The Reversed Hierophant
Chapter 22: Quiet Before the Storm

On the third day of the celebration, according to custom, the Pope would go to Miracle Square and host a Grand Blessing. After the blessing, he would personally greet a few lucky selected people. Of course, for the safety of the Pope, these selected lucky people had undergone careful screening.

As the Pope’s new favorite, Ferrante was also involved in the screening process.

Those selected could not be from the nobility, nor could they be unemployed or in debt, and they certainly couldn’t have a criminal record—this alone excluded almost everyone from the lower town.

Ideally, they should be involved in some sort of industry, such as a small factory owner or a Florentine civil servant. At the very least, they should be able to afford a decent-looking outfit and understand basic etiquette, so as not to behave inappropriately in front of the Pope…

On the day of the celebration, Rafael arrived at the square in an open-top carriage. The crowd, thick as a swarm of bees, enthusiastically surrounded the carriage as it moved forward. To prevent the ejected steam from harming people, this carriage used the most primitive horse-drawn power. Two carefully selected beautiful white horses gently stepped on the ground, their manes were carefully braided, and the nuns had placed fresh lily wreaths on them, weaving various colorful flowers into their manes. The fragrance of the flowers made these two loyal animals constantly shake their heads and snort.

The cheering and jubilant people reached out and threw newly picked flowers onto the convoy. Ferrante, standing behind Rafael as a guard, was also covered in petals. He turned his head and sneezed. Rafael, who had been smiling and nodding all the time, occasionally raising his hand to wave, noticed his embarrassment and a genuine smile flashed in his eyes.

The Pope in the carriage perfectly matched people’s imagination of God, as if the portrait hanging on the walls of the Vatican had come to life. He was beautiful, kind, and compassionate, and his every move was elegant and dignified. Wherever his gaze fell, people would burst into wild cheers.

The grand blessing lasted for nearly three hours, and the people’s enthusiasm never waned. Rafael’s legs were numb from standing, and his right leg, which had an old injury, had completely lost all sensation, but he still maintained his usual demeanor and finished his speech calmly.

Thankfully, it didn’t rain today.

Rafael thought to himself as he put away the parchment.

He was going to step down from the makeshift platform to greet the people. As he turned around, the Pope’s body swayed slightly. Ferrante quickly reached out to support him, but Rafael only leaned on his arm for a moment before quickly pushing him away.

The Pope’s every move was watched by the people, and his every action would be deeply analyzed and understood. If he lost his composure here, even just a change in expression, it would lead to much speculation.

This would do him no good.

Rafael understood this well, so even though his right leg was aching as if it was about to break, and the sharp pain piercing his muscles and blood vessels, as if someone was scratching his bones with their nails, he couldn’t frown.

The young and handsome Pope turned around and showed a perfectly curved smile to the people waiting below.

He walked down the stairs unhurriedly, his steps slow and solemn, and extended his hand to the middle-aged man at the front of the line.

“May the Lord bless you,” the Pope placed his hand in the center of the man’s open palms and pressed gently on the man’s palm, saying softly, “May His blessings ensure your life goes smoothly.”

The man, who had put on a new wool coat and specially styled his hair—he had a strong smell of shampoo on him—was so excited that his face turned red. He was so overwhelmed with joy that he momentarily forgot how the priests from the Papal Palace had taught him to reply.

“Thank, thank you…” he stammered, “Our whole family likes you very much, I mean, you’re great, I mean—”

He tried to express his thoughts incoherently, and Rafael smiled patiently, listening to his words.

The Pope’s kind demeanor made him relax a lot. Braving his increasingly red face, he finished what he wanted to say, and then was led away by the priests waiting on the side.

The next people were about the same as him, and being incoherent was already the best performance. One old woman even fainted when Rafael held her hand.

Rafael half-supported and half-carried her, allowing the monks to come and take her to the church to rest. He didn’t show any displeasure throughout the process, which obviously moved the people around him, and the shouts of “Sistine I” gradually merged into a surging wave.

