Chapter 1 Misty Rose (I)
◎Coronation◎
Has any mortal ever tasted the feeling of being burned by fire?
In peaceful sleep, the severe pain surged up from deep within the body, burning the flesh and blood like a flame. The invisible sharp blade and hammer invaded the softest and most hidden internal organs, stirring and hammering inside unscrupulously. The fire was like a cancer attached to the bone, greedily devouring the sweet blood, and wanted to twist all the sweet flesh and blood into mud.
It hurts so much...
The drowsy brain was pulled out of sleep and listened to the body's instinctive cry.
It hurts so much...
The blond young man suddenly opened his eyes. Scarlet fear was reflected in his crystal-clear lavender pupils. The aroma of myrrh that had not yet burned out filled the luxuriously decorated room. Apart from him, there was no one else in this bedroom that housed the only monarch of the Kingdom of God on earth. The deacon who used to wait at the door, ready to serve the Pope at any time, had disappeared. He clutched the quilt tightly, and veins bulged on the back of his hands.
Where was his butler? Where are the ascetics guarding the door? What about the Pope's Legion of the Gospel? They should have been standing at the door, listening attentively and waiting for his orders!
Gusts of fishy-sweet blood gushed out of his mouth uncontrollably, instantly staining the light golden silk quilt red. The extreme pain took away his ability to speak and move, while another strange premonition seized his mind.
Captured by extreme pain, the young Pope struggled to grab the dagger on the bedside table. The cold touch of ivory and gold brushed against his skin. His blue fingers failed to grasp this life-saving straw, but instead took it down from the cabinet while groping for it. This treasure presented by the Queen of Assyria at his coronation ceremony fell into the thick cashmere blanket.
The blood and air rushing up in the trachea occupied the narrow track. Because of suffocation, the scene in front of his eyes began to dim. The Virgin Mary holding the Holy Child looked cold. She stood in the corner with her head lowered, staring coldly at the dying person on the bed with a compassionate and loving gaze.
A pair of boots stopped in his sight, cold hands pinched his chin roughly, the candlelight was swept by the wind, swaying and extinguished, and in the dim light and darkness, he seemed to see a familiar face - a face he should have seen before.
He struggled to recall the fragments of memory in severe pain, but the cold blade pierced his chest first, and the hand covering his mouth and nose also blocked the young Pope's last wail.
"In the year 1084 of the Catholic calendar, Pope Sistine I died of illness. It was the last grace of God for Pope Sistine I, a foolish and inactive man, to die before the night of the advent of a new era."
The feather pen wrote a string of fluent words on the parchment, representing history's final judgment on this poor dead man.
No one can hear the cries of the dead souls. The tide of the times carries fate forward, burying this unnoticed murder case in the dust of history.
But perhaps fate always leaves something out, and under the goddess' hurried skirt, the dead Rafael Garcia opened his eyes.
His memory was still lingering on the coldness of his heart pierced by a sharp blade, and his throat seemed to be surging with endless blood. However, the magnificent sound of the organ was circling in his ears, and the white doves released by the children were holding laurel leaves in their beaks. The colors he saw were the scarlet and gold patterns on the shroud, and the snow-white vestments underneath.
The people surrounded his carriage with enthusiastic cheers, and held countless snow-white flowers above their heads. When the golden carriage passed by them, the crowd knelt down like fallen wheat, devoutly opened their hands upwards, and offered the most devout faith to the new Pope.
Raphael turned his head. His golden hair combed under the crown was wet with cold sweat and stuck to his scalp. His vision was still dim and blurred due to suffocation, but his instinct was faster than reason. His long habit of receiving the public as the Pope made him reveal an impeccable smile, and the moment he smiled, the people cheered even more enthusiastically.
"—Sistine!"
They were cheering his title, what a familiar scene.
In just a blink of an eye, he went back from the bloody and horrific murder to the day he was crowned Pope a few years ago.
Sistine I, or Rafael Garcia, was the most youthful and handsome pope in history. At the age of 22, he obtained the supreme authority of the church. The scepter of faith in more than a dozen countries across the vast continent was placed in his hands. Hundreds of millions of believers have since engraved his name devoutly in their hearts and prayed for his happiness in this world every day.
——He was kind, good, and devout. He practiced the purpose of the church and protected his people as if they were his own children. He allowed the displaced people to find shelter under the banner of the church and allowed the weak holy land of Florence to survive among several powerful empires that were on the verge of a war. They praised him as the most upright and knowledgeable Pope in history and the well-deserved white pearl of the Vatican.
