The Reversed Hierophant

Having received a report from the gatekeeper, the eldest son of Cardinal Tondolo hurried out from the hall to greet the Pope. He was a young man a few years older than Rafael, the next Count of Clement after Tondolo. He had the same long brown curly hair as his father and a longer neck than most people, so he was nicknamed “Sir Goose” by the gossipers.

“Your Holiness…”

Sir Goose… No, Little Tondolo lowered his head and saluted Rafael, taking this opportunity to hide the surprise and panic on his face.

Why did Sistine suddenly come here? On the day of his coronation… He should have been at the banquet enjoying the admiration of the crowd, instead of coming to the Palazzo Riccardi quietly to visit a dying old man, especially tonight…

Little Tondolo’s meager brain, perched atop his spindly neck, strained to dredge up any useful thoughts. Thinking of the group of people who were now in the reception room and a certain rumor that had been making the rounds among the nobles of Florence, he felt a buzzing pain in his head.

“Holy Father, it is an honor to have you here…” His social grace faltered before it was fully formed. The Pope’s piercing violet eyes turned around and his emotionless gaze fell on him. For a moment, Little Tondolo felt as though he was being watched by a serpent.

Fortunately, this sight only lasted for a moment. By the time Little Tondolo dared to look again, the young Pope’s expression was still calm and gentle.

“I heard that Cardinal Tondolo was gravely ill, so I came to visit him. He once taught me at the Florentine Seminary. I regret that I cannot share today’s glory with him.” Rafael’s tone was calm, but his steps were firm as he strode past Little Tondolo, giving him no chance to obstruct his path.

“Wait a moment—Holy Father!” Seeing the Pope sweep past him like a gust of wind, little Tondolo was startled. “Please allow me to lead the way. Father’s bedroom is in -“

This time he was interrupted by a deliberately raised laugh: “Oh, look who we have here! Our great Holy Father His Holiness Sistine I!”

Rafael suddenly stopped.

To be fair, the voice wasn’t unpleasant, even rather melodious, but it had haunted Rafael’s dreams countless times when he was young, like a shadowy evil spirit, whispering malicious words filled with hatred.

The Pope raised his face, expressionless. At the top of the grand, spiraling staircase stood a strikingly handsome young man. Tall and slender, with flowing golden hair, he was adorned in a magnificent ensemble of a taffeta shirt, a deep blue coat that reached his calves, and the lace cuffs were embellished with pearls. He was meticulous in every detail and stood there with an air of dignity, looking like a portrait of an aristocrat that would soon be hung in the family gallery.

“Redrick Claudius Portia…” Rafael pronounced the other party’s full name word by word, before adding with an uncertain tone, “—— the Duke of Lusanne.”

Redrick leaned against the red pine handrail and walked down the stairs slowly, his heels tapping out a steady rhythm on the floor. “Yes, it’s me, Your Holiness Sistine I.”

He stopped and performed a half-hearted bow to Rafael, with undisguised contempt in his tone.

Rafael watched him impassively, his hands clasped together beneath the wide vestments, rubbing them gently against each other.

He was not angry and remained as calm as a deep lake.

“I think the Palazzo Riccardi should be more rigorous in choosing who to entertain. Bad guests will ruin the reputation of Cardinal Tondolo and drag all of Tondolo into hell. If I were you, my dear brother Tondolo, I would cut my losses…” Seeing that Rafael didn’t react, Redrick turned his attention to Little Tondolo, and spoke incessantly about his own opinions.

Of course, he knew that Little Tondolo couldn’t possibly drive the Pope out of the Palazzo Riccardi, and he also knew that his current words were tantamount to dragging the innocent Little Tondolo into the conflict between him and Rafael… But so what? He didn’t care.

Children who grow up spoiled, straightforward, and surrounded by adulation seem to have this kind of self-centered nature, and Redrick was the worst among them.

And he did have the capital to do so.

As the direct heir of the Portia family, the legitimate firstborn son of the former Pope, with maternal lineage tracing back to one of the few verifiable Roman imperial bloodlines, and with connections to two royal families, he had been the uncrowned prince of Florence since childhood. It was no wonder that he had cultivated such arrogance and ruthlessness.

