The Reversed Hierophant

Leshert finally managed to clean up the entire Papal States before Rome’s invitation arrived in Florence.

The diligent and conscientious Knight Commander led the surviving 2,100 soldiers back to Florence. Before leaving the Holy City, there had been 3,500 of them. Those who had died on the battlefield were carefully buried by their comrades, and a cemetery was built nearby. All that was brought back was a small wooden tag—crafted from sturdy, heavy ironwood, about an inch long and half an inch wide. It was engraved with the bearer’s name, rank, commanding officer, and unit, serving as proof of identity.

The soldiers joked that these were like the name tags noblemen put on their dogs, but everyone carefully hung their tag around their neck.

If one were unfortunate enough to be blown to pieces by cannon fire, with their faces disfigured or their limbs torn off, at least this dogtag could prove their identity.

Over a thousand of these “dog tags” returned to Florence with the army. They would be returned to the families of the fallen soldiers, who could use them to claim regular pensions and benefits from the Papal Palace.

When the iconic, towering bell tower of the Cathedral of the Holy Thorn came into distant view, all the soldiers couldn’t help but raise their hands and cheer. They shouted and screamed wildly, embraced their comrades, and kissed each other passionately on the face, expressing their joy incoherently.

They had finally survived those horrific battlefields and returned to their home.

Leshert waited patiently for their celebration. Mounted on his horse, he looked out at the gray walls of Florence from afar. A thin mist shrouded the sky above Florence like a veil. The sun shone through the clouds, and under the Tyndall effect, beams of distinct golden light bloomed. Most of the buildings in the Holy City were white, with marble exteriors. When the churches stood tall in the sky with their Thorned Wings, countless white doves circled them. The city echoed with the faint singing of the choir children, their tender, pure, and soaring voices reaching the heavens like a fairy tale lullaby calling to the angels.

This was the embodiment of sacred hope, the embodiment of happiness on Earth. God had placed His throne on the barren mountaintop, telling all who came to pilgrimage: “Here I shall build my city, and My banner shall fly over the world. Only the most devout may enter here to find peace and receive My blessings.”

Thus, in a single day, a holy city appeared in the vast wilderness. This snow-white city had an incomparable beauty. The church bells in the city echoed with ethereal sounds throughout the seasons, and amid the solemn ringing, pure children chanted hymns of blessing, praising all the virtues in the world. Everyone could find peace of mind and eternal joy here.

This was the place Leshert had sworn to protect with everything he had. No matter how many times he saw it, he was intoxicated by its beauty and willingly surrendered at its feet, offering his most steadfast loyalty and faith.

A mighty horn sounded, and the bells of the Cathedral of the Holy Thorn broke through the floating song. The circling white doves, startled, scattered like lily petals flying in the air, flapping their snow-white wings toward the sun-kissed clouds. The solemn, vast bell spread out in circles in the transparent air, silencing the entire city in this majestic sound that seemed to come from God.

Leshert instantly understood. The usually reserved Knight Commander suddenly drew his longsword from his waist and raised it high above his head, shouting loudly, “My brothers! Florence awaits us! Our families are waiting for us!”

A thunderous roar of cheers, like a tidal wave, resounded through the mountains and the forest. Even the ground trembled with the noise. They cheered and sang, led by the Knight Commander at the forefront, and rushed towards their homeland.

The victory ceremony held in the Papal Palace was extremely grand. It was like another festival celebration. The aroma of wine soaked the entire city in intoxication. Hot bread was constantly baked and piled on long iron plates, along with creamy stews, golden-brown ham, sizzling roast meat, and crispy, spiced pastries… countless delicacies were spread out in the Miracle Square, no less spectacular than Rafael’s coronation ceremony. Leshert’s expedition had brought Rafael the wealth accumulated by the Twelve Lords over several lifetimes. The mountains of gold and silver were stacked in wooden crates, and black-robed monks transported them by carriage under the cover of night. From the beginning of the war until the entire Papal States were pacified, at least twenty carriages had to be sent out every day.

The warehouses of the Papal Palace were filled to the brim. Except for Julius, who was responsible for the inventory and the final tally, and Rafael, who listened to the reports, no one knew how much wealth they had obtained in this legal plunder.

To put it loosely, it was enough for Rafael to hold a coronation ceremony every day for twenty years without exhausting it.

Although the bishops had some guesses about this, no one dared to foolishly bring up this question openly. When they saw the Pope now, they would only bow their waists even deeper, lower their heads deeply, and use all their body language to express their respect and… fear for His Holiness.

They feared this embodiment of Florence, there was no doubt about that.

Before the soldiers could even remove their armor, they were dragged into the festivities by the joyous crowd. Bands and circuses paraded through the city in open carriages. The crowds surrounding the floats were like undulating waves. Streamers were flying everywhere, and spilled ale created damp patches on the ground. Bright flowers fell from women’s hats and chests, crushed into fragrant floral mud by leather boots.

The members of the Florence City Guard were wearing their uniforms and maintaining order. Although they were holding their weapons, they all wore a smile on their faces, swaying their bodies to the music. Occasionally, they would be handed a flower or a cup of beer by passersby. Their faces were flushed with a drunken glow, and their expressions were filled with contented pleasure.

