The Reversed Hierophant
Chapter 23: Choice

Rafael did not contact Jenny in private, which could be considered a small kindness to this little girl who might have been exploited by others. If those people knew that Rafael hadn’t paid attention to Jenny and hadn’t gotten any information from her, the little girl would still have hope of living; otherwise, death would likely await her.

Whether they thought Rafael was afraid of François’ power or had other plans, Jenny would no longer be their pawn.

After his resurrection, this was the first time Rafael had shown such kindness to a stranger, although no one knew about it and no one ever would.

Ferrante’s order was to send Jenny out of the Papal Palace openly. The black-haired young guard accepted the order silently and carried it out without any compromise.

At the entrance of the bustling Papal Palace, the little girl with golden-brown curly hair held the hand of the uniformed boy beside her. As she was about to leave, she couldn’t help but turn her gaze to the unusually silent person beside her.

“Ferrante? Are you unhappy?”

Jenny’s voice was timid. That wasn’t really what she wanted to ask, but her intuition told her it was best not to mention that matter now.

“No,” Ferrante denied concisely, and walked her out without even looking at her.

Jenny lowered her head, rubbing her skirt with her small hands, and followed Ferrante’s steps uneasily. After a while, she asked hesitantly, “Is it… did I do something wrong? The Holy Father didn’t want to see me.”

Ferrante was silent for a moment: “It’s not your fault. I… I’ll try again.”

The young man’s deep blue eyes were devoid of any emotion, as dark and deep as an underwater cave. No one could see what was really inside. He repeated to himself, as if trying to convince himself: “I’ll try and try again.”

Meanwhile, Rafael was also talking to Julius.

They were strolling through the Grand Gallery of the Papal Palace. This magnificent corridor housed the classic works of all the masters of the Church for a thousand years. Slender Roman columns supported the arch, and stained glass windows, finely crafted, were arranged in a variety of patterns in colorful compositions. with a pilgrimage picture that was painted by a master artist who spent thirty years of painstaking effort. On both sides hung art masterpieces of various sizes, including portraits of popes from past dynasties, coronation portraits and various religious paintings.

This Grand Gallery was the Holy Church’s proudest artistic achievement. Many famous masters were proud to be able to have their works displayed inside the gallery, but entering the Papal Palace’s Grand Gallery required the Pope’s personal permission, and very few people had received this honor so far.

As for the Pope, such a masterpiece of art was just a place for him to stroll in his spare time. Dr. Polly had set a schedule for him that was accurate to the minute. Rafael certainly couldn’t follow it completely – if he did, he wouldn’t be able to finish most of his work. But within his ability, he didn’t mind making the dedicated old man happy.

Having followed the doctor’s advice and taken a half-hour stroll after dinner, the Pope and Julius met in the grand gallery. Perhaps the Secretary had been waiting for a chance encounter here, but Rafael didn’t care about that.

“What has François been up to lately?” The young Pope paused in front of a life-sized oil painting, looking up at the depiction of a saint being born from God’s palm and descending to earth, as if asking casually.

Julius hadn’t expected the Pope to mention that name and paused for a moment before replying, “He’s been quite peaceful these past few days. There’s been no major movement since the celebration, but he’s been in contact with several cardinals.”

He casually mentioned the names of several cardinals.

Rafael fell into his own thoughts again, and Julius didn’t wonder why he asked this question. If he was curious, he could always replace out the answer.

“Does François often stay in his manor?” Rafael suddenly asked again.

Julius silently frowned.

This was the second question centered around François. Why was Rafa paying so much attention to him?

“Yes,” Julius said quickly, “He seems… not very fond of going out.” As he said this, even the unruffled Julius couldn’t help but feel the logic in this statement was odd. Ȓ

From any perspective, François was not a low-key person. From their few meetings, it can be seen that the Duke has a flamboyant style, likes to show off, and was arrogant and self-centered. How could such a person refuse to socialize?

Julius quickly realized that there was a problem.

