Chapter 142 End of the text
◎Eternal Glory◎
After everything in Florence was settled, Leschert was recalled to the holy city by the Pope. The news that Ferrante was imprisoned in the holy tower had spread to various cities. Most people were celebrating the end of the chaos in the Papal States with great joy, and were delighted that the return of Saint Sistine I brought eternal peace. Θ
People chanted the name of Saint Sistine I and prayed for peace and happiness in the world. Since the holy tower was completely closed, the nobles of Florence who were killed in pieces were able to survive and live peacefully. The Papal States entered an unprecedented period of harmony.
The Portia Bank loaned out a large amount of money to support the infrastructure of the Papal States centered in Florence. Countless lands were remeasured and distributed to the poor people. A large number of serfs were released from the nobles' manors. The Pope no longer had the omnipresent Holy Raven in his hands, but no one dared to challenge his majesty at this time.
Even Portia was completely subdued, and the others wanted to lie on the ground and sing the name of Sistine I.
During those few days, the first target that Ferrante chose to attack was the Portia family. This ancient family had created half of Syracuse's wealth and was also the source of Sistine I's paternal bloodline. But Ferrante didn't seem to care about this. He purged all the elders who controlled this huge ship, so this ancient family had only one option left: to submit to Sistine I.
Not to mention, since Julius' death, they couldn't find the ring of power that symbolized the family heir. Recently, several internal fights broke out within the Portia family in order to compete for the position of the head of the family. Ferrante's purge encountered almost no obstacles.
Leshet saw the carriage with the emblem of the Portia family at the gate of the Papal Palace and couldn't help but sigh. Although the Portia family seemed to have suffered great changes, their industry had shrunk a lot, and many family members had died, but they could still enter and leave the Papal Palace, which proved that they could eventually return to their former glory.
Julius used his death to choose the best path for Portia. A clean and obedient family will become the most handy tool in the hands of Sistine I, and the blessing of the Pope is the greatest guarantee for the Portia family's smooth future. The scheming man even used his own death clearly. The Portia family is really lucky to have such a head of the family.
Leshert watched the carriage leave the vestibule square and head towards the Pope's reception room under the guidance of the monks. On the way, he met many nuns and municipal officials. Without exception, they all had a bright smile on their faces, and it seemed that everyone was running on the best road to the future.
Their spirits relaxed Lesherte a little, and his depressed mood after hearing that Ferrante was imprisoned for life in the Santa Tower improved until the monk led him through the corridor of the atrium garden.
"Your Majesty is waiting for you in the tower."
The monk stood at the door leading to the tower at the end of the corridor and noticed that the Knight Commander following behind him suddenly stopped. His half-long golden hair blocked his profile, and his pair of green eyes, which had been praised by countless noble ladies, stared at somewhere.
The monk was stunned for a moment, then looked out along his line of sight and saw the holy tower.
The Holy Tower is indeed right next to the Papal Palace. The Papal Palace covers a vast area and is not a regular square in shape. In some places - such as this tower, it is only a few meters away from the Holy Tower.
"Oh, that's the Holy Tower," the monk was a little uneasy. Although it was named "Holy", this historic tower had long been regarded as an ominous place because of its function, not to mention that an "unspeakable" big man now lived in it. "Your Majesty is already waiting for you..."
He tried to divert the Knight Commander's attention, but fortunately, Leshert didn't look at him for long, which made the monk feel relieved.
"Just go up the stairs. Your Majesty doesn't like to be disturbed by outsiders. I'll wait for you downstairs." The monk opened the creaking Metasequoia door. Tiny cracks left by years of drying could be seen on the arched door. The copper bell hanging on it rang crisply twice. Leshert climbed the stairs behind the door alone, and his vision was soon obscured by the incoming dim light.
This is a very typical observation tower, with a stone staircase winding upwards. Ancient iron oil lamps are inlaid on the stone walls on both sides. The orange light makes people's figures infinitely elongated on the wall. There is a cold and dry smell floating in the air, and dust is everywhere. This place should not have been used for many years. Leshert can distinguish this from the dry and rotten smell in the air. It is located in a remote area, and no one would come here unless they are in a whim.
Leshert climbed to the third floor and walked along the closed corridor connecting the towers. He smelled a strong
The smell of myrrh.
This precious spice seemed to have lost the standard used to measure its value in the secular world in the Vatican. It was mixed with dry cedar, mint, frankincense, and lily and thrown into the furnace in large quantities to burn. The main buildings of the Papal Palace, including the church frequented by the Pope, were filled with such fragrance all night long. Their smell permeated the wooden floors, every silk curtain, and the gaps between gemstones and gold settings. Even if the burning stopped, the palace would still exude a faint and solemn fragrance.
Leshert followed the scent and pushed open the door at the end of the corridor.
The building connected to the tower is not as magnificent and comfortable as the main body of the Papal Palace. This room looks like an old castle built hundreds of years ago. All the light comes from that arched window. The inside is blocked by rusty iron bars. The gorgeous tapestries on the wall are a little faded. The Pope sits by the window, with snacks and afternoon tea on the small coffee table in front of him.
Leshert noticed that a corner of the tower was visible outside the window, and from the Pope's perspective, he might be able to see most of the tower.
This little discovery slowed down Leshert's pace for a moment, but he did not show any abnormality.
"Your Majesty."
The blond Knight Commander walked up to the Pope, knelt on one knee, and bowed respectfully to the monarch of Florence.
Raphael ignored him at first.
