The Reversed Hierophant
Chapter 30: Plague

No one knew where or from whom the disease had come from. Perhaps it was from the sailors returning from distant ports—they had been to many places, and it was not surprising that they brought back some illness. Or maybe it was from a corpse that had lain uncollected for days on the street, gnawed at by rats and vermin, and then shared a bed with the living. Of course, it could also be that the gods, angered by the wickedness of humanity, had sent down flames of wrath to cleanse the insufficiently devout sinners. The ancient city of Solla, now submerged beneath the Black Sea, would certainly agree with this theory.

In the first four hundred years, God had sent down a great flood to cleanse the world and sank the sinful city of Solla into the sea. In the next four hundred, God had sent down a raging fire to burn the sinful world and reduced the fallen city of Radha to ashes.

Now, with a little over a century remaining until the next four hundred years, is He about to wield the blade of disease, to condemn the world for its sins?

At first, it was merely rumors and laughable speculation. But as the number of people afflicted with boils and ulcers grew, the common people in the lower city fell into fear. They began to try to leave and go to places where there were no sick people. The prayers in the church continued day and night. There were too many dead bodies that needed to be prayed for, and even the clergy began to be short-handed. They reported the sudden catastrophe to the higher church and cautiously labeled it a ‘highly contagious plague’.

These reports were immediately presented to the Pope’s desk.

The golden-haired Pope calmly read through the words and then passed them to Julius, who was sitting beside him.

“Plague?” Julius’s smile vanished as soon as he saw the first line and his eyes showed an unprecedented solemnity.

“Are you certain?” The Secretary General of the Papal Palace tensed his muscles.

At any time, this word always had a more terrifying effect than any disaster. The last great plague on the continent had resulted in the deaths of half the population and the extinction of two royal families. The subsequent wars that broke out leveled seven cities. The massive population decline gave merchants the opportunity to rise to the new noble class. The Holy See had sent the Knights Templar to participate in the rescue, but the horrific casualty rate had severely damaged the vitality of the Holy See. The Pope’s authority had declined steadily over the following centuries, and many powers, including the right of coronation, had been stripped away. Even the Papal States had become fragmented…

The outbreak of a plague would cause incalculable harm. Everyone was equal in the face of disease, and no power or wealth could prevent the God of Death from taking them at this opportunity.

Rafael’s brows were furrowed deeply. “Many churches have submitted similar documents. There should be no doubt about their authenticity. What needs to be noted is that the earliest one can be traced back half a month ago – but I’m only seeing it now.”

“Half a month…” Julius’s expression became increasingly grim.

“A bunch of idiots!” The Pope suddenly stood up and kicked the table leg hard. The heavy table made a sharp creaking movement due to his sudden outburst.

“They think I’ll let them leave Florence because of the epidemic? They’re dreaming! I’ll rather hang them one by one on the gallows first!” Rafael said coldly and cruelly, “Including that traitor who betrayed me!”

Julius understood what he meant instantly, but he was a little confused: “You think this is man-made? Why?”

Rafael glanced at him, and there was something in his eyes that he couldn’t understand.

Because in his previous life, Florence had never experienced any plague. Just as human beings could not change the weather or storms, he absolutely did not believe that Florence would suddenly draw such a bad fortune from the gods. And the fact that the documents from half a month ago were held back until now was further proof that this was a deliberate act.

They had caused this epidemic, and there were still people in the Papal Palace who had deceived him and allowed the disease to spread to an uncontrollable level before finally bringing it to his attention. Who had caused this disaster?

For Rafael, it was almost a simple question that required no thought.

Who in Florence hated him with a vengeance? Who shouldn’t be here but was here?

The lords who had been imprisoned by him for a year could finally no longer sit still.

“They thought I didn’t kill them because I’m weak and merciful?” Rafael gritted his teeth. He felt a sense of anger and shame, as if he had been bitten by a dog. “They actually want to kill me this way?”

Julius folded the paper in his hand solemnly: “Perhaps they want more than just your life. If the plague is not controlled, Florence will fall into unprecedented chaos, and all the nobles will flee – they want to divide up all of Florence.”

