The Reversed Hierophant

Old Russo smiled grimly, spread his hands, faced the audience, and said loudly: “Look at me – a decrepit old man! Could I possibly hope to gain anything from so many deaths? I have reached the end of my life. No matter how much wealth and power I have, they are useless to me. The only thing that attracts me is a healthy body and a sharp mind – but that’s the domain of the Supreme God. Our Father God treats everyone equally. He grants us the same length of life, and I know full well that I’m about to squander this precious, irreplaceable treasure.”

His words were true and sincere, instantly capturing everyone’s attention.

“In these waning years of my life, what good would it do me to commit such murders? Could I possibly derive any pleasure from the deaths of those poor people? Any normal person with empathy would find that impossible. Of course, you can certainly accuse me of being a born demon who delights in the misery of others, but I know that I’m also a son and a father. I’m just an ordinary person with a bit more wealth and status than you.”

“I’ve been accused of a crime deserving of hell. I can’t deny that I have caused these tragedies, but was it out of my own will? A dying old man, one who no longer possesses youth or health, even if I could gain something from it, it would only be left to my children – but my children! I’m not afraid of your ridicule, history is full of such incompetent parents. I haven’t been very successful in my family. My children covet my property, they can’t wait for me to return to eternal peace so they can enjoy the riches I’ve earned with my blood and tears – would I commit such an evil act for them? Or am I foolish enough to think after the death of the Holy Father, I can wear the glorious and holy crown?”

Old Russo clearly knew exactly what people wanted to hear. His social skills, acquired from following his father in various social circles, allowed him to immediately grasp people’s thoughts and cleverly lead them into his own linguistic trap.

For a moment, everyone was captured by his reasoning. They couldn’t help but think, ‘Yes, such an old man who is about to die, committing such a great crime ‘for his own selfish gain’ doesn’t seem to benefit him either. So why did he do it? Could there be some hidden secret behind it?’

Julius’s face changed. He realized what old Russo was about to say. This old madman, this old hyena, realized that he couldn’t escape judgment and actually wanted to drag the Pope who was the actual victim into the water!

The purpose of this trial was to let the people of Florence know the evil deeds committed by Old Russo and his cohorts, and to give Florence a legitimate reason to reclaim its territory. The Pope must be an unquestionable victim and a clean and impartial arbiter. Once dirty water was thrown on him, this trial would turn into a huge, earth-shattering conspiracy – the deaths of over 7,000 people have become a tool for Old Russo to attack Rafael.

Old Russo knew his defeat was a foregone conclusion, so he wanted to muddy the waters, to ensure that even if Rafael won, he would win in a inglorious, disgusting manner that would make everyone despise him.

Proving a person’s innocence in rumors is the most difficult thing, while it’s easy to put a label on someone and throw dirty water on them.

Old Russo knew all too well the minds of those ignorant lower-class peasants. They were empty-headed, always following the crowd, and had an innate hostility and hatred towards the upper class. As long as there was an excuse, even if that excuse and reason sounded so outrageous to be even investigated, they would believe it without a doubt and use it to attack others.

Julius quickly walked to the railing and gestured to the guards below to stop old Russo from talking nonsense and prevent him from saying anything more.

But a hand grabbed his sleeve.

The blond, purple-eyed Pope sat there quietly, his calmness chilling.

“Let’s listen to what he has to say,” the Pope said slowly, a cold, fierce light in his violet eyes. “If we stop him now, any rumors he hasn’t said will become proof of our guilt.”

It’s not that he didn’t care, but he had already sentenced old Russo to death in his heart.

Ferrante received his orders from the Pope and remained seated. He noticed a strange look on the faces of the crowd around him. Perhaps they had guessed what old Russo was going to say, and such an exciting plot twist undoubtedly satisfied their mood. The people on the defendants’ seat were all of significant status, and they were engaged in a real-life struggle for life or death. How could this not make these people who were naturally spectators go wild?