“What have you heard?” Compared to François, the head of the Portia family was more concerned about something else. How had Rafael discovered the anomaly that even he hadn’t noticed?

The two equally sharp men’s gazes met, and the similar colors of their eyes held subtle emotions.

Julius slowly turned the silver-plated ebony cane in his hand, and the smooth, pale golden marble floor reflected the blurred figures of the two men. He looked at a portrait of a pope on the side of the corridor. The Pope, wearing a heavy, ornate golden-red surplice, a crown of thorns, and long brown curly hair, had a majestic face. In his hand, he held a double-winged scepter of thorns symbolizing divine power and looked at the people outside the painting expressionlessly.

He was like a symbol of divine authority, completely devoid of individuality as a human being. The solemn portrait hung on the gilded wall of the grand gallery, eternally silent, watching countless successors come here, struggle, wander, die, and then become part of the grand gallery.

Rafael’s fate had also been predetermined in the Grand Gallery. From the moment he donned the crown of thorns of Saint Leah, a place had been reserved for him in the Grand Gallery. A new coronation portrait has already been commissioned from a master artist. If he wished, he could also choose other works to be displayed.

However, Rafael was not at all interested in how he would be depicted on the wall at the moment. He casually left the matter to the Papal Palace to arrange, and it was eventually taken over by Julius – of course, Rafael didn’t know this yet.

“I’ll send someone to investigate. Give me three…no, two days,” Julius said.

“… No, there’s no need.” Rafael rejected Julius’ suggestion. A vague idea suddenly came to his mind, an idea that made him hesitant, but he quickly hardened his heart and threw aside that bit of weak and useless tenderness.

I’ve given him a chance to leave, Rafael thought. I’ve given him a chance.

As if to convince himself, he repeated this sentence twice in his mind.

So Ferrante soon received a new mission: to infiltrate François’ manor in disguise and replace out what was really going on inside.

In fact, it would have been much simpler to use Julius to investigate this matter. The Portia family’s influence was pervasive in Florence, and it would be easy to investigate this matter.

But after careful consideration, Rafael rejected this easy path. He needed to cultivate his own people, and being too tied to Julius was not a good idea. More importantly… he didn’t know if the Portia family was involved in this matter.

The Portia family was a huge clan, and the bloodline of this ancient family was spread throughout the Syracuse Peninsula. As the head of the family, Julius couldn’t possibly control the behavior of all members, especially since there were others in the Portia family who were as powerful as Julius, eyeing the Portia’s uncrowned throne covetously.

Rafael admitted that for certain reasons, he paid special attention to – or rather, favored – Ferrante. Apart from this external factor, this boy, who was four years younger than him, was smart, flexible, intelligent, healthy, and good at judging the situation. More importantly, he had the ambition that could not be erased from a child who had crawled out of the slums.

Rafael was not afraid of other people’s ambitions. Ambition is such a good thing. It can enable people to unleash their terrifying potential, accomplish extraordinary feats, and grind dull and rough stones into sharp blades.

Not to mention that Ferrante was originally an unpolished gem. Rafael hoped to hone him into the sharpest blade in his hand. In return, he would give Ferrante everything he wanted, and these were merely necessary trials before the weapon was formed.

If he breaks in the process…

Alas, if you want to climb up, you always have to pay a price. There is no such thing as a gamble that will never fail in this world. Ferrante has nothing to bet in Florence’s luxurious and vast gambling arena. The only thing he could put on the table was his loyalty and his life, so he had to be prepared to lose everything.

Rafael wouldn’t cry for his death; he had never even cried for his own death.

It was not known whether Ferrante understood his deep meaning or not, but the black-haired boy obediently accepted this dangerous mission. Fortunately, although most people in the Papal Palace knew him these days, he had never met François. Apart from this hidden danger, the middleman who bought people for François would certainly not recognize the guard who accompanied the Pope.

Ferrante infiltrated François’s manor much faster than expected.

