Chapter 139 Heart of the Storm (Twenty-Six)
◎My love is stupid, humble, and overconfident◎
Florence was plunged into a strange atmosphere.
The nobles were also a little confused about what was going on.
At first, the Knights Templar who were guarding the door suddenly withdrew without any notice or explanation. The maid who got up first found that the door of the manor was empty. The knights who had been stationed there for almost half a month disappeared at some point. The owners stood by the window anxiously looking out, but they did not wait for the knights to break in and take them out for execution.
After waiting for another half a day, they mustered up the courage to go out and see, only then they were sure that the Knights Templar had really withdrawn - not just a certain family, but all the nobles of Florence. Overnight, they were freed from their status as prisoners under guard, as if Pope Sixtus I had suddenly gotten drunk and pardoned the entire Florence.
Such preferential treatment not only failed to reassure the nobles, but on the contrary, made them even more afraid, because it looked like a prayer before death, a means to paralyze them, and if they were really paralyzed... God knows whether Sistine I would laugh hideously and twist off their heads!
So they picked up their unfinished writing work, and wanted to report all the privacy and secrets of their colleagues to the Pope in a letter. It was at this time that they discovered the second strange thing:
They were unable to get in touch with the Pope.
It might be a bit inappropriate to say this. To be more precise, all the messengers going to Ferrante Manor in the western suburbs were stopped outside the gate of the manor. The Holy Crow in a black cloak refused to deliver anything for His Majesty into the manor, and refused to reveal any of His Majesty's current situation.
This is so weird.
This situation made the nobles feel somewhat familiar, but they instinctively avoided this familiar feeling and pondered over what new tricks the Pope was playing this time.
Meanwhile, a third strange thing happened.
Almost overnight, Ferrante became the actual controller of Florence. The Holy Crows in black cloaks walked through the streets openly, taking people away constantly. Some of those people were released and some were not, but everyone who came back had a terrified look on their faces and never mentioned what had happened to them.
Whenever a large group of people were taken away, after a while the Holy Raven would knock on the door of a noble, archbishop or cardinal.
Of course, none of the nobles and bishops who were taken away came back.
Everyone in Florence has a keen political sense, and everything that has happened in the past few days has given them a bad feeling. They no longer deliver letters to the western suburbs, but instead convey greetings to the Pope through the secretariat of the Papal Palace and express their wish to meet the Pope to pay their respects.
Their greetings were conveyed to the western suburbs by the Secretariat, but all requests to see the Pope were rejected.
All requests were rejected without exception.
Thus, a certain word that had been intentionally or unintentionally ignored by people before once again became the mainstream of the nobles' secret talks.
It's not that they are suspicious, but this situation is not uncommon in history.
Force the emperor to abdicate, or to establish a regency, or to launch a coup d'état...
In short, the general meaning is that the monarch has lost contact with the outside world and is imprisoned, and the ministers have monopolized power.
"Maybe this is a play directed and performed by Sistine himself? He is trying to test us or something." Someone broke the silence.
"Testing us?" Someone sneered, mocking without any hesitation, "What value do we have that he would consider us? In his eyes, Florence is now a lamb without any secrets, waiting for him to pick a happy time to eat it."
This may sound a bit harsh, but it is indeed the truth. When the nobles were attacking and fighting each other, they had already revealed each other's cards. They were just waiting for the final time to come and hoped that their surrender would bring better results.
The worst that could happen was exile, they thought, and the more likely scenario was that, because there were too many people involved in the rebellion, the only ones who would be exiled would be the families that the Pope disliked the most. They had already decided that no matter which families were chosen, the other families would immediately follow and help the Pope completely eliminate all traces of those families left in Florence in exchange for the Pope's forgiveness.
Of course, in order to avoid further trouble and end this chaos as soon as possible, they will also help those families preserve their assets outside the Papal States and ensure that they can still enjoy a rich life for the rest of their lives.
This is the most likely thing to happen. The whole of Florence is caught up in this chaos. Even if the Pope is very angry, would he dare to kill all the nobles? That would be tantamount to uprooting the foundation of the Papal States with one's own hands. They were willing to pay a price to appease the Pope's anger, provided that the Pope would stop after collecting the price.
