The Reversed Hierophant

The morning after the celebration, Florence was still immersed in an atmosphere of lingering joy. The festivities, authorized by the Papal Palace, were set to continue for at least four days. During these four days, the people of Florence could cast all their worries aside and fully enjoy the food and entertainment provided by their Holy Father.

However, for most of those who bore the public responsibilities of Florence, a single day of leisure was already a remarkable feat. And for the Secretary-General of the Papal Palace, who was responsible for the administrative operations of all of Florence, even a night of relaxation was almost unimaginable.

So, Julius naturally woke up at nine o’clock in the morning, following his usual schedule. This time seemed rather early to most nobles, who often got up around one in the afternoon to enjoy brunch, followed by a leisurely afternoon tea. They would begin their dinner at eight or nine in the evening, attending or hosting grand banquets that would last until three or four in the morning. Being able to go to bed before five was considered a regular sleep schedule for them. Without any unexpected interruptions, they would continue to live this life of indulgence forever.

The Secretary-General stood by the window, wearing a simple morning robe. The warm fireplace ensured that he wouldn’t shiver from the December cold, even in just a silk robe. The robe was open all the way down and fastened only by a belt, revealing a well-defined chest. He was not wearing glasses, and his long silver hair was loosely tied with a ribbon. In his hand, he held a steaming cup of Ceylon tea.

The large, floor-to-ceiling glass window overlooked the garden. The expensive and rare Queen’s Rose had already passed its growing season. The gardener had pruned the rose’s roots and planted seasonal tulips and roses. Hemlock and ornamental ivy climbed the gaps in the soil, covering every inch of the land and giving the entire garden a vibrant appearance.

Every day, out-of-season flowers from the glass greenhouse were also moved into the garden to decorate the flower beds. Although these delicate and beautiful flowers could often only survive a few hours in the cold wind, their sole purpose was to brighten the mood of the master of the villa – when possible.

But it was obvious that the gardeners’ hard work was about to be in vain.

A knock sounded softly on the door. A servant, holding an envelope, handed it to his master who was standing by the window.

Behind him, two maids carrying a four-tiered silver cake stand carefully placed it on the small round table beside their master. Dozens of exquisite pastries were arranged on it. It was evident that the kitchen had exhausted all their efforts for this beautiful and delicious display.

Julius casually sat down at the table, put down his porcelain cup, and took the envelope from the servant.

The wax seal on the envelope belonged to the Knights Templar.

Julius frowned when he saw the emblem of a crossed sword and thorned scepter. He turned the envelope over, glanced at the name on it, and his eyes froze for a moment.

“Have Redrick come to see me,” he ordered quickly, his tone devoid of any emotion.

But everyone present could feel the gradually sinking pressure emanating from their master. The maids bowed and retreated, and the servant quickly went to pass on the message.

Redrick, who had been abruptly pulled from bed in the morning, was cursing angrily. He scratched his messy blond hair with his hands. His head, throbbing from a hangover, felt like it had been filled with half the Black Sea. The water seemed to sway and roll with every step he took, making him ready to burst. Redrick had to let the servant who delivered the message support him to avoid bumping into one of the statues in the corridor or rolling down the stairs.

“What does Julius want from me? It’s only…” he blinked his bleary eyes, and the servant kindly reminded him, “half past nine.” He continued, “Right, it’s only half past nine. Damn it, he’s an early bird, but I’m not. If this isn’t something important, I’m definitely going to punch him in the nose and make him keep the same hours as me today.”

From these words, it could be inferred that His Grace, the Duke of Lusanne, was still under the influence of alcohol and was not fully sober.

The servant smiled bitterly and silently said in his heart, I hope you can still maintain this confidence and courage after seeing His Grace.

His guess was correct. As soon as Redrick stepped into Julius’s room, he sobered up.

Completely and utterly.

Again, no one could remain unfazed under Julius Portia’s cold and sharp gaze. Someone had even once privately said that even a lunatic in a mental asylum would clearly recall their first bedwetting experience under Julius’s oppressive gaze.

And Redrick, obviously, was not someone who could withstand strong pressure.

The Secretary-General’s deep purple eyes were like icebergs in midwinter, pressing directly onto the young man who had just entered. Redrick felt a sudden chill all over, and his hangover-ridden brain was clearer than ever before. He realized he might have done something wrong, but the problem was no matter how hard he thought, he couldn’t figure out what mistake he had made.

The Duke of Lusanne shuffled forward slowly, racking his brains to review all his actions recently. But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t think of anything he had done to anger his unpredictable uncle.