All the flowers and praises rushed to the young Pope. He was like a saint walking on earth, bringing light and hope wherever he went.
If he had not been murdered one night five years later, if he had not seen the harsh and cruel comments about him in history books, if he had not known that his death was insignificant to everyone -
The real past and the illusory reality were intertwined, and the hallucinatory pain still lingered in the nerves. The blond and purple-eyed Pope waved to the people beside the carriage. The smile on his face was like a hard mask, covering up the involuntary twitching and tense muscles.
"Pope, the Cathedral of the Holy Thorn is ready." The black-clad deacon walking beside the carriage wore a small round hat. His entire body was covered in a black robe, and he looked no different from any other priest in the Vatican, except that he had a red belt around his waist to distinguish him as the Pope's servant.
The young Pope turned his head and glanced at him lightly. There was no emotion in his look, but the deacon, who had lived in the Vatican for a long time and was trained to be a weapon for others, suddenly felt cold all over.
For a moment, it seemed that something was different about this young pope, who had been elected as a figurehead.
"Let's go," the young Pope said softly, with his hands crossed on his knees. The heavy and gorgeous crown made him the most noble and beautiful doll in the world. He only needed to sit in the car and smile. It was enough to satisfy people's fantasy about the new Pope.
What are their fantasies like?
Ah, Raphael was too familiar with this. They wanted a snow-white, beautiful, compassionate, god-like image to express the pain that had nowhere to go. In this chaotic, turbulent and poor era, everyone was living a precarious life, and their lives were filled with endless bitterness. There was too much suffering and nowhere to go, so they could only find something to pour it out.
As God's spokesman on earth, the Pope is the one who bears the suffering - of course he has thought so.
The crowd in sight became more crowded, and people's clothes changed from neat and luxurious to tattered and dirty. The Pope's procession came near the slums, and a larger crowd than before crowded on both sides. They looked at the Pope on the carriage with eager eyes. Raphael turned his head and saw a group of half-naked children running behind the crowd in dirty water, chasing the carriage forward.
What a familiar scene! He had seen the Pope’s coronation ceremony twice in his life. He was also one of the children when he saw the Pope’s coronation procession for the first time.
His bare feet were stepped on the dirty muddy ground with feces and water flowing everywhere, and it was easy for them to be scratched by the sharp objects buried in it, but there was nothing that could be done about it. Shoes were very expensive and only good families could afford them. As for an abandoned child like him, he could only wrap his feet with hemp rope as a temporary protection.
Yes, abandoned child, who could have imagined that the new Pope, who now sits high and mighty among pearls, gold and silk, was once a lowly beggar who ran in dirty mud and made a living by stealing.
Fate is so unpredictable.
Raphael smiled silently and watched the guard of honor turn around in front and set out on the return journey again.
As the supreme ruler of faith, the Pope owns many treasures donated by believers all over the world, but his most important personal territory is the Papal States with Florence as its main body. This city, which is only the size of a capital of some big countries, holds the faith of the whole world and is a holy place in the hearts of hundreds of millions of believers. Although its armed forces are weak to almost non-existent compared to other countries, no country can underestimate its existence.
When a new Pope ascended the throne, almost all countries sent envoys to attend the coronation ceremony. They waited in the Cathedral of the Holy Thorn, listening to the magnificent organ sound, wondering in their hearts where the Pope's carriage had gone, and recalling the information of this lucky man who had escaped the siege. A servant with quick feet secretly came up and reported that the Pope's guard of honor had entered the Miracle Square. The envoys stood up one after another, adjusted their facial expressions, and greeted this human representative of God with the most solemn and pious looks.
The young children in the choir sang in their loud and clear voices. They were all carefully selected by the Vatican to be the embellishment for the Pope's coronation. Each child had an angelic look, with innocent eyes and white, round faces like newborn lilies. They wore white robes distributed by the Vatican and held white candles in their small hands. The halo illuminated the children's faces, allowing them to carefully compare the selected golden hair that was shining like gold.
“How sweet is the grace of God, that I may be pardoned this day;
I was lost before, and there was no way back. But the chaos and ignorance were finally resolved. ”
The long children's voices intertwined and echoed, and the sound of the organ rose up. The structure of the Cathedral of Holy Thorn was special, and there were sound pipes on the walls and underground. The singing that bounced off the walls seemed to be falling from the sky, floating down, and the human characteristics in the voice were completely washed away, as if there were really angels singing magnificent poems above the clouds.