“Redrick!” Just as Little Tondolo was pondering whether to feign unconsciousness in this chaotic situation, someone came to his rescue with a series of footsteps.

Thank goodness, I swear I will never say anything bad about Julius again, he is an angel!

Little Tondolo secretly breathed a sigh of relief.

Reluctantly, Redrick stopped talking. Rafael’s hand, hidden in his sleeve, suddenly clenched.

As soon as he heard the footsteps, he had already recognized the identity of the person coming. He was so familiar with this person. He had been taught by him since he was eleven and regarded him as his mentor. He respected him like a father and trusted him as much as himself. Even if he closed his eyes, he could perfectly recreate the other person’s appearance, guess what the other person would say, his habitual movements and tone –

Calm, elegant, reserved, distant——

“The epitome of nobility”.

The man descending from the second-floor gallery was about thirty years old. His iron-gray hair was meticulously tied back, and an emerald ribbon cascaded down with the strands. His eyes were a deep, haunting purple, and his lips were an unusual dark crimson, as if tinged with cold, rusted blood. Silver-rimmed glasses tempered the overly oppressive sharpness in his eyes, softening his fierce demeanour and concealing it beneath an elegant and refined exterior.

His hands were not adorned with luxurious jewelry like other noble men. He only wore a modest dark gold ring on his slender fingers, and in his palm rested an ebony cane tipped with silver.

He appeared modest and gentle, yet no one dared to underestimate this seemingly harmless man. His hands held the reins of the most powerful Portia family in the Syracuse Peninsula. In the Council of Thirteen of the Free City-States Alliance centered in Florence, he always sat at the head of the table.

Sharing the same name as the glorious tyrant who founded the Ancient Roman Empire, Julius Portia hides a cold heart beneath his handsome and amiable appearance.

“Redrick, you mustn’t be rude to Count Clement. And… you should go back and relearn your manners. If you continue to be so willful, I’ll consider sending you back to Lusanne.” Julius’s tone was very calm, but Redrick immediately clamped his mouth shut. He seemed to have an inexplicable fear of Julius.

“And you should offer your sincere congratulations to your brother and address him as ‘Holy Father.’”

When he heard this, Redrick rolled his eyes viciously and silently mouthed a word to Rafael:

—Bastard.

Julius came down the last two steps and pressed his cane lightly against the ground, making a rather oppressive “click”.

Rafael stood face to face with him, two steps apart. The older man lowered his head slightly, examining his young student. Standing behind them, Little Tondolo suddenly felt a strange sense of similarity between the two men. This similarity was elusive and hard to grasp, but when the two stood close together, it was magnified and became so obvious that it could not be ignored.

They were too similar. It was hard to say exactly where the resemblance lay. Maybe it was the purple hue of their eyes, maybe it was the curve of their profiles, maybe it was the high degree of synchronization in their expression, maybe it was their standing postures, maybe it’s –

In any case, for a fleeting moment, Little Tondolo felt a strange sense of déjà vu, as if there were two Juliuses standing before him.

This illusion gave him goosebumps all over his body and he tried hard to shake off the terrifying thought from his mind.

Two Julius Portias?!

What kind of new myth was this!

But to be honest, aside from the same eye color and facial features, Julius seemed to bear a closer resemblance to Rafael than to Redrick, who was actually related to him by blood.

Could the rumors be true? Did the new Pope also have Portia blood?

Little Tondolo was lost in thought. Julius smiled at Rafael and said, “Congratulations.”

With his free hand, he lifted Rafael’s right hand and gently kissed his signet ring, “Holy Father.”

Rafael lowered his eyes, gazing at the iron-gray head bowed before him. Suddenly, an unrelated memory came to mind.

In his previous life, Julius had never bowed his head before him, nor had he ever sworn allegiance.

He always respected his mentor and understood the inherent pride of the Portia patriarch. Rafael had granted Julius special permission to forego the customary bow. Coupled with the fact that these formalities didn’t seem particularly important to him, he had forgotten that Julius had never kissed the hem of his robe in the first place.

