The Reversed Hierophant

Princess Sancha of Rome was granted the title of Princess of Perigo.

The title of Prince of Perigo is traditionally held by the heir apparent of the Roman Empire. This ancient title does not come with an actual fiefdom—according to the rule that the title itself represents the territory, Perigo would be the fiefdom of the crown prince. However, no matter how you look at it, the capital cannot truly belong to anyone other than the king. Thus, this title is merely symbolic, signifying that its holder is the future Roman monarch.

This news quickly spread like wildfire to the capitals of various nations. The fierce struggle for the throne of the vast Roman Empire had finally come to an end, and the winner was not entirely unexpected.

Julius was at the theatre when he received the news. The extensive intelligence network of the Portia family delivered countless pieces of information here daily. After a preliminary screening, it would be summarized and the most important ones were directly presented to the family head. Given that this matter concerned the Roman throne it was immediately delivered to the Duke of Rhine, Julius who sat in the private box on the upper level of the theatre. After listening to the servant’s report, he nodded expressionlessly and then turned his attention back to the stage.

He seemed indifferent to the matter, and indeed, the changes in the Roman throne had little to do with the Portia family, which was far away in Florence. No matter who ascended the throne, they would still rely on the ubiquitous Portia Bank for trade. Julius didn’t care who sat on the throne—even if it were a dog, it wouldn’t matter to him.

At this moment, the Roman throne was not as important to him as the play that was about to begin.

Julius relaxed his body, leaning back on the soft cushions, patiently waiting for the stage curtains to rise.

The Florence Opera House was performing The Birth of Bacchus, a play adapted from the traditional Roman festival drama. Since most members of the Portia family had a fondness for the arts, many great artists had worked for the family at some point, and the creation of numerous artistic treasures was closely tied to the Portia name.

For example, the famous painting The Three Goddesses of Spring was a portrait of the three Portia sisters by the master Schelint. The renowned painting Winter Feast depicted a family gathering of the Portia family at a certain year, and the sculpture The Sleeper was modeled after a Portia who enjoyed sports…

The Birth of Bacchus was the work of a rising playwright who had dedicated it to Julius as a token of gratitude for his support. The playwright had boldly reimagined and innovated the piece, and everyone who had seen excerpts of it praised it highly. However, he insisted that its premiere be performed in front of Julius to thank the Portia family for their patronage.

Julius was indifferent to this gesture but still made time to sit in the opera house, which he hadn’t visited in a long time.

As the soothing orchestral music began, a joyful female voice sang lovingly: “In the garden of the gods, a rose was born.”

In the garden of the gods,

A rose was born,

A kind never heard of nor seen before,

Its scarlet velvet petals wrapped around an egg-shaped bud,

Its dark green stems adorned with hook-like thorns.

“How could such a cruel flower exist! It was born to harm!” The gods and goddesses of Mount Olympus whispered among themselves as they gathered around this flower they had never seen before. When a water nymph was pricked by its thorns, they exclaimed in astonishment.

“It has such beautiful petals, red like congealed divine blood. Only when lovers are consumed by the flames of passion can such vivid blood be shed. Could this be a careless creation of the God of Love?” ŔâNȏ฿ÈṤ@@novelbin@@

“Yet it did not bloom upon hearing the name of the God of Love. It requires the light of reason to shine upon its petals. Every line of it is a crystallization of wisdom, born from the constancy of numbers and all things. Who else could have created it but the God of Wisdom?”

The gods argued endlessly over who had created this most beautiful flower, and the goddess of discord planted seeds of strife among them, stirring up their anger.

The play’s plot was intricate, its pacing masterful, and its language elegant, making it hard to believe it was the work of a newcomer. However, by the end of the third act, Julius still hadn’t figured out where the titular god of wine, Bacchus, fit into the story.

The young playwright seemed determined to present something entirely new, blending Roman and Greek cultures into an unprecedented cultural backdrop. Julius found it quite intriguing, but unfortunately, his busy schedule didn’t allow him to stay for the remaining acts.

The head of the Portia family stood up, fastening his cloak as he walked out. As he passed the attendant stationed at the door, he casually remarked, “Find that playwright and get a complete copy of the script. Place it on my desk.”

The cloaked duke discreetly exited the theater from the side. Behind him, on the stage, an actress was singing in a rich, resonant voice the soliloquy of the sun god, who had secretly visited the garden under the moonlight.

“The moonlight is so gentle,

Hush,

Avoiding my sister’s silver chariot,

Look,

Her beautiful laurel bow hangs on the treetops.

Why do I linger here,

Like a mortal lover who knocks and then retreats?