The messengers who witnessed the power of the Holy Thorn Cathedral for the first time couldn't help but hold their breath. The two heavy brass doors were pushed open by two knights. They were covered in armor from head to toe, like silent and majestic knight statues that suddenly had souls.
The door with carvings of trumpet-blowing angels and reliefs welcoming the Virgin Mary opened with a bang. On the red carpet, a slender man slowly walked towards them to the sound of singing. The light behind him wrapped him tightly, giving the illusion that it was melting him.
As the young Pope entered the Cathedral of the Holy Thorn, the organ and the children's singing reached their climax at the same time.
“The saints are blessed, and the grace of heaven has given me the love to hear the gospel;
Joyful praise, before the Father's throne, grace lasts forever and we are saved. ”
The magnificent music was overwhelming like the tide of the sea. When the Pope passed by, everyone took off their hats and bent down. All they could see were the scarlet and gold chasuble and the snow-white robe. The crown with pearls and gems reflected a faint colorful halo, which dazzled the ambassadors' eyes.
It's worthy of being the Vatican... Someone secretly thought in his heart that the jewels on the Pope's tiara alone could be taken off to make a king's crown. If the King of Takle had such a tiara back then, he would not have been beheaded by mercenaries because he could not afford the hiring fee.
From this we can see that the Vatican has a lot of money. Those stupid people, pigs, lambs... whatever, have a lot of things in their hands, but they would rather pay high taxes to the Vatican than meet the king's tax officer. Can false faith really surpass the secular royal power?
The envoys looked at the slowly approaching Pope with different thoughts, and politely took off their hats as he passed by. Raphael saw a bunch of heads with different hair colors and density in his peripheral vision, and his gaze did not shift at all. The ladies who attended the event with the ambassadors lifted their overly gorgeous and exaggerated skirts and knelt down to the young and handsome Pope.
"Congratulations, Your Majesty." As he passed the first row of benches, a gentle and low female voice softly came into his ears.
Due to etiquette, Raphael only slightly turned his head and saw a young girl's face. Compared with the old or young men around her, she was really
She is as delicate as a budding flower, but this flower has a dark blue ribbon and badge on its shoulders that symbolize her identity, and a dagger at her waist. Just a quick glance at her, and her dashing and neat aura comes to your face.
Raphael couldn't stop, so he nodded and smiled at her politely, walked past here and stepped onto the steps covered with red cashmere carpet.
The heavy golden high-back chair is placed with red velvet cushions, and the back of the chair is covered with intricate carvings. Two little angels holding scepters cross the scepters, one on the left and one on the right, protecting the two ends. The angel holding the lily looks down, and the angel holding the sword looks straight ahead, symbolizing the intersection of power, the Lord's protection of the Pope and the deterrence to others.
This exquisite work of art is beautiful, and all the words and praises in the world can be entrusted to it. Even the king's throne is probably not as luxurious as it. However, its designer seems to have completely ignored the feelings of the user. The relief patterns are extremely uncomfortable, and one needs to keep one's back straight at all times when sitting on it, which feels like being tortured.
Raphael, who has owned it for five years, is certainly qualified to make such an assessment.
The young Pope dragged the edge of his heavy scarlet robe with one hand and sat down on a chair. He leaned the half-person-high scepter diagonally against his legs and held up the holy orb wrapped in thorns with his other hand. The top of the scepter was a huge gem designed like a hilt. He sat in a high-backed chair with a sacred and majestic posture and appearance, exactly the same as in the countless oil paintings hanging in the corridors of the Vatican.
The scepter symbolizes the power given by the Lord to shepherd his people. The Pope has the right to bring down fire and punishment on behalf of God, to punish heretics and protect believers with absolute violence. The holy ball of thorns means that he has become the incarnation of the sins of the world and the unique supreme ruler who walks the world on behalf of God.
The new monarch of the spiritual and faith world sits on the golden chair, with a crowd of people bowing their heads below him. The huge floor-to-ceiling arched stained glass windows let in sunlight, embracing him in a pure light. This scene was forever captured on the canvas by the Vatican painter and became a masterpiece that has hung in the sacred corridor for hundreds of years. It symbolizes the beginning of the glorious and eventful life of Pope Sixtus I, and is the first step for this world monarch to ascend the throne and create a storm named Raphael on the continent and the ocean.
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Finally the post is published! ! ! !
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