This is a fair deal. For thousands of years from ancient times to the present, the relations between nobles and nobles, nobles and monarchs, and countries and countries have been maintained by such transactions. Personal likes and dislikes are put last, and interests are the eternal beacon.
But Ferrante's behavior frightened them.
The madman was acting according to his own ideas. He did not hesitate to use killing to achieve his goals. This "ungraceful" and "uncivilized" way of playing was deeply detested by the nobles. Ferrante did not play according to their methods, which made them feel absurd and out of control.
"If he wasn't so neurotic, it wouldn't be a big deal for him to be in charge of the Papal States."
Some people complained.
"Indeed, he seems much easier to deal with than Sistine—in a sense."
They exchanged glances and saw expressions of approval and regret in each other's eyes.
"So, if this is another real rebellion, whose side should we be on?"
"Is there any need to think about this? An irrational murderous lunatic can't possibly be the first choice for the throne."
Soft chuckles were heard in the spacious reception room.
This manor in the western suburbs has not undergone major renovations since it was purchased by the current owner, who almost never stays here, so this may be the first time it has fulfilled its mission as a mansion.
Raphael sat by the window in the entertainment room, with a blanket on his legs and a thick book on top. The sky outside the window was overcast as it had rained in the morning. From here he could see the path leading to the manor gate and the fountain in the front yard. He heard the sound of a door opening, and Raphael turned to look over by pressing the page of the book. Ferrante was taking off his gloves and talking to someone outside the door.
He spoke very quickly and in a low voice, so Raphael could only hear a few vague words.
"...clean up...all...lists..."
The pale fingers pressing on the pages of the book turned slightly red.
Ferrante quickly ended the conversation, closed the door, and when he turned back to face Raphael, a bright smile was on his face. He moved closer to Raphael like a big furry dog and looked at the book on his lap: "What are you reading? Um - poetry?"
Ferrante's body was covered with fresh moisture that had not yet completely dried, and the ends of his hair were wet. Raphael sniffed twice and caught a faint smell of blood.
He looked at the changed snow-white bandage on Ferrante's neck: "Does it still hurt? How is the wound healing?"
Ferrante touched his neck nonchalantly. "It's nothing. It will be fine soon. Do you like reading Hill's poems? I remember there seem to be two volumes of his poetry in the library of the Papal Palace. I'll have someone bring them to you this afternoon."
Raphael lowered his eyes and looked at the top of Ferrante's head quietly. He raised his hand and casually touched the soft and fluffy black curly hair twice: "Ah... No need, I just read it on a whim. I can move back to the Papal Palace after finishing this book. I can read it later."
He felt Ferrante's body stiffen beneath his fingers.
This bit of stiffness made Raphael's heart begin to sink.
He was not willing to speculate about Ferrante with malice, just as Julius had educated him, Ferrante was also taught by him. He understood the young man and was willing to indulge him for his own selfish reasons.
But...it shouldn't be at this time.
Raphael withdrew his hand and was silent for a while. He still asked gently: "Where is Leshert?"
Ferrante had adjusted his expression. He raised his head and looked at Raphael calmly. "He is following your orders to guard all the families in Florence that have made unusual moves during the chaos."
Raphael nodded: "So do you think I should summon him now for a report?"
This light-hearted question left Ferrante silent.
Raphael looked at him quietly and did not ask any further questions.
After a brief silence, Raphael asked, "Is Tyn VIII still alive?"
His voice was very cold, as if the question was just something he suddenly thought of and asked casually, and the answer was not important.
But Ferrante's tense shoulders suddenly relaxed, a kind of relaxation that came from facing reality calmly after being seen through.
He calmly replied, "Dead. I did it myself last night, with a dagger dipped in belladonna."
Ferrante’s voice and tone are too relaxed, as if the answer to this question is indeed not worth mentioning.
Raphael didn't say anything. He stared at Ferrante for two seconds, his lavender and dark blue eyes meeting each other. Then, without warning, Raphael raised his hand and slapped Ferrante hard in the face.
This time he did not hold back at all. Ferrante was hit and his face turned sideways. Red and swollen marks soon appeared on his pale cheeks. Then Rafael pinched Ferrante's chin and roughly twisted his face to face him.
Ferrante was forced to raise his head and met Raphael's eyes filled with anger and violence.