The last person was led up, and Rafael was stunned for a moment.

It was a little girl, who looked no older than ten. Perhaps, because she was so thin and her cheeks lacked the plumpness of a well-nourished child, she might be older than she appeared.

But she was lovely, with big, round blue eyes and long, golden curls. She wore a snow-white dress that made her look like a little angel from a church painting.

Rafael bent down and extended his hand. Seeing the sweat on her face from nervousness, he smiled reassuringly and lowered his voice, “What is your name, child?”

The girl trembled. She was on the verge of fainting from excitement, but she pinched herself hard. She couldn’t faint, not now. She quickly glanced up at the handsome pope in front of her, her gaze sliding away from him as if she had touched something, and she replied timidly, “Jenny, Your Holiness. My name is Jenny, from the Holy Grail Church in the Lower City.” 𝔯

The smile on Rafael’s face changed slightly.

His gaze swept over Jenny, and the details that he had just overlooked entered his mind one by one. The edges of the snow-white dress had simple lace, and the size was clearly too big for her. The waist was loose, and the skirt covered her feet. It was obviously bought on the spur of the moment – and definitely beyond this girl’s means.

Did the priest in her church buy it for her?

The thought flashed through Rafael’s mind, but he didn’t dwell on it. The people he was meeting had been carefully selected, and it wasn’t strange for someone to buy an ill-fitting new dress after being chosen.

“Jenny, good child,” Rafael slowed his speech. The child clearly preferred the slower pace, and she visibly relaxed. Rafael didn’t ask her to extend her hand. He sensed her discomfort with physical contact, so he slowly and gently placed his hand that had been hanging in the air for a while on the top of the girl’s head.

Jenny didn’t react negatively to this gesture, and Rafael breathed a sigh of relief. Following protocol, he said, “May the Lord bless you, and may His grace accompany you throughout your life—”

Before he could finish, Jenny suddenly tilted her head slightly. Rafael noticed her movement and gave her an inquiring look.

Jenny stood on tiptoes, like a child saying something secret to an adult, and the young Pope leaned down indulgently. The girl put her bright red lips close to the Pope’s ear, and Rafael heard a barely audible voice.

“Your Holiness, Duke Francois has bought many beautiful girls and boys, and none of them have returned. My friend has also been taken. Can you save them?”

Rafael’s pale purple eyes, usually filled with a soft smile, suddenly narrowed.

Others only saw the little girl say something to the Pope. The golden-haired Pope paused for a moment, then smiled and touched the girl’s head: ” God loves all His children equally. It’s no big deal to tour the Papal Palace. Let this brother take you.”

He beckoned to a guard behind him and had him lead the little girl away.

People thought it was just a story of the Pope fulfilling a little girl’s innocent dream, and no one paid any attention to this little interlude.

Rafael finished all activities according to routine and returned to the Papal Palace. As soon as he entered the door, Ferrante came forward to greet him.

Ferrante was the guard he had called to take Jenny on a “tour” of the Papal Palace.

“Your Holiness..” Before Ferrante could speak, Rafael looked at him and made him swallow the rest of the words.

The attendant who followed closely behind the Pope came forward to remove the heavy, ornate robes, jewelry, and pendants. The crown of thorns was carefully placed back on the crimson velvet cushion. The attendant tied Rafael’s hair and draped a light, warm indoor robe over him. Rafael couldn’t help but sigh in relief after taking off the burden.

When the attendant left with the jewelry, crown, and robes, he went to sit at the desk and rubbed his forehead, wearily pointing to the sofa. “You sit down too—how is Jenny?”

A warm hand covered his. Rafael opened his eyes and realized that Ferrante had not followed his instructions to sit down but had come to his side.

Deep blue eyes like the ocean were filled with concern. “Are you very tired? Let me rub your shoulders. I used to massage my mother like this.”

