it was undeniable that a twisted sense of pleasure and strange intoxication arose in his heart.

Rafael suddenly thought that perhaps he preferred this kind of oppression by force to any polite respect.

Brutally stripping away all the polite veneers and tolerant smiles, putting power, wealth, and interests on the scales, seizing what he didn’t have, and plundering what he desired.

Just like what he learned in the slums.

Everyone at the banquet had different thoughts, and until the end, some people were absent-minded. Sancha didn’t care about this little incident. The happy little princess jumped into the carriage given by the Pope – this carriage, equipped with the latest technology of the Papal State, had ferocious steam pipes coiled under its chassis, while gears and copper pipes drew heat from the coal to drive the carriage to a higher speed. Countless luggage carts followed Sancha’s carriage, heading all the way east.

Duke Francois, with a beautiful woman on his arm, watched the convoy disappear into the dust, gulped down the wine in the golden cup, rudely threw the golden cup engraved with the image of a beautiful angel on the ground, and showed a strange smile.

After the banquet, the Portia Bank restored its previous “good relations” with the Papal Palace. Before the gift from the Queen of Assyria arrived, the financial difficulties of the Papal Palace were resolved with the help of the Portia Bank.

And as a token of gratitude…the appointment document that had been hidden in Rafael’s drawer for nearly two months was finally signed.

Julius Portia was appointed Secretary General of the Papal Palace, assisting the earthly sovereign in handling all worldly affairs, and becoming the highest administrative officer of Florence.

The document was posted on the bulletin board of the Papal Palace for three days, and copies were sent to various city-states in the Papal States. The Portia family even sent people to parade around Florence with drums and gongs to inform people of the good news.

On the same day the appointment was issued, Julius moved into the Papal Palace and officially began his duties as Secretary General of the Papal Court.

It was obvious to the naked eye that that the burden on Rafael had been greatly lightened. He no longer needed to review countless documents one by one. Julius’s ability was unquestionable. With the powerful financial and human resources of the Portia Bank, the entire city of Florence was quickly getting back on track.

– Of course, there was another important reason: due to Portia’s deterrence, the cardinals were no longer keen on sabotaging the new Pope but obediently followed all orders from the Papal Palace.

This sudden relief made Rafael feel unspeakably angry.

But he couldn’t say or express anything.

However, Julius was very sensible. He no longer took charge of all matters as he had in the previous life. Instead, he let Rafael decide for himself which affairs to hand over to him and which to handle himself. He even stopped taking the initiative to solve problems for Rafael unless Rafael himself requested it.

This was truly the attitude of treating collaborators equally. Rafael admitted that his paranoia and suspicion was greatly soothed by Julius.

So, during his spare time, he finally found time to visit the trainees of the Papal Guard that he had specially selected.

Nearly a month had passed since these boys were sent to Florence. Rafael had only assigned them teachers and hadn’t inquired about them since. After a period of training, reports came in, and another 20 unsuitable people were eliminated. Those who remained were all boys with good mental qualities. Among the 32 people, the youngest was fourteen, and the oldest was already twenty. ṝ

Rafael didn’t care about age. Children in this era matured early, and it was common for them to get engaged and married around the age of ten. By the age of twenty they were already the father of several children. No matter the age, as long as they were useful, it was fine.

Rafael didn’t call for any companions, and even refused his attendants. He wandered alone to the most remote corner of the papal palace. The buildings here hadn’t been renovated for many years, and large sections of the walls had peeled off. Thirty-two boys were running around the edge of a marble-paved square.

Each of them carried a heavy wooden stake on their shoulders. Their upper bodies were bare, and they wore linen shorts and a hemp rope as a belt around their waists. Everyone was sweating profusely, with veins bulging on their foreheads, and their breathing sounding like a broken bellows.

But even so, none of them stopped or even slowed down secretly.

“Run! You bunch of trash! Scum! His Holiness gave you bread and blankets, not for you to have fun here! Do you want to be sent back to the slums? To sleep in a pile of horse manure?!”

The instructor supervising them waved a horsewhip and hit the last one without mercy. His expression was cold and he didn’t hide his contempt for these lucky poor boys.

“You should weep for this! How lucky you are to be able to protect His Holiness the Pope!”

Hearing his rapid-fire shouting and cursing, the boys gritted their teeth and kept up with their companions’ pace. Their faces flushed red as blood, and large drops of sweat fell to the ground. The marble floor already had a thin layer of moist water vapor.

Rafael, standing in a hidden place, looked at this scene of abuse coldly, without any intention of going up to “rescue” them.

If it were him in the past, he would have definitely stepped in.

But it wouldn’t be because he found the training unreasonable, but simply because a “benevolent” Pope couldn’t allow such cruelty to occur before his eyes.

Yet, without such harsh training, how could he entrust his life to a bunch of incompetent fools?

With a command, the boys, who had finally heard the signal to end, all tumbled to the ground, panting heavily, their eyes fixed on the sky as their minds went blank.

Therefore, the only young man still standing in the field was quite eye-catching.

Rafael narrowed his eyes and looked over.

The thin boy had a head of messy black curls like sheep’s wool. His side profile was strongly defined, and his skin was a bit dark from years of labor, but with just this one glance, one could see the superiority of his appearance.