Julius suddenly paused at this point, his expression turning ugly. He realized that the most valuable thing to be divided in Florence was undoubtedly the Portia family, under his control. A large portion of the Portia family’s wealth was based in Florence. Perhaps this conspiracy was also directed at him.

So the traitor in the Papal Palace…

A fierce murderous intent flashed in Julius’s deep purple eyes. That traitor was very likely someone with the surname Portia, and held a high position of power. Only in this way could he evade the numerous eyes and ears belonging to Julius, and prevent this news from reaching the Pope and him. ȐΆ

A list quickly formed in his mind, and he quickly and accurately circled a few people.

“The fact that they dared to bring this news to us means that they are confident that the plague is beyond control, and that the nobles will soon learn of it—they are forcing us to abandon Florence,” Julius said slowly. “They want to kill us outside.”

“It’s a very clever idea. At least they still know that they will have no chance of winning inside Florence.” Rafael sneered, and his long, bright golden hair fell by his ears, like a thin layer of golden light. Although his smile was a little harsh at the moment, his appearance had become more and more stunning as he grew older, making his smile alike to the cold and noble monarchs in the oil paintings.

He reached out and rang the bell on the table. A deacon dressed in black immediately came in from the door.

He heard the Pope say, “Order the Florence City Guard to seal off the lower city and not allow anyone to enter or leave.”

He paused and continued, “And invite Sir Leshert over.”

The deacon listened and withdrew.

Julius frowned, “You want to seal off the lower city? That’s dangerous.”

Disease, death, and the despair of being locked down could cause the people of the lower city to erupt in unprecedented chaos, even causing a second Seneca riot. This riot, which had previously occurred in the capital of the Republic of Mindania, was also caused by a plague. Angry and fearful crowds broke through the blockade and directly destroyed the Mindania royal family. All members of the royal family were dragged out and hanged on the gallows. The only surviving princess, in order to restore the country, married the Sultan, who was twice her age, and then died during childbirth after repeated pregnancies.

The Sultan claimed the legitimate right to Mindania through the blood of his wife’s children and launched several wars in the following decades in an attempt to obtain Mindania, but judging from the fact that Mindania still held the title of republic, the Sultan’s attempt had remained unsuccessful.

But the country, which had been devastated by war and disease, was already on its last legs, and it was hard to say how much longer it could hold on.

“Florence will not become the next Seneca.” Rafael glanced at Julius and knew what he was worried about. “The unrest in Seneca was entirely due to the inaction of the royal family. The army massacred the people who petitioned, did not deliver any supplies to the blockaded area, and there were no doctors. The dead were casually piled up on the streets, and people had no way out except to wait for death. And the Mindania royal family, at such a critical moment, even tried to leave Seneca with the nobles and hide in the palace—this was the final straw that broke the camel’s back.”

The young Pope exhaled and tilted his head back. His snow-white robe with gold-rimmed patterns made him look like a saint from a painting. His face was somewhat transparent in the sunlight, like a wax figure about to melt, or a fragile, transparent piece of porcelain—the kind brought over from the distant East, delicate and cool, reflecting a soft halo in the light, as enchanting as pearls. At this moment, Julius suddenly wanted to touch Rafael to make sure that he was still alive.

But he didn’t indulge in this thought. He simply thought about it silently and secretly.

Rafael’s next words was like a high-yield explosive that instantly blew away Julius’s reason.

“To appease them, I will also enter the lower city blockade together,” the young Pope said, uttering words that were nothing short of shocking.

“No!” Julius jumped to his feet. His face was like frozen frost, making his expression look a bit terrifying. When the deep purple eyes behind the glasses no longer smiled, the sharpness, depth, and strong aggressiveness cultivated by power broke through the elegant veneer. Few people could face the oppression of the powerful Duke of Rhine.

Of course, His Holiness, who had lived with him for a long time, was an undeniable exception.

Rafael was not only indifferent to his oppression but could even calmly meet his gaze.

“I know what you’re thinking. Yes, the presence of the Pope can appease them, that’s undeniable. However, everyone is equal in the face of illness! Even if you are the Pope with a scepter and a crown! You can’t expect God to pardon you from death! Rafa—don’t take death lightly!”

When the Pope was speaking the first half of his sentence, there was indeed a slight change on his face, but Julius discovered that he didn’t know which of his words had given rise to another idea. Almost in an instant, that slight change disappeared from his face like water, replaced by a mask as cold and stiff as cast iron.