The carefree joy was like countless bubbles, lifting Florence up and floating it gently. In these bubbles, shimmering with intoxicating brilliance, the entire city became a stumbling drunkard.

Rafael was overlooking this boiling, shimmering sea of joy.

He was standing on the bell tower of the Cathedral of the Holy Thorn. This magnificent building, built several centuries ago, has become a landmark of Florence after numerous renovations by the Holy See. The top of this famous bell tower was open on all four sides, supported by slender, exquisite sword-shaped columns. Intricate stone thorns and lilies were entwined on the slender Roman columns of varying lengths. Cute, naked cupids stood on lily petals on one foot, holding harps, flutes, or small trumpets, looking endearing. The spiritual leader of Florence stood beside a slender pillar, silently watching the frothy joy below.

There was no expression on the Pope’s face, neither the joy of victory nor the excitement of acquiring great wealth. It was as if he had distanced himself from all the glitz and noise, standing alone and coldly watching everything, as if these things had nothing to do with him.

The sound of footsteps came from afar.

A bony prominent hand held a heavy ermine cloak and draped it over the Pope’s shoulders. The cloak was embroidered with ribbons and inlaid with small diamonds, embossed with black silk thread in a diamond pattern. Each corner had a carefully selected, uniformly sized gem.

The thick cloak instantly blocked out the cool air at the top of the bell tower. The soft silver fox fur rubbed against his neck, tingling it slightly. Rafael couldn’t help but tilt his head.

He subconsciously rubbed his cheek against the fur, showing a bit of childishness that was inconsistent with his age and status, which made the person behind him smile slightly. The laughter was very low, but it did not escape Rafael’s ears.

“I thought you’d be out there with your soldiers, receiving flowers and applause, enjoying all the love and respect Florence has to offer you, not here, mocking a poor, innocent person,” the young Pope sighed.

The handsome blond Knight Commander maintained a polite smile. “Please allow me to correct one fact. The love and respect of Florence will always be yours only.”

Rafael sighed. “They all say that Knight Leshert possesses the virtues of integrity, sincerity, and honesty. How come no one told me that the Knight Commander also has a talent for sweet talk?”

“So, did my clumsy sweet words make you feel even a little bit of joy worth smiling about?” Leshert asked softly, his tone seemingly without any excessive emotion. But in Rafael’s ears, who could analyze people with charts and graphs, the anxious concern in his voice was almost strong enough to flow out, burning Rafael’s sensitive heart like boiling lava.

He couldn’t stand it, Rafael thought silently. He couldn’t stand… this.

He could gladly accept temptation, vigilance, pain, and hurt, he could accept Ferrante’s twisted beliefs, he could accept Julius’s calculated affection, but he couldn’t face sincere care so calmly anymore, especially when such care came from someone so absolutely pure. It made him feel particularly… particularly despicable.

He didn’t know how to describe this feeling, but his instincts were telling him to stay away.

Leshert could straightforwardly care for everyone, giving his tenderness equally to everyone in need, while Rafael had to be wary of all the kindness directed at him, dissecting every component of it, finding out any dark and hidden parts in order to gain a tiny sense of security.

Perhaps this was a mockery of the fact that he had once died so defencelessly without even a burial place.

God had taken away his ability to accept love honestly.

But saying this was really pathetic and pitiful, and Rafael would never allow himself to show even the slightest bit of vulnerability.

Rafael pulled the tie of his shoulder cloak with one hand and casually tied a knot. “Very touching. So, back to the previous question, why didn’t you go to the celebration? You know, I invested more than 7,000 gold florins for this celebration. You can’t just let my money go to waste. Although the Papal Palace is much richer now, I’m essentially still a pauper.”

Rafael’s voice was filled with a friendly smile. If the Pope joked with someone in such an approachable tone, no matter who that person was, he would be so grateful that he would faint.

But he was facing Leshert. The Knight Commander himself was frank and transparent, and he didn’t like those meaningless aristocratic social interactions, but this didn’t mean he had no insight into other people’s emotions. On the contrary, perhaps it was because he wasn’t keen on those superficial things that he had the purity to see through other people’s disguises.

“You’re unhappy,” the Knight Commander said straightforwardly.

The blond man frowned, looking somewhat confused and helpless. The strength he had shown on the battlefield had completely disappeared from him. Facing a weak Pope, he seemed to have encountered a huge problem that he was helpless against. This problem couldn’t be overcomed by violence, yet he was unwilling to simply let it go. “You don’t have to lie to me.”

Leshert was a little helpless. “I swear to be wholeheartedly loyal to you, to offer you everything I have. You can trust me, and you don’t have to hide your emotions in front of me.”

He tried to express what he meant, but such a complex meaning was difficult to explain in simple terms, making the invincible knight show a frustrated and confused expression.

Under the clear moonlight, his emerald eyes were like the mist finally clearing in a damp forest, their clear green color brighter and more beautiful than gemstones, heartbreakingly moving.