Even though he desperately wished Julius’s bedroom could be a hectare in size, reality cruelly gave him a huge blow. Julius watched Redrick walk up to him reluctantly, his body covered in the messy traces of having been forcibly pulled from bed with a hangover. The purple eyes that were the hallmark of the Portia family were filled with naive stupidity and an unconscious sense of righteousness.

Julius suddenly felt extremely tired.

The anger he had been brewing was extinguished by his stupid nephew, leaving him nowhere to vent. He tossed the letter in front of Redrick: “Explain.”

Redrick picked up the letter blankly and flipped it a couple of times. He recognized the emblem but couldn’t quite figure it out. At the right moment, a servant who had been pretending to be deaf and dumb handed him a letter opener. Redrick quickly sliced open the envelope and shook out a stiff sheet of crisp parchment that had been specially treated. ŕâ₦ǑβËs̈

He unfolded the paper, glanced at it, and a look of unrestrained joy flashed in his eyes. “Hey! My application was approved! I told you they couldn’t reject me—wait, you intercepted my letter?”

Redrick’s expression changed.

“That’s not what we need to discuss,” Julius said calmly.

“Then what is?” Redrick said gloomily. “Do I need to report my career plans to you, Your Grace?”

His tone was sarcastic, like a hedgehog whose belly had been touched, and he immediately bristled all over.

Julius raised his eyes and glanced at him, asking with a half-smile, “Shouldn’t you?”

Without waiting for Redrick’s reaction, Julius suddenly stood up, pressed one hand against his nephew’s chest and forcefully pulled him to the window. The tremendous force of the human body slamming against the window caused the heavy iron frame, which was clamped to the glass, to creak unpleasantly.

Julius reached behind him and drew a long sword from the servant’s waist. He pressed it against Redrick’s chest, pinning him in place.

“You’re threatening me with your Duke’s title? Do you think I’m afraid of that? Do you think you can be on equal footing with me just because you have the title of Duke of Lusanne?” Julius’s voice seemed to be squeezed out from between his teeth, like a snake’s hiss, mixed with venom. His voice was so low that it was almost gentle, but this kind of gentleness would only make those who heard it feel cold all over.

Redrick belatedly realized what he had said in anger and disbelief. Every pore in his body opened up, and cold sweat evaporated from within. He stammered in defense, “No… That’s not what I meant …”

“I know what you mean,” Julius’s voice was almost inaudible, and his deep purple eyes were like two icy pools. “You think you can do whatever you want because your birth has given you everything that others can hardly imagine, and then you naively think that these things truly belong to you—I’ve reminded you many times, Redrick Portia, remember your family name. I can elevate you above others, or I can bring you down to nothing.”

Redrick’s pupils constricted suddenly.

“You think you have freedom?” Julius said coldly, looking at his nephew, who seemed to never grow up, over the sharp, cold light of the sword. “As long as you’re a member of the Portia family, you must give everything to the Portia family. Who told you that you can choose your own career? The military—a foolish idea.”

Redrick could no longer hold back. “Why can’t I? You’ve obtained the highest administrative power in Florence. Everyone trembles when they see you, and that man—you’ve even elevated him to the throne of Saint Leah! Where am I lacking compared to him? I bear the Portia name. You want me to contribute to the family, so what have you given me? That bastard raised by a whore has everything, and I can’t even do what I like?”

For a moment, Julius’s expression was so terrifying it was indescribable. The monster hidden beneath his gentle and noble appearance ripped through his flesh and blood, revealing its sharp claws.

“You’re actually asking me for more? You think you haven’t gained enough?” Julius was so angry that he almost laughed.

He really couldn’t understand Redrick’s thoughts. Ever since Rafael was brought back many years ago, he hadn’t understood why Redrick was so hostile towards Rafael.

Rafael was born in the slums. He had no mother of noble status to provide him with resources. He couldn’t even openly bear the Portia name nor could he receive a formal education. He posed absolutely no threat to Redrick. Even when he was later taken in and educated by Pope Vitalian III, it was because Redrick’s mother refused to let her son go down that path.

Yet Redrick seemed to always believe this was favoritism towards Rafael.

“You’re being unreasonable,” Julius said coldly.

He lowered the sword in his hand and took a step back, calming down. ”Rafael is the leader of the secular faith, and I am the highest administrative head of Florence. If you get involved in the military, then the Portias will be too prominent in Florence. Now that the twelve lords have all been eliminated, being too high-profile isn’t necessarily a good thing.”

Such behavior was dancing on Rafael’s bottom line.

It was hard to say whether the Pope truly considered himself a member of the Portia family, but even if he sincerely believed he was one, he would never allow the Portia family to stand above him. He drew a very clear line between the two.