Reason dominates my thoughts,

Order dictates my path,

Under the sun, I can see the truths of the world’s workings,

Yet why am I here,

Filled with confusion and yet inexplicable joy?”

Julius strode onto the carriage waiting at the opera house entrance. He tapped his cane on the ground, and the coachman, understanding the signal, urged the horses forward. The carriage quickly rushed towards Portia Palace.

After His Holiness left for Rome, the affairs of the Papal States fell entirely on the shoulders of the Secretary-General. To save time, Julius mostly stayed within the Papal Palace, except on rare occasions when the Portia family held internal meetings—such as today.

The carriage smoothly entered the vast square courtyard of the Portia Palace. The meticulously trimmed maze garden, awe-inspiring and stunning during the day, took on an eerie, sinister atmosphere at night.

The carriage moved along the wide path of the courtyard and stopped at the foot of the steps. The Portia Palace, modeled after the Roman Senate, was supported by eighteen massive cylindrical columns that held up the heavy portico and palace and to match it was a grand staircase that gave a sense of oppression. This building was gorgeous, luxurious, majestic and solemn, but it did not look like a home.

The servants had already gathered at the foot of the steps. As soon as the carriage stopped, they stepped forward skilfully to open the door and place the footstool. Julius waved off the hand that reached out to assist him and glanced up at the brilliant lights of the portico. “Is everyone here?”

“Yes, sir. The elders have all arrived,” replied the elderly butler who had served the Portia family for decades. His hair was now silver, but his posture remained upright, his clothes impeccably pressed, and the chain of his golden pocket watch hung neatly on his chest.

Julius felt a wave of exhaustion. He had been working nonstop for days. The newly established Papal States were like a fledgling bird, and he had to both support it to keep it from falling and push it to make it fly faster.

Thinking about what he would have to face, he couldn’t help but feel a flicker of irritation.

However, he hid this irritation well, and no one noticed.

The old butler stepped aside, watching as his master, wrapped in the chill of the night air, ascended the steps like a fully armed warrior entering the portico. The oak doors closed behind him. It was unknown how long this secret family meeting would last.

The first words Julius faced upon entering the meeting hall were accusations.

Julius had anticipated this. The Portia family was not a monolithic entity, and many within it had grievances about his uncompromising methods. However, since he had made no mistakes, they had no grounds to challenge him openly. Yet Julius was not a conventional family leader. He was young, authoritarian, disliked listening to others’ opinions, and had no patience for incompetence, leaving little room for those who sought to exploit the system.

Many of the elders who had dedicated their lives to the Botia family found, in their later years, that they could no longer secure benefits for their descendants. Naturally, their dissatisfaction with Julius grew.

Moreover, Julius had remained unmarried and childless, with only his nephew Redrick by his side. Many had tried to persuade him to accept a political marriage, but he had ruthlessly rejected all such proposals, fueling their suspicions.

They couldn’t understand Julius. Although he had undoubtedly led the Portia family to greater heights in recent years, this did not dispel their doubts.

Such suspicions reached their peak after the Papal States were fully unified under the efforts of Leshert.

The Portia family had always stood on the same side as the twelve lords, all of whom fed on the vast body of the Papal States. The “Council of Thirteen” they formed shared both glory and loss. Of course, this did not mean they truly regarded the lords as their comrades. In fact, after the deaths of the twelve lords, the members of the Portia family were the ones most thrilled.

With the Pope’s tacit approval, they frantically seized the estates, lands, and wealth left behind by the other lords. The items that couldn’t fit in the Papal Palace’s storerooms or had no time to be collected or inventoried were largely swallowed up by the Portia family. Moreover, liquidating such an enormous amount of assets would have been impossible without the assistance of the Portia Bank.

And Portia Bank was exceptionally skilled at manipulating ledgers to reap profits.

Rafael was well aware that the Portia family had undoubtedly reaped unimaginable profits from this silent financial war. But this was a necessary price to pay. He couldn’t monopolize all the benefits; only when there was enough benefits would the Portia family willingly stand by his side.

Indeed, the wealth the Portia family had plundered was enough to make them obediently turn a blind eye to all of the Pope’s actions. They ruthlessly dismembered and gutted their former allies, carving them up and stripping them to the bone, and used their remains to magnify the glory of the Portia name.

Then they realized something was wrong.

The Pope had assembled an army, sweeping across the entire Papal States, and the unified authority had returned to Florence—this was not what they had hoped for.

A unified country with a powerful monarch—which powerful ministers would wish to see such a thing?

They wanted to be free and independent vassals and a fragmented Papal States would better serve their interests. One group of lords could die, and another could take their place, but there must never be a Pope who held all the power. And everything Rafael now possessed had made these old men feel threatened. Now that all the lords were dead, who would be the next?