Rafael looked at the familiar yet unfamiliar blue eyes, did not refuse, and closed his eyes again.

Ferrante gently pressed on the Pope’s temple, trying to keep his breathing quiet and as gentle as possible. “Jenny is asleep. I’ve settled her in a guest room. She told me about it. Her friend Mary has gone missing. She searched everywhere and finally found out that Mary was sent to Duke Francois’s place. And there are many other boys and girls who were bought and taken to the Duke’s mansion…”

Ferrante hesitated and asked softly, “What do you plan to do?”

As a guard, his words were considered an overstep, but Rafael didn’t care about this small issue.

The ruler of Florence was silent for a long time. In the silence that almost suffocated Ferrante, he finally heard Rafael’s soft voice say, “Why was Jenny able to come to me?”

“Hmm?” This question was clearly beyond Ferrante’s expectation. He tilted his head in confusion, but his agile brain had already started to answer. Ferrante almost couldn’t control his actions.

He suddenly felt an inexplicable fear.

Rafael didn’t notice his abnormality and continued softly, “A little girl, in order to save her friend, came to the Pope to report and expose—what a touching script. But how did she, a powerless girl, pass the screening and come to me?”

The head of the church would never offend Duke Francois for a missing girl, and a girl of that age was indeed not a suitable candidate to be received by the Pope. So how did Jenny pass the screening and see him? Who wanted to use her to expose Francois?

Francois’s enemies? Or his enemies?

Does someone want to see him and François clash?

Or do you want to pit Florence against Calais?

His thoughts raced like a whirlwind. A dense web of intrigue spread out from Jenny, and Rafael’s expression grew grave, as if he were trying to see through the thin and frail girl to the sinister plots behind her.

Ferrante stood stiffly, his mind racing. Had he been discovered? He had merely made a small alteration to the list; no one should have noticed. Even if someone did notice the anomaly in the list later, they wouldn’t be able to trace it back to him.

“Your Holiness means…” he probed again.

Rafael paused for a moment and replied decisively, “Do nothing.”

Ferrante’s hands instantly stiffened. He stared at the figure with his back turned to him and murmured, “Nothing… at all?”

Those suffering children, those pale and lifeless corpses, those who had endured torture and died, those who were waiting, calling, praying for the saint to reach out to them…

The saint who walked among men had rejected their pleas.

Ferrante felt something crumbling within him.

Rafael sensed that the warm hands had lost their temperature, so he turned his head to look at Ferrante and met a smile that seemed unchanged yet somehow different.

“Before I know the whole story, nothing.” Rafael patiently explained, a rare occurrence.

“Know the whole story? Then… those people, we’ll just ignore them?” Ferrante asked almost in a whisper. His gaze was both dull and heavy, as if a storm was brewing deep in the clear blue sea. He stared fixedly at Rafael’s pale neck, momentarily unsure of what he was saying.

“Yes.” He heard his saint answer without hesitation.

Ah.

Wrong.

Something must be wrong.

As if he hadn’t heard clearly, Ferrante asked again, “They might die soon, and we’ll just ignore that?”

This time, Rafael was silent for a longer time. His slender fingers tapped on the desk, his nails an unhealthy color. The thin Pope seemed so fragile that a gust of wind could break him, but his tone was harder than steel. “Until I figure out who sent her, yes.”

This was wrong.

How could a saint… turn a blind eye to suffering?

Unless… this was a devil disguised as a saint to lure people into sin.

A sudden clap of thunder outside startled Rafael. He turned his head sharply, and a flash of uncontrollable fear crossed his lavender eyes. Ferrante noticed his fleeting expression, tilted his head slightly, and seemed to remember something. He looked at Rafael motionlessly from behind.

Author’s Note

Ferrante is a mad dog, a real mad dog, one immersed in his own thoughts, tsk tsk.

At present, his brain circuits are completely different from Rafael’s, but it doesn’t matter! The little pope will teach him how to be a normal person.