Leshert felt the excitement and heat rising from the crowd. The heat emitted by human bodies mixed with their turbid breath. He suddenly felt inexplicably nauseous. His stomach churned, trying to wring out its contents.

But he had walked into the lower city that had been sentenced to death, he thought. He had saved you.

The Knight Commander raised his eyes blankly and looked around. These were all the people he needed to protect in accordance with the spirit of chivalry. He was upright, compassionate, tolerant, and friendly to everyone. He did everything a knight could do. Both his enemies and friends recognized his strength, bravery, and omnipotence.

But he inexplicably felt a creeping sense of dread, as if he had returned to his childhood, when he was holding a candle and walking through the deep, winding stone corridors of his family’s castle. Ancient silk tapestries were hung on the tall and narrow walls on both sides. The people dressed in solemn and gorgeous clothes in the golden frames stared at the person walking in the middle with a gloomy expression. He was full of fear, as weak as a baby bird, with no one to rely on.

He subconsciously raised his gaze upwards. The figure behind the curtain was sitting still, but for a moment Leshert felt as though he had drawn strength and reassurance from that shadow.

“I swear to you all, everything I’ve said is true,” said Old Russo, with a vicious light flashing in his eyes. He suddenly raised his bark-like hand and pointed at the figure who had remained silent behind the curtain. “I accuse…. I accuse His Holiness of instigating and instructing me to commit all these crimes!”

This brazen accusation caused everyone present to involuntarily gasp, their collective intake of breath creating a small storm in the empty courtroom.

The golden candlesticks on the lectern behind the curtain burned with a steady light. There was no wind here, and the flames of the candles rose straight up, outlining a vague, steady figure on the curtain. ŗа₦ОΒËș

Upon hearing this accusation, Rafael still remained motionless. In fact, there was no need for him to refute it. Or rather, such shameless accusations was simply not worthy of the Pope’s attention.

Julius took a step forward and stood by the railing, giving Russo a polite but cold smile.

“Your accusation is filled with the wild imaginations of a madman. Out of respect for the law, His Holiness and everyone present are willing to tolerate you finishing your defense. But if your words are all such baseless fantasies, perhaps the Judge can issue a verdict on you right now.”

As the patriarch of the Portia family, Julius Portia’s reputation resounded throughout Florence. He was a genius with extraordinary attainments in philosophy, theology and art, but these were merely embellishments to his talent. Most people usually focused their attention on the Portia family he led, and only at times like this did they remember that Julius was also the Secretary-General of the Papal Palace and had the authority to speak on behalf of the Pope.

The Pope would never speak casually; every word he uttered was God spreading the gospel to the world through him. Thus, the Secretary-General became the Pope’s mouthpiece, and it could be said that he was the voice of the Pope.

Julius was cunning and perceptive. His natural intelligence allowed him to seize any slight loophole in his opponent’s argument and then tear it open into a gap large enough for an Assyrian infantry to march through.

Old Russo, who was labelled as a madman as soon as he opened his mouth, glared fiercely at Julius. He had never dared to face the head of the Portia family like this before. No matter how prosperous the Russo family was, they still had to show their respect in front of the Portias.

While the Secretary-General was fighting on his behalf, Rafael, sitting there, waved his hand gently and called a black-robed monk standing in a hidden corner. The monk silently came to the Pope’s side, bent down to hear a few words from the Pope, and then quietly withdrew.

Rafael lowered his head again, flipping through the handwritten book filled with boring ramblings and interesting illustrations, as if this had nothing to do with him. The cold, murderous intent that had been on him a moment ago had disappeared. He seemed to have completely turned a deaf ear to Russo’s accusations against him.

Old Russo was breathing heavily, and the four lords beside him exchanged glances uneasily. They hadn’t expected Old Russo to make such a shocking statement, which made them hesitate whether to sever ties with Old Russo, or… to join in on this accusation.

