The Reversed Hierophant
Chapter 9: Ferrante

As the heart of the Holy Faith, Florence has a large number of churches. Excluding the Great Prayer Hall, the Holy Thorn Cathedral and the White Crown Chapel which are exclusively used by the Pope, there are countless other churches of varying sizes and purposes. Some are as large as the Cathedral of the Holy Thorn, occupying half of Miracle Square, while others are as small as half a house. These churches were densely scattered like stars across Florence, welcoming countless believers.

Like any other city in the world, Florence has a chaotic lower city. The poor live here like ants and every inch of land has already been divided. Those who couldn’t rely on farming for income and couldn’t replace enough work can only resort to thievery and fraud. Therefore, prostitution runs rampant throughout the city, with at least two out of every ten women either currently involved or having been involved in the industry.

Rafael had once tried hard to change this situation. He demanded that Florence provide certain jobs for women, that every registered business must hire a female employee who is not a family member, and that it was allowed to employ girls under the age of seven to provide laundry services—this greatly reduced the occurrence of child prostitution, as the original doctrine held that children were incapable of working and that employing children was a cruel act.

—— The previous policy of not ‘hiring’ child labor didn’t mean merchants would stop using child labor; they simply used this as an excuse to pay child laborers extremely low wages.

Raphael felt that he had done a good job, but the adult men whose jobs had been taken away were dissatisfied. However, since he died soon after, he didn’t hear how they cursed him.

Despite being the City of Cities and the land where gods have trodden, Florence’s slums was not so “pure”. Sewage flowed everywhere, garbage was littered all over the place, animal feces was everywhere, and the stench was overwhelming. As soon as it rained, the streets would be covered in muddy yellow water. Beggars ran barefoot through the streets, and all passersby avoided them cautiously.

All the children who lived here belonged to a certain faction and followed criminal gangs in stealing, robbing, or defrauding. What they specifically did depended on what their leader did.

However unlike the slums in other cities, the people living in the slums of Florence were more devout. They had grown up listening to hymns of the Lord and instinctively regarded their life’s hardships and disappointments as tests from the Lord. They struggled, hoped, and walk towards death in their piety day after day.

The churches in the lower town certainly wouldn’t be very ornate. This Holy Grail Church stood on the main road leading up to the upper city. It was a complete building with side wings and a small courtyard. Although it was small in size, it had everything: a chapel, a small library, and a prayer room.

Ferrante woke up feeling groggy. His head still ached. The blanket was too thin, and it had rained last night. Coupled with the heavy work, he had developed a fever since early morning. Fortunately, as a young man, he had a good physique, and he felt that he could get through it.

He was awakened by the shrill ringing of a bell.

A rusty copper bell hung outside the children’s dormitory. Every morning, when the rooster crowed for the first time, the monk in charge of them would come and ring this bell.

In the gloomy, cold room, countless rustling sounds could be heard. Sleep-deprived and tired children lifted their ragged blankets and got out of bed, put on their robes, and lined up in an open space. Ferrante consciously stood at the very end.

The children’s clothes were very loose, made of poor-quality linen, dyed unevenly black, and were long robes with no tailoring at all. They hung straight from the neck to the knees, and when they walked, they looked like little crows flapping their wings.

Among the twenty-odd children, the youngest was only five years old and the oldest is fifteen-year-old Ferrante. They have different hair and eye colors, but they had one thing in common, that is, they all have decent looks and delicate features, and some of them can even be seen to have a good foundation.

They stood in a disorderly line, and not a single child made a sound from beginning to end. After they had lined up, the door to the dormitory was pushed open, and a tall, thin priest in a black cassock walked in. His emotionless eyes scanned the room, counted the number of children, and then pulled out a crumpled piece of paper from his sleeve. He began to call out names: “Quinn, Seth, go replace ‘Little Foot Charlie’, they’re short two sheep today; Mary, Jane, Jenny, it’s the same as yesterday, someone will come for you, be good, I don’t want to receive any complaints from the guests… Those twelve and older, follow me.”

He stuffed the paper back into his sleeve and without a glance at the children, walked away on his own.

There were only four children over twelve years old. Ferrante and the other three followed silently, glancing at the children who had been assigned tasks. Their faces were pale and numb, like plaster masks in the dim room.

“I don’t want to go… I don’t want to go…” Mary, a girl of only nine, whispered. She had a pair of beautiful blue eyes, as innocent and pure as an angel in a mural. She cried softly. The other two girls who had been named stood expressionless beside her, as if they had long since lost the strength to comfort their companion.

Ferrante only glanced at them before looking away. Everyone who lived here was struggling to survive, so how could they have the energy to take care of others?

The four children followed the priest without any conversation, cautiously keeping a distance between each other. They passed through narrow, dark corridors and a dilapidated washroom, and arrived at a small, open-air square. It was more of a square-shaped open space, with a plaster statue of an angel placed in the middle, perhaps an old decoration discarded by the upper church. There was a broken crack in the marble base.

Ferrante stared at the crack. The priest scrutinized the four children, his expression neither satisfied nor dissatisfied.

“You have an opportunity,” the priest said slowly, “so rare that I doubt whether you even deserve it.”