Julius had seen this fact in his eyes a year ago.

After Leshert had reclaimed the Papal States for the Pope, giving him a completely unified papal state, Rafael would absolutely not tolerate the rise of another new threat.

“But this is the most normal thing to do! All families adhere to the Trinity—” Redrick retorted.

Noble families traditionally had such a custom. The eldest son inherited the title and entered politics, the second son went to a monastery to devote himself to religion, and the third son joined the army to control the military. This arrangement not only prevented the dispersion of property but also enabled the family to prosper in all fields. It was also jokingly called the “Trinity” method of inheritance distribution.

With Julius inheriting the title and entering politics, and Rafael becoming the Pope, the Portia family, according to common sense, was indeed lacking someone in the military.

That was, if one of them wasn’t Rafael.

Was Rafael…someone who puts his family above all else?

Julius knew the answer very well, but Redrick knew nothing.

He still naively believed that Rafael, despite all the mockery and bullying he had endured, Rafael, who had received immense favor from the family – bringing him out of the slums, given an education, and elevated to the throne of Saint Leah – would always consider the Portias as his ultimate allegiance.

But true monarchs never fixate themselves on narrow family ties.

Julius had never realized this so clearly.

The day Leshert returned, he knew that he had lost miserably in this silent gamble and that it was time to pledge his loyalty to his monarch.

He glanced at Redrick, who was about the same age as Rafael but was incredibly foolish and felt a sharp pain throb in his temple. He said in a low voice, “Shut up and bury that stupid idea of yours. Don’t tell anyone about it. If you don’t want to die young, get out of my sight now. As for this matter, I’ll take care of it.”

Redrick couldn’t be allowed to become evidence of the Portias’ ambitions for Rafael, nor could he be the opening for the downfall of this huge family.

“Also…” Julius raised his eyes and glanced at Redrick. At that moment, Redrick suddenly felt cold all over. An instinctive fear struck him. Without thinking, he lunged to the side, but he was still a step too slow.

The sharp sword pierced his calf, and crimson blood splattered out as he screamed. Julius pulled out the sword expressionlessly. “This is punishment for your disrespect towards His Holiness. I hope there won’t be a next time.”

The servant, who looked like a clay sculpture or wooden carving, suddenly came to life. He bent down to help the Duke of Lusanne, who was about to faint from pain, and left the room.

Julius changed his clothes and went to the Papal Palace to see Rafael with the letter. The young Pope was leaning against a soft cushion, reading a book. When he saw Julius and the letter, a hint of understanding flashed in his eyes.

“I apologize, but Redrick may not be suitable…” Julius had only just begun to speak when he saw the Pope smile.

Rafael’s smile was very gentle and soft, as if he were blowing on a newly bloomed flower. “Leshert recommended him to me. I think the Knight Commander’s judgment is always trustworthy, isn’t it? My dear Secretary-General?”

His tone was gentle, but his eyes looked at Julius without any hint of a smile. Julius once again felt the silent oppression in his gaze, full of scrutiny and judgment. He was waiting for an answer that met his expectations.

“If that is your wish,” Julius finally spoke, sighing softly.

This confrontation marked the end of the argument they had a year ago in the baths. They had finally determined the winner. Rafael had proven himself with an undeniable slaughter and war. He was qualified to be the hand that controlled everything, qualified to lead Julius and the Portias to a new path.

Rafael smiled, closed the book, and held out his hand to Julius.

The silver-haired secretary general exchanged his cane to his right hand, knelt on one knee, took the slightly cold hand, bowed his head, and kissed the ring on his finger. “I pledge my loyalty to you.”

From this angle, he raised his eyes, and a deep purple light flashed in his eyes, like a silver wolf with luxurious fur finding its monarch, willingly offering its collar and reins.

“Just in time,” Rafael pulled his hand away, “Rome’s invitation has arrived. I will be leading a group there in two days, and Redrick can also join the delegation to experience the world. As for my Papal State, I’ll leave it to you, Yura.”

His voice was as sweet as honey, and the smile in his eyes was genuine and gentle.

Translator’s Note

In case you missed it, there was a servant present during the whole conversation between Redrick and Julius, where Redrick even insulted the Pope. Ferrante is infamous for having servants as spies in every noble family. Julius punishing Redrick by stabbing him in the leg could be his way of preventing Redrick from further punishment once the Pope hears about it. It could also be his way of displaying his and Portia’s loyalty to the Pope. Or it could be that he just cared about Rafa. With his calculating nature, its most likely all three. Too bad Redrick probably won’t realise his good intentions, and it’ll be more likely for him to be more resentful instead.

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