They were quickly weighing the pros and cons, their eyeballs trembling in their sockets, and sweat covering their foreheads and temples. If thoughts could make a sound, everyone in the courtroom could hear their brains roaring like a steam carriage running at full speed.

“My accusation may sound absurd, but it is not without reason. Everyone, please think carefully: who has won the love of the people of Florence now that the plague has subsided? And after we are tried and executed, who will inherit all our wealth? – Besides His Holiness, who else has been the sole winner in this mutually destructive disaster?”

Every word of Russo sounded like the tongue of a poisonous snake. He stared viciously at Julius in front of the curtain, his eyes like daggers, as if he wanted to tear the young man with iron-gray hair to pieces.

“We – we are all deeply devout believers. We traveled thousands of miles from our territories to Florence to see His Holiness, and the noble Holiness gave us private opportunities. We were overjoyed, thinking that our piety had moved the incarnation of God on earth, but His Holiness soon revealed a terrible plan to us!”

Old Russo was talking with his spit flying all over the place, and Redrick on the jury looked at him with disgust. He admitted that he hated and even despised Rafael, but that didn’t mean he thought such slander was right. In some ways, Redrick still maintained a childlike naivety. He could ridicule and curse Rafael to his face, or find a group of people to fight with Rafael – he had even done all these things. But he would never do such a despicable and shameless thing, something that would sell his soul.

Not to mention, as a Portia, he naturally looked down on people like Old Russo.

A bug that crawled out of the mud and changed his clothes thought he could be on par with Portia? Even if he was a bastard of Portia, whom he despised the most, he was not someone that this bug could bully at will!

“Yes, a terrible plan. It frightened our Lord Russo so much that he needed to murder over 7,000 people to calm his nerves.” Redrick said sarcastically.

There was a moment of silence in the courtroom, and many people had distorted expressions on their faces, as if they wanted to laugh but didn’t dare to.

The emotion that Old Russo had been brewing was stuck in his throat by this sentence. He glared at Redrick gloomily, with a trace of contempt in his eyes. This foolish boy who relied on the protection of his family –

You’re not qualified to speak in this game, boy.

Redrick read the meaning in his eyes, and driven by anger, he reached for his cane to smash it on the old cur’s head. But his hand was grabbed by another, stronger hand.

Ferrante had stood behind him at some point, and the captain of the guard, who was an expert in his field, forcefully pressed the Duke of Lusanne back into his seat, glancing at old Russo expressionlessly.

Behind him, a black-robed monk was leaving silently.

“As everyone knows, when His Holiness accepted the crown of God, Florence was in a rather bad state. Leo VI left behind a weak Florence and Papal Palace. If His Holiness wanted to completely control Florence, he needed enough capital – people, wealth, or land. So he summoned us. This epidemic was entirely orchestrated by him. And the result was exactly as he expected. He gained the love and support of all the people of Florence, and now he is about to take away the legitimate wealth that our families have accumulated for generations.”

This statement caused the audience to murmur. The most sophisticated lies are half-truths. Almost everything Old Russo said was true, except for one lie, and it was this lie that completely distorted all the truth.

Amidst the wave of whispers, Julius remained unmoved, his crimson lips curling coldly: “Your meaning is that His Holiness wanted to gain the love of the people of Florence through this disaster and take away the family wealth that you consider legitimate. So when you accepted this absurd order, didn’t you think about what you could gain from it? Or are you as simple as a baby, accepting the order to start a massacre in Florence— for free, voluntarily, and without any reward?”

Old Russo’s wrinkled face suddenly lengthened.

He had painted himself as a completely innocent victim, but he forgot that he was the one who committed the evil deeds, and this was something he could never wash away. He wanted to blame all the mistakes on Rafael, but his logic created a fundamental contradiction.

A completely innocent, deceived executioner and slaughterer? It sounded more absurd than the boasts of a drunkard at a May Day fair.

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