Chapter 103 Hope Blue Diamond (Twenty)

◎The broken window paper and the "Religious Freedom Act"◎

Julius pressed the tip of his tongue against the inside of his mouth and his teeth. At that moment, he felt extremely hungry. Perhaps it was not hunger, but an itch that spread from the bottom of his heart to the roots of his teeth, with an aggressive feeling similar to the urge to bite food, which became more and more intense and almost uncontrollable.

Raphael lowered his head at that moment, so he missed the brief, almost fierce look from the polite secretary-general.

"This is not the time to talk about this." Raphael calmly tried to change the subject.

“Really?” Julius sneered and took a few steps forward. This action was so aggressive that Raphael, who was sitting, instinctively felt uncomfortable. His body leaned back slightly against the back of the chair. Julius noticed his avoidance, and for a moment he felt angry and disappointed.

If it wasn't him standing here at this moment, if it wasn't him walking forward, but Ferrante or someone else, would you hide? Julius thought with a bit of paranoid malice.

But before he realized his anger, faster than he could think, the Secretary General knelt down on one knee and gently pressed his hands on Raphael's knees.

Just like the countless times he bent over to massage young Raphael, they had not been this close for a long time, but perhaps the body's memory is stronger than time. With just such a small opportunity, those yellowed memories would sweep up like a tide, forcing people to fall back into the old days.

The change in his posture and movements reduced the pressure a lot. Raphael lowered his eyes and looked at Julius, who was a head shorter than him.

The two pairs of eyes, which were almost identical except for the color, looked at each other from a distance.

No one can remain calm under the double, triple or even quadruple or five times the pressure brought by these two pairs of eyes, but when they transfer this pressure to each other, the suffocating pressure does not diminish much.

It is better to say that it is precisely because the person opposite him is this person that he can show his sharpness and sharpness without restraint.

The warmth of Julius' palms was transmitted to Raphael's legs through the thin silk gloves. The warmth of the human body made Raphael feel a little uneasy. He straightened his back and wanted to stand up, but before he could put his idea into action, the slender hands on his legs held him down steadily, and the strength from those hands firmly declared opposition.

Raphael, who was being held down, lowered his eyelids and glanced at Julius' hand without saying a word.

It's like whoever speaks first loses.

No one knew where this childish and weird competitive feeling started, but both of them seemed to have reached this strange consensus and neither of them wanted to speak.

Julius took off his gloves slowly - when taking off one of the gloves, he did not forget to press Raphael with the base of his palm, revealing his two hands that were wrapped in cloth all year round and looked too pale. The blue veins on the back of his hands were distinct. He threw the gloves on the ground and lowered his head to massage Raphael's legs carefully, just like he had done countless times before to relieve the pressure on the young exile's legs. His technique was of appropriate strength and his movements were soft and powerful.

After another operation, Dr. Polly determined that Rafael's legs could no longer withstand excessive pressure beyond daily life. With the current medical level, being able to undergo such a rough operation and successfully recover the ability to walk is already a result that has astonished many doctors. Without their repeated warnings, Rafael can feel from some details of life that he is less tired than before.

The knees that would ache after standing for a while, the muscles that would ache after maintaining the same posture for a long time, the occasional convulsions and even loss of consciousness, and the legs that would ache if he stayed in a cold place for a while... Every detail reminded him that he was teetering on the edge of a dangerous abyss.

Julius increased the strength in his hands a little, like some kind of subtle hint, with a reminder that could hurt.

Raphael felt a nerve in his leg being pulled suddenly, and a sour feeling like the tide quickly flowed from his calf to his brain, and hit his throat and nasal cavity with a fierce impact force like gunpowder, making his vision go black and his spine numb for an instant.

The young Pope suddenly bent down, stretched out his hand to push Julius’ hand away, and uttered a rejection that was unclear because of his fast speaking speed: “Wait—stop…”

The older man stopped obediently, with a look of frank confusion in his eyes, as if he didn't understand what was wrong with Raphael.

But his disguise was not so serious.

When those deep purple eyes stared at Raphael, there was even a hint of appreciative pleasure in them, as if seeing Raphael reveal such a soft side made him feel extremely comfortable, not to mention that this feeling of brokenness was created by him.

He seemed to be examining a crystal rose that was growing in the palm of his hand but was destined to leave him, watching it being broken bit by bit by him, and feeling satisfied just to hear the crisp cracking sound.

If he cannot be mine, and is doomed to wither away out of my sight, why can't I destroy him? Julius looked coldly at Raphael, who was bent over and trembling slightly due to his nerves. He raised his hand and slowly patted his back. The body under his palm was thin and lonely. His movements were extremely gentle, but his heart seemed to be torn as he thought of something almost cruel.