Although he looked shy and handsome, the boy who grew up in the rose garden of the lower town understood these dirty and filthy things better than anyone else. He put on an innocent and desperate expression, playing the role of a boy who was so poor and indebted that he had to sell himself. He successfully sold himself into François’ manor for six gold florins.

…His price was getting higher and higher.

When he got the six gold coins, Ferrante thought to himself mindlessly.

Then, he walked into the garden that insiders privately called ‘Eden on Earth’.

Rafael received the letter delivered by Ferrante the next night. This boy, who was well-versed in the rules of the underworld, used a beggar to transfer the letter through layers of channels, and managed to secretly send the letter to the Papal Palace.

‘Your Holiness, good evening. When you receive this letter, it should be night. I have entered here as you commanded. I hate to defile your ears with such filthy matters but I can only say that what the Duke is doing here is completely against God’s will and abandons the virtues of loyalty, chastity, kindness, and integrity.’

‘The fidelity of marriage and love is trampled upon, and they also violate God’s teaching against same-sex love – of course, their reason is that there is no love in it, but merely the venting of primitive desires… I’m sorry, this dirty content may disgust you, I hope it hasn’t disturbed your precious sleep.’

‘…I have also witnessed many more evil deeds that have claimed innocent lives. Will you save these poor people? They are trapped in the swamp of sin, but still yearn for salvation.’

‘Yours faithfully, Ferrante.’

These words were written on a piece of thin, poor-quality paper, carefully folded several times, and sewn between two pieces of leather before being delivered to him. The handwriting was crooked and there were a few spelling mistakes, but it did not hinder reading.

Based on this content alone, Rafael already had a rough guess about what François was doing. A violent rage swept through his mind, and the anger made him unable to control his strength for a moment, almost crushing the paper.

But he quickly came to his senses and put the paper down.

Now is not the time. Even if François did something more excessive, he could not take action against the Duke of Calais.

Otherwise, he would face the revenge of an empire.

This was not about whether Duke François himself was popular, but rather with the act of challenging the Empire’s imperial authority.

After thinking about it, this matter can only be regarded as a personal moral failing of François himself.

In this era where the poor have no human rights, it’s such a charitable act for a great nobleman to pay money to buy people who can’t survive. Even if he doesn’t treat them as servants but uses them for personal pleasure, it’s not a big problem in the eyes of many people.

—Aren’t the prostitutes in the rose garden and the glass workshop doing the same thing? One pays money, the other pays with their bodies, what a fair trade!

Even if they die, it can only be said to be a small error in the transaction process.

At most… François just plays bigger.

But that’s not right.

Rafael crossed his hands, his fingers gently pressing against his bony knuckles, and thought silently.

They are all just young children and should have the chance to live a decent life, instead of learning to take shortcuts early before the frivolous temptation of fate.

What’s more, they are the people of Florence, the children under his wings who pray for his protection every day.

What should he do? How will he do it?

Rafael was in a dilemma.

On the one hand, there was the Duke of Calais, and on the other hand, there were the lowly commoners of Florence. These were not equal weights on the scale, and he had to choose one.

And perhaps, there were others watching beside this scale, waiting for him to make a choice, and then pull him, or even Florence, into the abyss.

He had no doubt about this. There were countless people coveting the position of Pope, and every cardinal had a dream of wearing a golden vestment. As long as he showed any flaws, they would not hesitate to spend all their fortune to expel him from the papal throne. Even Julius could not be trusted, and Florence…

He loved this holy and magnificent ‘City of Cities’, this filthy and decadent city of doom. Would they also love it like this? They only loved the upper city with its elegant clothes and beautiful women, the magnificent Papal Palace and the Grand Gallery; and they wanted to cut off the lower city like a malignant tumor – if they could, Rafael was sure they would do so without hesitation.

Rafael flicked the small, exquisite clock on the table, listening to the pleasant sound of the gear shafts meshing. His face, reflected on the brass surface, was pale and stiff, and his pale purple eyes showed no emotion.

‘Find a chance to leave and don’t do anything unnecessary.’

In the end, the young Pope wrote these words on a paper.