Not to mention, Rafael is of the Portia family, but he doesn’t seem to care about the Portia family at all.

“Our Pope is still young and inexperienced. He doesn’t yet understand what is most important. The elders around him should teach him these things. If he fails to learn, it is the fault of those who teach him.”

Everyone knew that when the Pope was still studying at the Florence Seminary, Pope Vitalian III had chosen Julius as his teacher. These words, both overtly and covertly, were an accusation against Julius.

“His Holiness is the embodiment of God, endowed with divine wisdom. Who dares claim they can teach him?” Julius deflected the question lightly.

“Sophistry! It was you who pushed him onto the throne of Saint Leah against all opposition! How much money did we pay for his crown?” one old man angrily retorted.

“And he has repaid it a hundredfold. If I recall correctly, the new assets your family acquired after June now provide you with an annual income of at least two hundred thousand gold florins. And that’s just from real estate alone, not to mention the jewels, livestock, shops, and people…” Julius stroked the smooth surface of his ring’s gemstone, his tone cold.

The old man abruptly fell silent, his face flushing with embarrassment.

“That’s not the issue we’re discussing,” another elder interjected slowly. He was wiser than the previous one, his tone gentle, looking kindly. “You see, Yura, no one can exist apart from their family. Rafael is still young. He doesn’t understand that everyone needs a family, a foundation. The Portia family helped him succeed, proving that we love all children of Portia blood equally. Rafael should come home and visit more often—he hasn’t returned to the Portia Palace since his ascension. No matter how splendid the Papal Palace is, this is his home. No one understands this principle better than you.”

Julius pressed his lips together.

“If you truly care for him, you should bring him closer to the Portia family,” another added. “He is our child, and we love him as much as we love Redrick.”

A flicker of weariness passed through Julius’s eyes, but he still calmly replied, “Yes, I understand.”

“I hope you truly do understand. Remember, we don’t necessarily need him,” a cold, hard voice said. “To show our support for him, we secretly executed Cain. But that doesn’t mean there aren’t better candidates within the Portia family besides Cain.”

“Now, now, Yura has always been clever. He knows how to communicate with Rafael,” a final voice chimed in, attempting to smooth things over while at the same time tentatively asking, “Redrick went to Rome with Rafael. Yura, you don’t have any children of suitable age around you now, do you?”

Hearing this, Julius stood up, placing one hand on the back of his chair, and quickly said, “There’s still much to do at the Papal Pace. Let’s meet again another time, gentlemen.”

Without waiting for a response, he strode out of the room. The elders left behind exchanged bewildered glances. Someone let out a long sigh and muttered, “Young people…”

Meanwhile, the envoy from Calais, after a long journey, finally arrived in Perigo. The news of Princess Sancha being granted the title of Princess of Perigo naturally reached them, prompting them to overturn the original marriage terms and to urgently redraft them —proposing to a princess was entirely different from proposing to a crown princess. Although they had vaguely anticipated this before setting out, they were still inevitably thrown into disarray when the time came.

After sending over a dozen urgent letters back to Calais, the new marriage proposal was presented to Queen Amandra and Princess Sancha of Perigo.

“Land, titles, wealth…” Amandra tapped the thick proposal with her fingertip. The document, written in fine script, meticulously listed the lavish betrothal gifts Calais was offering. To win Sancha’s hand, they had clearly spared no expense. The lands gifted to Sancha would not be reclaimed after her death, and everything including jewelry and other treasures would become her personal property.

“Of course, they also sent a portrait of the young emperor,” Amandra said, raising her hand. The maids pulled down the cloth covering a life-sized painting.

Beneath the cloth was a full-length portrait of François, the Emperor of Calais. The young and handsome emperor had thick, brown curly hair cascading down his back. He had a slender and agile frame along with a youthful vigor characteristic of his age. His cheeks bore a faint blush, his skin snow-white, with a strange innocence in his eyes. Although he was dressed gorgeously and solemnly as an emperor, his body decorated with a sash inlaid with jewels and medals, he looked less like a majestic ruler and more like a delicate doll placed inside a glass music box—beautiful but lacking the gravitas of a monarch.

An emperor without the aura of an emperor.

He was the same age as Rafael and, by contemporary standards, still a young man who had only recently come of age. Sancha stood in front of the portrait, carefully studying her fiancé. She searched her not-so-distant memories for the time she had met Duke François and compared the two. She found that the uncle and nephew bore a striking resemblance. “His hair is similar to the golden fleece, although a bit lighter in color,” she remarked.

Amandra chuckled. “Then you should take a closer look at what he is offering to marry you. Let’s see if it matches the value of the golden fleece.”