If something as menial as that could work, why not me? ——Why am I the only one who can’t do it? Julius questioned himself angrily.

Raphael's hands fumbled around on the table, trying to grab the pipe he had placed aside, and his fingers touched the cold and warm ivory. Before he could grab the slender pipe, Julius took it from him first, stood up, moved the glass lampshade away, rolled up a piece of paper on the table to start the fire, and slowly and steadily lit the tobacco that had been stuffed in. The orange-red sparks were like a coiled snake, stretching and rolling in the pipe, its scales glowing with a strange red light, and the bitter smell of medicine slowly rose up, accompanied by thin smoke.

Raphael had recovered from the shock and leaned back in his chair with a slight redness under his eyes. He followed his protector aimlessly like a fledgling, his eyes fixed on Julius, watching the man politely turning the paper roll in his hand to ensure that the tightly packed herbs would be burned through.

Julius lowered his eyes to look at the spreading sparks and the shortened paper in his hand, and said quietly: "Your dependence on drugs has increased. Didn't Polly say anything?"

Raphael said nothing.

"You know you can't rely on it," Julius repeated.

This time Raphael finally responded: "...I know my limits - it's okay."

The second half of his words were addressed to the pipe in Julius's hand.

Julius seemed to laugh. He threw the almost burnt paper roll in his hand into the crystal glass with half a glass of red wine left. He watched the spark quickly go out. He raised his hand, but instead of handing this exquisite work of art to Raphael as he wished, he put it to his lips and took a sip.

Raphael was stunned for a moment and wanted to speak, but before he could say anything, a heavy black shadow pressed down in front of him. All his words were blocked by a dry kiss. The bitter smell of medicine flowed through his lips and teeth and filled his mouth. It was a smell he was very familiar with, mixed with the smell of cedar and ebony on the other person's body, overwhelming him. His vision was covered by a hand, and something cold and silky slid down his face. When deprived of vision, other senses would be infinitely magnified. Raphael subconsciously reached out to grab it and touched something smooth.

His chaotic thoughts took two seconds to realize that it was Julius' hair.

The medicine specially prepared by Polly took effect quickly. The soreness spreading in the nerves began to fade away gradually, and was replaced by everything about this sudden kiss.

Unlike Ferrante, who always touched him carefully, Julius's aggressiveness was in absolute inverse proportion to his restrained and reserved appearance. He almost precisely controlled Raphael's breathing, pressing Raphael into the wheelchair irresistibly, seizing and controlling his every reaction. When Raphael was about to be unable to breathe, he mercifully stepped back a little, pinched the young Pope's chin with two fingers, and whispered an order: "Breathe."

As Raphael opened his eyes, which were thinly misted, to get oxygen, the man with ease turned his face to the side, took another puff of smoke, and suppressed it once again.

The sedative herbs flowed into his lungs with his breath. Raphael frowned, and his hand entangled in Julius' hair moved up along the man's neck, grabbed the roots of the man's hair and pulled it apart fiercely. The man in pain had to follow Raphael's strength and move back a little bit, but Raphael's hands were weak due to exhaustion, so the force he used was not as great as he imagined. Julius stared at Raphael for a few seconds at a distance of less than a fist. Their distance was still close enough that he could see every subtle expression on the other's face and hear the other's messy and rapid breathing.

"...You are crazy, sir." Raphael's tone seemed to have frozen ice.

Julius's dark red lips were tinged with a thin sheen of water, and he actually laughed at these words: "Is this the most severe rebuke you can give me, Holy Father? - As if you never knew anything?"

He saw Raphael's lavender pupils suddenly shrink, as if he was caught off guard by his sudden confession.

"What do you think I will say to excuse myself? Then you will forgive me with generosity and kindness, and we will go back to the way we were before?" As Julius finished his words, Raphael's expression slowly straightened. It was undeniable that he did think so. He was tired of these unnecessary and burdensome emotions, and he didn't understand what was wrong. Julius had never expressed such feelings to him before.

"Escape, disguise, whitewash." Julius whispered these words into Raphael's ears. "When did you learn these bad habits?"

Raphael was stung by his sharp words, and his gaze pierced Julius' eyes sharply: "Even so, it is more moral than the evil deeds that ignore ethics."

The reserved and calm patriarch of Portia let out a vague laugh from his throat.

"Like no one cares."

The ending of this sentence was crushed between his lips and teeth. It was easy for a man who could hide a rapier in his cane to control the Pope with a bad system.

The clear sky outside the window was covered with dark clouds at some point, and violent rain poured down, hitting every building. The Florence Theater was still performing "The Birth of Bacchus". The actors' bright and high-pitched singing voices climbed upwards, blending into the heavy rain like a storm, resonating with the entire city.