“Well, if you want to know,” seeing that the Pope remained silent, the Knight Commander scratched his head, forcibly changing the subject. “It’s very lively outside, but no matter where I go, as long as I’m recognized, it will cause… well, a commotion. I don’t want to disturb their celebration. Then I found out that you didn’t attend the banquet at the Papal Palace. Lord Portia was hosting it for you—I must say, he’s a very capable diplomat.”

The Knight Commander sincerely praised Julius.

Rafael looked at him, his tense face suddenly breaking. “Thank you for your compliment, but I don’t think Julius will be very happy about your praise.”

Leshert looked confused again. “What? He doesn’t like being praised by others?”

Rafael laughed. “No, I mean… no, you don’t need to know about these boring things.”

“I want to know,” the blond man said suddenly, looking at the Pope’s smile, “I want to know—these things, if I’m qualified.”

“…Oh, of course.” His earnestness caught Rafael off guard for a moment. The young Pope’s lavender eyes widened slightly, and for a moment he didn’t know how to deal with such a sincere and straightforward person. He was just joking, no one would be so persistent about a joke, but Leshert was obviously different from others, so he hesitated, not knowing how to explain this rather strange question.

“Julius… he, well, he has a strong desire to win,” Rafael tried to choose more euphemistic words, wanting to explain the problem without revealing too much of Julius’s privacy. “You are well known in Florence, and the evaluation you receive is completely different from his.”

So it was normal for him to have a some inexplicable hostility towards Leshert.

Rafael had never noticed this before, perhaps because in his previous life he hadn’t planned to rebuild the Knights Templar. Leshert, as the Knight Commander, had always lived an ascetic life, rarely appearing in public, so Julius didn’t have many opportunities to express his emotions. But this time, as Leshert’s status in Florence became increasingly high, he had more opportunities to interact with Julius in various aspects, and Rafael vaguely realized this.

This was just a small discovery of his own. Julius doesn’t like meeting with Leshert, and he often lets others do the official handover. Whenever the Knight Commander reports to the Pope, the Secretary General, would always appear shortly after and suddenly have an important matter to discuss with His Holiness. Of course, you can’t frankly ask Julius about such subtle targeting, so Rafael had only observed secretly with a curious mind.

He didn’t mind his two capable subordinates having conflicts. On the contrary, he would be worried if they were as close as family, so this was just right.

With a somewhat dark and cold heart, Rafael coldly watched Julius’s extremely well-hidden hostility towards Leshert.

He admitted that he was a bit bad.

“Well,” Leshert sighed, as if understanding something, and then said, “There’s one thing I’m not sure if Lord Portia knows. Maybe he hasn’t had the chance to tell you yet.”

“I received a letter of intent to join the army from the Portia Palace. The applicant was Redrick Portia, Duke of Lusanne.”

Rafael admitted that he was stunned when he heard this name, because the effect of the name with the context together seemed very bizarre to him.

“Redrick… join the army? What do you mean?” Rafael was certainly not someone who couldn’t understand. He was just instinctively confirming the authenticity of this matter.

“Oh, I don’t quite understand either, so I went to ask him just now,” the Knight Commander said frankly. “He said he was very interested in war, and of course, gaining merits on the battlefield is the fastest way.”

Rafael was silent for a moment and looked at him with indescribable eyes: “You… what did you do to him?”

It was no wonder he suddenly asked such a strange question. In Rafael’s impression, Redrick was a petty little monster who constantly spewed venom in all directions all the time, with himself as the center. He was also very, very stubborn. It was harder to expect him to say something sincere than to kill him. In fact, Rafael had always suspected that if he encountered a robber who wanted to rob and murder him, Redrick would shout loudly about his identity as the Duke of Lusanne in front of the robber in order to protect his so-called ridiculous “noble dignity” until the robber was so angry that he chopped off his head.

But such a Redrick actually told Leshert his true thoughts honestly?

It was hard for Rafael not to wonder if the Knight Commander had used some unspeakable method of physical persuasion.

“What? I didn’t do anything.” Leshert was obviously very confused by the question. He replied, “He was very happy when he saw me. I asked him and he told me. Actually, I think he’s a lovely young man.”

Rafael’s face wrinkled up like a cat that had suddenly bitten into a pickle.

No way… this reaction, so familiar to him, of a believer seeing a deity, of a worshiper meeting an idol…

Redrick admires Leshert?

Rafael’s mind was stirred. Regardless of whether this guess was correct, it gave him some new ideas.

The Portia family already had two dukes, one of whom was in charge of the administrative affairs of the Papal Palace and even Florence. If the other one was also involved in military power… was this Redrick’s own idea or Julius’s suggestion?

No, Julius wasn’t such an impatient person. Even if he had this idea, he wouldn’t express it at this sensitive time. It was too hasty, too clumsy, and too unlike his methods.

So it was Redrick’s own idea? If so…

“Agree to him,” Rafael made up his mind, raising his eyes, his smile gentle. “Let him be your deputy. I hope he can become as devout and brave as you.”

Devoutly believing in the Pope, bravely fighting against the Portias.

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