“You can meet those big shots you never dared to dream of, bishops, archbishops, cardinals… and even…” He grounded the word between his teeth, his tone filled with awe or something else, “the Holy Father, yes, you might even be able to meet His Holiness, our supreme and honourable Pope. For insects like you, it’s nothing short of a miracle.” Ɍ

There was a slight stir among the children.

A glimmer appeared in their deadened eyes, but because the priest’s words were too unbelievable, this glimmer quickly turned into doubt.

“I never lie,” the priest said arrogantly. “The Papal Palace has issued an order that all churches in Florence must select suitable, devout children of the appropriate age for training. If you pass, you can become a member of the Papal Guard… What a great honor! And in the Holy Grail Church, only the four of you are the right age.”

He was satisfied to see the children’s expressions fixed on anticipation, except for the tallest dark-haired boy… He frowned inwardly. That boy with the most eccentric personality, if it weren’t for his intelligence and flexibility, often bringing unexpected income to the church, he would have been sold long ago. Many nobles liked him just for the sake of that face!

What was his name… Oh, yes, Ferrante, the lowly, nameless pauper, without even a surname. He seemed completely indifferent to this miraculous opportunity, simply staring straight at the ground.

…a crazy little freak.

The priest ignored him and turned to the other three children, whose faces were filled with excitement, and said slowly, “I can put your names forward, but you need to understand one thing. The church has raised you for so many years, and your return has been far from enough. And when you leave this time, you won’t be coming back, so in order not to damage the Lord’s grace… and for the sake of your own future blessings, you need to give me two gold florins in exchange for this recommendation letter.”

Two gold florins!

The children were all stunned.

They had never even seen a gold florin in their entire lives!

A single gold florin was enough for a person in the slums to live on for a year. They had to work day and night to get bread from the church to barely fill their stomachs. Let alone saving two gold florins, it was a remarkable achievement to have any savings at all.

The priest didn’t care about the children’s expressions of utter despair. He continued, “I’ll give you a month. After a month, the Papal Palace will no longer accept recommendations. If you can’t go…”

He curled his lips in a sneer, “I’m very sorry, but only the Holy Grail Church can accommodate a bunch of lazy children like you.”

The priest left, and the three children stood there, looking at each other for a moment before slowly walking away, their heads bowed. Ferrante, who had remained motionless, finally looked up. He pulled his senses out of the fog of drowsiness and watched as the black hem of the priest’s robe, like a rolling black wave, touched the ground and disappeared around the corner of the corridor.

The Holy Father?

Ferrante repeated the word in his mind.

He thought of the carriage that passed by here when the Pope was crowned a few days ago. He had never seen such a magnificent and dazzling carriage in his entire life. The carriage, inlaid with pearls, gold and gems seemed to have descended from heaven. Although the carriage had only toured around the outskirts of the lower city, Ferrante had squeezed into the best viewing position early on.

Then he saw the person sitting in the carriage, the new Pope, Sistine I, who wore a magnificent crown. The man was so beautiful that he couldn’t help but hold his breath. The Holy Father looked very similar to the oil painting on the wall, pure white, bright, and holy, so clean that he seemed to be glowing. Ferrante stared at him obsessively and felt that all the words in the scriptures proclaiming the greatness of God’s light suddenly had a subject.

——God came to earth to cleanse the sins of the mortal world. He said to the people, ‘Give me all your sins, I will bear them, and so you can ascend.’

——So people gave their sins and filth to Him, and God’s snow-white wings darkened. He then gave birth to Saint Leah, who bore the evil thoughts of the world. The people lifted up the saint and cheered for His birth.

Ferrante stared at the person in the carriage through the countless cheering crowd. They were cheering the birth of the new Pope, just as they had cheered the birth of the saint a thousand years ago.

If it were him… would he be the one who would bear the evil and save the fallen from sin? Would he, as he said, become a savior, a protector, a person who would always reach out to them?

Could he be… the holy saint he had been waiting for?

Ferrante licked his sharp canine teeth, and a hint of anticipation flashed in his deep blue eyes. As long as he seized this opportunity, he could leave this place and get closer to that person.

He looked around, walking to the angel statue. There was a pool of dirty water nearby. Ferrante didn’t mind. He squatted down, cupped his hands, and splashed the water on his face, rubbing vigorously until his skin turned red. He wiped away the water droplets with his sleeve and pushed back his wet, tangled black hair, fully revealing his delicate, almost feminine face.

Like his prostitute mother, he had a face that was considered quite unfortunate in the slums. If he hadn’t been thrown into the church…

Ferrante curled his lip, as if things here were much better either.

But years of struggle have left this young man with an extremely low moral bottom line and overly flexible means. He is unwilling to use this face to make money, as it wasn’t a long-term solution. He might be dragged into an even worse, inescapable situation. Florence wasn’t without male prostitutes, they were just hidden in darker places. Ferrante had seen them and was terrified of such a life.

However, if you wanted to make a quick buck in a short period of time, this is the safest method besides killing someone.

Anyway, as long as he gets the money, he could leave here and go to the Papal Palace… No one there will know what he had done, everyone is equal, and he can also meet the saint who saved him.

A hint of genuine yearning appeared in Ferrante’s eyes.