"The gardens of the gods are full of fragrance,

Why long for this mortal love!

It will bring you ruin.

Make you lose the rationality you are proud of,

It plunges you into an unknown abyss,

Let your light shine into darkness! ”

Purple-white lightning streaked across the gloomy sky like a snake. A flash of light illuminated the window frames of the Pope's Palace, tearing through the gloom and illuminating the overlapping shadows on the carpet. A loud thunder exploded, drowning out the ethereal singing.

"The most primate of all creatures,

The supreme reason and order!

Everything in the world must rise up,

Grieve for your loss!

What then was born from the ashes of your soul?

A new god!

Epilepsy

A crowd of madness and joy!

Follower of the joy of life!

Gods,

We witnessed the birth of Dionysus! ”

When there was a knock on the door, iron-gray and light-blonde long hair were intertwined on the carpet. The cold fingers became warm in the rising temperature, and the hair stuck to the sweaty cheeks. Raphael squinted at Julius who was covering him. Although their clothes were messy, they were still worn properly. However, this did not make them look innocent. The pipe was rolled to the foot of the table by someone's hand, and it still insisted on emitting curls of smoke. Raphael reached out and pushed Julius away indifferently, sat up and buttoned his shirt, and at the same time threw the calfskin cuff that had somehow fallen on his legs onto Julius' chest.

The sleeves, no longer restrained, fell loosely, covering the back of the man's hand. Julius picked up the cuff that had slipped off. The thin cowhide product was warmed by his body temperature. He played with it with his eyelids drooping, and bent one leg. The trousers that were also loose covered his calves. Although he was sitting on the carpet in dishevel, he had an indescribable seductive charm.

Raphael looked away unbearably, sat back in his wheelchair with a sullen face, picked up the wool blanket that had fallen to the ground and crumpled into a ball, covered his legs with it again, stroked his hair with his fingers twice, and pushed his wheelchair to the door by himself, with a gloomy look from behind.

There were whispers of conversation at the door. The Pope's wheelchair was quickly taken over and moved away from the door. The door carved with irises and lilies was closed. No one was rude enough to peek inside. Julius, who had been sitting in a blind spot, listened to the disappearing voices until the whole room was filled with the faint sound of heavy rain.

He turned his head and stared at the wall lamp with leaping flames on it. The crystal lampshades carved into flower buds looked like clusters of roses, gradually blurring in his sight.

The emperor far away in Calais received a secret intelligence from a spy in Florence, that His Holiness the Pope would go to Assyria to supervise the war, and the time was not yet determined, but the Pope was very determined, and seemed to have a conflict with the Secretary-General of the Papal Palace over this; the second expeditionary force recruited by Florence had crossed the Black Sea, and the two legions would march from south to north after joining together; the Florence Cardinals' Conference was held three times in a row in a short period of time, and the Pope seemed to have announced some controversial orders at the meeting, which led to great disagreements among the cardinals.

Francis IV was not interested in the second piece of news. Anything that could cheer him up was related to Raphael, but the intelligence was vague and unclear. It must be admitted that the dog under the Pope's seat had strangled most of the information channels in Florence. Even if the spies worked hard to pass on some information, it was completely difficult to find the main point.

But he soon stopped scratching his head and being curious.

As the second expeditionary force arrived in Assyria and joined the first, the chaotic small groups of Assyrian rebels had no resistance at all under the attack of the well-organized army, and soon the flag of the Papal States was flying over a large area of ​​land in southern Assyria.

The disappearance of the rebels did not mean complete stability. Priests and clerks sent from Florence arrived in batches, and the Assyrian natives began to riot. They instinctively resisted this religion that was their mortal enemy, and looked at all those wearing Vatican robes with hostility. After several attacks on monks by civilians, a group of secretaries of the Papal Palace arrived in Assyria, bringing with them a warrant signed by the Pope himself.

This warrant was later called the "Law of Freedom of Religion". It declared that all Assyrian people could freely choose their own beliefs, and even freely decide whether to believe or not. As the secular monarch of Assyria, Saint Sixtus I would protect their every choice fairly and equally.

This order from the Pope made the Assyrian people both unbelievable and excited. They lost their last reason to resist. While the situation in Assyria was improving, the Holy See and believers headed by the Papal States were completely detonated.

"The Pope has betrayed us!"

This slogan was resounding among the believers.

The author has something to say:

Damn it! ! ! Why don't you let me be bitter [Dragon Roar]

I really want to write about armbands. I wonder if you have seen this thing. A white shirt vest with armbands is really too astringent, just like garters and tie clips. I don’t know why it exudes a subtle feeling, the kind of charm that a mature man inadvertently reveals...prprpr, I have no resistance to this kind of props, it is a sure kill for me!