Rafael smiled.

His smile was very complex, like sadness, like mockery, like a completely calm indifference.

This strange, twisted smile that only appeared on the face of a corpse appeared for only a brief moment, so fast that Julius wondered if it was an illusion.

“I have never doubted the horror of death, nor have I ever thought of challenging the power of the God of Death. In fact, no one in this world is closer to death and fears death more than I am.” The Pope, who held one of the highest powers on the continent, said slowly and softly, his face pale and cold, “Secretary-General, if possible, I would like to leave here more than anyone else.”

The Pope, who had spoken such incredibly cowardly words, remained expressionless: “But as long as I leave Florence, the noose that once hanged the King of Mindania will be hung around my neck. What do you think those lords will give me? A dagger? Poison? Or the guillotine?”

A light and detached smile flashed across his face: “Ah, with their courage, I doubt anyone would dare to chop off a Pope’s head, so it would be a dagger or poison, or perhaps I would ‘unfortunately contract the plague’ when I stepped out of the gates of Florence.”

When he mentioned ‘dagger’ and ‘poison’, a silent wave surged in his eyes.

“I will not accept such a fate,” he almost whispered, “Never.”

Julius looked at him in confusion.

“But I still hope we can reach a consensus,” the Pope looked at his Secretary General, “You are my most trusted secretary, and the only person I can rely on in the Papal Palace. Besides you, I cannot entrust the Papal Palace to anyone else.”

Julius pursed his lips for a long time, then shook his head slowly: “No, I still can’t accept it. I can’t wait for an uncertain success, or receive news of your death one day.”

A look of indescribable pain appeared on his face. “I don’t want to organize a funeral. There are already enough of the dead in Florence.”

Rafael’s cold and hard mask suddenly faded away, and his eyes became gentle and intimate – just like the way he looked at the head of the Portia family who was climbing clumsily up the castle wall at Cantrella Castle a few years ago. He wanted to smile, but with innocent and playful worry, he looked at his mentor, the only person in the world who truly loved and protected him, his spiritual companion.

At that time, there was no conflict of interest between them, nor was there any overwhelming power standing between them.

Apart from life and death, nothing else mattered to them.

Even after a long time had passed, Rafael was still willing to admit that it was the shortest and happiest time in his life.

“I won’t die,” he sighed softly, walked behind Julius, and placed his hand on the shoulder of his secretary and mentor. “I’ll take Leshert and Ferrante with me. The Papal Guard won’t let any patients near me, and the Knights Templar will protect my safety.”

Julius’s eyes changed slightly. He knew that Rafael was trying to revive the Knights Templar that once dominated the Syracuse Peninsula. Even he had to admit that Leshert was an extremely outstanding military strategist. If given enough time and money, the legion that had terrified the continent could eventually return to the world.

But no matter how confidently Rafael spoke, it couldn’t change the fact that the Knights Templar was now just a weak sprout. Julius doubted whether they had the ability to protect the Pope. The situation in the lower city was too complex, and in this chaotic place where all kinds of people mixed together, the crowned Pope would undoubtedly become a delicious morsel that fell into a pack of wolves. Everyone would be eager to take a bite.

“And my greatest reliance is of course you,” Rafael changed to a more intimate address, “I place my life in your hands.”

Julius’s hand rested loosely on his lap. Rafael bent down and gently placed his hand on Julius’s palm, grasping the man’s fingers. The texture of the glove was extremely clear against their skin. Rafael touched the ring on Julius’s thumb—the power and wealth he had once used to tempt Rafael, and which had been rejected by the Pope.

“Yura, will you abandon me?” Rafael asked the same question he had asked once before, like a siren’s whisper to a lost traveler, “How much am I worth to you?”

Julius felt as if he had been suddenly scalded by a red-hot iron. He clenched his hands almost reflexively – grasping Rafael’s hand in his palm. The sudden pain of being held didn’t change Rafael’s expression. He heard Julius sigh as if in surrender.

“If you insist on my answer,” the head of the Portia family said, “then my answer is that no one can afford the price at present.”

Rafael laughed.

“I believe you, sir,” said the Pope.