The Pope never shows an inappropriate side of himself. He has reached the pinnacle of controlling his emotions. Forbearance and smiling have almost become instincts ingrained in his bones. But at this moment, those instincts were overwhelmed by the intense emotions.
He pinched Ferrante's jaw and pulled the young man towards him, speaking as fast as a rainstorm hitting the ground: "Stop your tricks! Immediately return the management of Florence to Lesherte. I will issue a statement to the outside world to remove all your positions and powers. I can help you solve the previous problems. No matter what you want to do, it ends here."
Ferrante listened to Raphael in silence, without saying a word, which was a silent rejection.
Raphael's chest heaved violently with anger, and the strength in his hands increased again: "Are you an idiot?"
He threw down these words, lifted the blanket on his legs, stood up and was about to walk out. Ferrante was still squatting there, keeping a motionless posture, and said lightly: "The manor is surrounded by my people. They won't let you out, and they won't let anyone in."
Raphael paused.
He turned around and looked Ferrante up and down with such serious eyes for the first time. After a while, he asked slowly: "So, what you mean is that you imprisoned me?"
Ferrante lowered his head and brushed the dust off the corners of his clothes, muttering vaguely: "I prefer to call it a period of undisturbed time."
The smile on Raphael's face disappeared.
An even angrier emotion than before swept through his heart. He was not angry because Ferrante had done such an overstepping act. This was not a big deal for him. Hadn't he encountered enough overstepping people? But he is always the winner in the end, and as long as Ferrante doesn't kill him, the final result will be the same.
He didn't care about Ferrante's treasonous behavior. He cared about something else, which made him more angry than any imprisonment or treason... because it would be his mistake, his fault.
Smart people like Raphael are used to other people making mistakes and are used to cleaning up after them, but they cannot accept making mistakes themselves. Raphael has already vaguely realized how big a mistake this would be - it's simply because he is not cautious enough, careful enough, or calm enough!
Raphael frowned, inserted one hand into Ferrante's thick black hair, grabbed the young man's hair roots, and forced him to look into his eyes: "Look at me and answer - did Julius tell you something?"
When he uttered the name, he clearly saw Ferrante's pupils shrink for a brief moment, which obviously confirmed Raphael's worst guess.
He loosened his hand.
The anger receded from him like a tide, and was replaced by another deep despair.
He should have thought of it earlier. Could it be that Julius didn't know his resistance to letting Ferrante die? In order to complete his plan, the meticulous man must have other means - let Ferrante die on his own.
"You do whatever he tells you to do? Are you his dog? Who is your master? When did I ever teach you to listen to others? - You promised to always belong to me, obey me, and be loyal to me!"
Raphael almost growled.
Ferrante just looked at him, and when Raphael calmed down a little, he walked over, raised his hands and gently hugged Raphael - this was a hug that they had never had before. Raphael stood there motionless as if he was sealed. He had never been hugged in such a gentle way before.
"I'm sorry, Rafa, for everything," Ferrante whispered in Rafael's ear, "It's just... I thought this might make it easier for you. I know you're smart and you're great, but that's different."
He looked at the wall of the entertainment room and gently stroked Raphael's back, as if soothing an irritable cat. The touch in his hands was as hard as bones. The body in his arms was thin and frail, and did not look like an adult male at the pinnacle of power.
"Maybe you can shoulder everything and protect all the weak, but because of my humble, foolish, and overconfident love, I hope to do anything for you, even if it's just to make you feel relieved."
There was a smile in Ferrante's eyes. He had never felt such a relaxed happiness. Perhaps the prince who flapped his wax wings and rushed to the sun felt the same joy when he fell.
They can never truly embrace the one they love, but they are already full of happiness on the way to getting closer.
Raphael stood there for a long time before he cursed coldly, "Idiot."
Ferrante nodded with a smile, and despite being scolded, he seemed to be in a good mood, probably because Rafael did not break away from his hug.
That's good enough, he thought.
The author has something to say:
Raphael is going crazy hahahahaha
He hadn't even planned to kill Ferrante, but this bastard was actually rushing towards his own death. For a moment, Rafael really wanted to stab him to death that night. What else could he do? He had to take care of the dog he had raised.
Clean your own shit [Angry cat meows loudly]
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