He was slowly dragging his legs across the open space, pounding his sore and numb muscles as he walked, and sweat was dripping down his chin like a stream.

Rafael couldn’t help but fixed his eyes on the blurred face.

He couldn’t see the other’s face clearly, but there was a strange sense of familiarity.

Perhaps because he had been looking for too long, the young man looked straight over here after he recovered from his fatigue. His deep blue eyes were like a hungry wolf that had found its prey, filled with undisguised ferocity. Rafael’s brows twitched at this sharp gaze.

Ferrante stared fixedly at the figure in the corner, his mind blank for a moment.

He knew him – of course, how could he not know him? The uncrowned monarch of Florence. He once watched the Pope’s golden carriage slowly passed through the streets, surrounded by thousands of people. Fragrant flowers and ribbons gushed out and scattered like a tide, while the servants distributed black bread and dried meat. Ferrante had fiercely squeezed his way through the crowd and grabbed the two largest pieces of black bread from the basket, hiding the hot bread against his chest amidst the scolding, and chased after the carriage.

The black bread in his arms was hot. Blood, surging from his frantic run, pounded against his chest and brain. He was gasping for breath frantically, weaving through the crowd, chasing the looming sitting figure.

What was he chasing? It seemed like a phantom in a dream, a salvation of fate, a saint in his heart. He didn’t know, and he couldn’t describe the feeling. He just ran.

He ran until he tasted blood in his throat, until he was stopped by guards at the edge of the Upper City. The illusion and salvation shattered like bubbles. He finally stopped, sat on the ground, and slowly took out the hot bread – it was no longer so hot, and it was just the right temperature when he put it into his mouth. Ferrante opened his mouth and put it into his parched lips, only to replace a conspicuous red mark burned into his chest.

Their closest encounter had been through a carriage window, with a guard between them. He had seen the new Pope’s beautiful profile, his long golden hair and lavender eyes, and smelled a rich fragrance that seemed to come from heaven.

And now… they were only separated by half an empty square, and there was no one to stop him. As long as he walked over, he could touch his saint who was so high above him.

“Get up! All of you!” The instructor roared, whipping the boys who were glued to the ground. Ferrante, caught by the whip, shrank back in pain. When he looked back again, the corner was empty.

Rafael was discovered and his guards escorted him respectfully to the lounge upstairs. The person in charge of the group of children stood by the window, pointing out each boy to the Pope, detailing their circumstances.

“As for that one, the dark-haired one, his name is Ferrante. He was sent from the Lower City’s Holy Grail Church. The other two with him didn’t make it. One went back, and one was taken by Cardinal Lombardy. This young man is especially resilient. He’s one of the youngest here, but he’s the smartest. Several of the other boys already follow his lead – a natural leader.”

The man said with a hint of admiration.

Rafael stroked the windowsill with his fingers, still haunted by the vague familiarity he had felt when he first saw Ferrante: “Where about his parents?”

The supervisor replied: “An illegitimate child. His mother was a prostitute who worked in the Rose Garden. She gave birth to him there. His father was said to be a clerk who already had a wife and several children. He couldn’t afford this sudden accident, so he didn’t acknowledge Ferrante. His mother couldn’t raise him either, so she sent him to the Holy Grail Church when he was six.”

Rose Garden.

Hearing this familiar name, Rafael’s memories shrouded in fog seemed to suddenly come back to life. A long-lost face emerged from the fog. It was a beautiful woman with black curly hair and deep blue eyes, which seemed to always contain tears of sadness. The look she gave him was so gentle that it was heartbreaking.

If you take away the fierceness in Ferrante’s eyes, his face would overlap perfectly with that woman’s.

“If I have a child,” the woman’s embrace was warm and fragrant. She patted his back with soft hands, making him feel drowsy. “I hope he can be as cute and brave as Rafa. Ah, it’s best not to be a girl, that’ll be too hard.”

“If it’s a child like Rafa, I’ll name him—” The woman’s voice was gradually blurred by the hazy sleepiness, and the last few syllables disappeared into the air.

Rafael’s lips moved and he murmured, “…Lia?”

The person in charge didn’t hear the Pope’s words clearly and turned his head: “What? Your Holiness?”

“No, nothing,” Rafael looked at the sweating boy downstairs with complicated eyes and finally said nothing. He simply ordered indifferently, “Take good care of them. When the training is over, let Ferrante come to me.”

The supervisor was shocked. He didn’t expect that poor boy’s luck would come so soon. Being able to be by His Holiness’s side, what an honor! It seemed that he really had to take good care of him.

“I only want qualified people. If he’s not qualified…” Rafael seemed to see through his thoughts. His pale purple eyes stared at him unblinkingly, his emotions difficult to discern. The last sentence was a little drawn out and he did not continue.

The person in charge understood his words instantly, and a cold sweat broke out on his back. All his previous fantasies disappeared, and he hurriedly bowed his head deeply: “Yes, I understand, Your Holiness.”

Rafael took one last look at the square. The teenagers were still shouting slogans energetically. This vibrant and bustling scene seemed incompatible with his weary and corrupt soul. Rafael was silent for two seconds, then turned and left.