This memory came at an inopportune time, causing him to miss the moment when he subconsciously wanted to exempt Julius from the ceremony. The head of Portia kissed his ring and raised his head, his expression as gentle as ever: “Rafa, why are you here all of a sudden? I thought the papal ball was supposed to last the entire night. Didn’t they realize they had lost their star?”

Julius had always been affectionate towards Rafael, an affection akin to that of an older male relative towards a younger one, a warmth that the young, lonely Rafael found impossible to resist.

“I heard that Cardinal Tondolo is unwell, so I came to visit him. Where is the gentleman?”

Rafael’s counter-question was too calm.

Julius shouldn’t have been here in the first place. Although he held no clerical office, as one of the pillar families of Florence, he should have been one of the stars of the ball.

“Like you, I came to visit Cardinal Tondolo. As you know, he was a dear friend of my cousin, Pope Vitalian III during their lifetime. It’s only natural for me to come and see if he has any unfinished business.”

He seemed to emphasise one of the names, but also seemed not to. Rafael looked into his eyes, the deep purple irises behind the lenses were unfathomable.

“Unfinished business…” Rafael repeated the words, glancing at Little Tondolo behind him, his tone laced with a strange irony. “Taking care of his widow and children?”

Julius spun the ebony cane in his hand half a turn and replied calmly, “If necessary.”

Rafael chuckled softly, glancing meaningfully at Redrick who stood frozen on the steps. The Duke of Lusanne, who had been so lively and full of himself just a moment ago, now looked like a wet chicken.

“You’re as fond of doing good deeds as ever,” Rafael said coldly.

Julius followed his gaze and replied good-naturedly, “And I’ve always been quite good at it, haven’t I, Holy Father?”

This man, who was dressed so austerely that he looked ascetic, uttered the sacred word “Holy Father” without any piety, making the title sound oddly out of place.

This time the young Pope did not give him any response. He walked past him and went straight to the second floor, not forgetting to remind the living map Little Tondolo to follow him.

After their figures disappeared around the corner of the corridor, Redrick finally came down the stairs and walked to Julius. According to blood relationship, Julius was his father’s cousin, or in other words, his uncle, but Redrick would never dare to use that intimate term.

“Why is he here?!”

This question seems to have come up many times tonight.

Julius stared at him coldly until Redrick’s guilty gaze darted around, then he let him go temporarily: “Rafael is your older brother, I don’t want to see you offend him again in the future. Otherwise I’ll consider giving the title of Duke of Lusanne to someone else. You have more than one younger brother.”

Redrick’s handsome face twisted instantly, and he growled, “Julius – you can’t do this! He’s nothing but a bastard! My father never even acknowledged his existence!”

“That’s irrelevant,” Julius said calmly, “You—”

“Yes, it’s irrelevant, what matters is that he’s the Pope now, isn’t it? The noble Sistine I! Ha! He’s not even a ‘Portia’! Julius, do you think I don’t know what you’re thinking? There are several bishops in the Portia family, but you went to great lengths to bring this bastard back from the countryside and place him on the holy seat of Saint Leah. Your dirty intentions, do you think I can’t see it?”

As soon as he finished speaking, the world spun in front of his eyes and a searing pain exploded from his jaw. Redrick took three or four steps back before he managed to stand unsteadily. A salty, metallic taste filled his mouth.

The duke, who had never been struck like this before, was stunned. He stood there, dazed, clutching his jaw.

A flicker of annoyance crossed Julius’s eyes. He shook his right hand, which was numb from overexertion, and his voice remained as calm and low as ever: “Put away your filthy thoughts. I expect you to think twice about where you are before you speak next time. If I hear this rumor again, I’ll cut off your tongue and send it to your mother.”

Redrick shuddered.

He realized that Julius was really capable of such a thing.

Not daring to say another word, Redrick glared at the floor resentfully, covered his wound, and hurried out of the Palazzo Riccardi. Julius stood in the hall for a moment in thought, then turned and left.

Rafael’s arrival tonight was completely unexpected to him. It seemed that something had happened that he didn’t understand, which made him feel unusually uneasy.

“To the Papal Palace.” he ordered the coachman as a guard helped him into a thin cloak. Julius climbed into the carriage.

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