The Pope was wearing a simple robe. Leshert glanced at a corner of the robe that fell on the carpet. The embroidery on it was lilies and thorns made of gold thread, and the fabric had an expensive pearl-like luster. This piece of clothing should be an inner layer worn under the high priest's vestments. The Pope might have just returned from a formal occasion. Leshert smelled a strong fragrance lingering on the clothes.
Raphael put down the teacup in his hand.
The porcelain made a pleasant sound when it knocked against each other.
The Pope lazily raised his left hand, tapped the armrest of his ivory pipe to loosen the overly tightly packed tobacco inside, and stared silently at the rising smoke.
"...Before you came, I wanted to question you about leaving Florence without permission."
Raphael's voice was light, like a sleepwalker's soliloquy.
Leshert's muscles were slightly tense. He had long been prepared to be questioned - from the day he was persuaded by Ferrante to leave Florence, he knew that he would definitely face such questioning.
Now, Ferrante was imprisoned in the Santa Maria, and as one of the people who had helped to push Ferrante's purge of Florence, there was no reason why he would escape the Pope's wrath unscathed.
Especially... Everyone knows how much the Pope trusts and loves Ferrante. He is the hound and sharp knife that he educated and trained. Even if this hound commits a big mistake, as his master, while punishing the hound, he will always vent his anger on the inducements that caused the mistake.
Leshert didn’t think he could escape the Pope’s wrath.
He closed his eyes and prepared himself for the wrath.
But Raphael did not scold him as he expected.
The room fell into silent silence again.
Raphael still stared at the wisps of smoke, his eyes as calm as an unfathomable lake. He bit the cigarette holder, took a breath, and let the warm smoke fill his lungs. The anesthetic effect of the drug relaxed his nerves slightly. The heavy pressure brought by a series of complicated events since Ferrante was imprisoned in the Santa Claus briefly left him. Raphael was not addicted to this drug. He was clearly aware of everything in reality, but it could relax his tense nerves a little.
"Originally." Raphael emphasized the word again.
"But I've thought about it over and over again, and it seems meaningless to ask this question again." The Pope muttered to himself, "It has no effect, and it doesn't change anything... Since you can be convinced by him, it proves that you agree with his behavior."
Leshet could not help but raise his head slightly. Raphael's profile was almost hidden in the sunlight. His overly pale face looked like a carefully carved plaster statue. His thin facial features looked like they were about to break. From this angle, he could not see the pair of lavender eyes that were famous in Syracuse. Leshet's attention was drawn to the luxurious ivory pipe.
When did Raphael start smoking? Leshert thought a little confused. He knew that the doctor had prescribed similar drugs to the Pope, but could this drug be used in such large quantities? ——He smelled a drug-like smell on the Pope, which was not caused by occasional use.
"...Can I know the name of the drug you use?" Leshert asked tentatively, staring at the pipe.
He felt that the Pope's mental state was a little abnormal. All the aggression in Raphael was wiped out. The monarch who roamed Syracuse looked like a ball of harmless cotton, gentle moonlight, or like a kitten, curled up in a safe place, quietly waiting -
What are you waiting for? Waiting to rearm your minions when you leave here, or waiting to burst into bubbles?
Leshert didn't know which path Raphael was taking, but there was no doubt that he didn't want to see the second option come true.
"This?" Raphael tapped his pipe again, as if he could see through Leshert's inner thoughts. He laughed, a light and short laugh without any emotion, even too peaceful. "I know what you are worried about, but it's unnecessary. I will not be controlled by drugs, nor will I become addicted... I am sober, never sober before, and I will always be sober."
He narrowed his eyes, and deep in his pupils, which were as calm as lake water, was frozen with indestructible ice.
"As you wish, Florence, Assyria, and even Syracuse will have a monarch who is always rational."
Raphael was looking out the window, talking to himself. A flock of circling white doves flew past the window and dived into the azure sky. There stood the white silhouette of the holy tower. On the only window was a violet, which was often used to decorate bread. Mosses and ferns climbed up through the dark cracks in the tower, as if pursuing the ambition of floating clouds.
"The Knights Templar will always guard your throne."
Lesherte bowed his head again.
He had wanted to say something before he came here. Julius was dead, and Ferrante was gone too. He thought greedily and carefully that perhaps this was the best time for him to say those words, but now he suddenly didn't want to say anything.
Not only won’t I tell you today, I won’t tell you in the future, and even until I die... I won’t tell you.
He should not use flashy jewels to bind the wings of the eagle. Love is just a rose wreath to decorate the monarch's crown. He will become the shield and sword to defend the throne. Even if they both die, their names will be faithfully listed side by side in the history books of later generations.
Besides, Raphael was so smart that his silence might be a grand declaration to the Pope.
Raphael stretched out his hand and gently pressed the Knight Commander's shoulder. The armor was hard and cold, and did not feel very good, but the Pope smiled.
For the first time in these days, that tired and pale face showed such a calm smile: "I am very happy."
He said softly.
"I am honored to have your loyalty. Although I am sensitive, shallow, and suspicious, you still love me firmly."
His gaze drifted away from Leshert, as if he had drifted into the boundless space and time, and saw the distant, gradually disappearing people.
“This is the most glorious and joyful moment in my life.”
The author has something to say:
The main text is finished.
Yes, it seems a bit rushed, but after thinking about it, there is really nothing to explain. Raphael's journey has reached its peak. He has won a lot of love and admiration. He has completely walked out of the shadow of his previous life and reconciled with all the pain. I had planned to write a few more chapters, but halfway through, I suddenly felt that it would be best to stop here. Raphael has indeed calmed down, and has drawn strength from others to move forward, so the main storyline has completely ended here.
There will be a special chapter later, about his later life and so on.
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