The Reversed Hierophant

Chapter 85: Forgery

The melodious dance music echoed throughout the spacious hall. The dance floor grew noisy, and in the slightly intoxicating warmth, everyone slowly relaxed, beginning to dance or chat with their preferred partners.

The sofa seats by the dance floor were filled with young, beautiful girls. They scrutinized all the men with unreserved gazes, and most of the girls intentionally or unintentionally focused their attention on the Guard Captain.

Among the older or less attractive guests, the officer was the youngest, and he also seemed to have a good, easily approachable personality and was quite handsome. Many bold and outspoken girls had already set their sights on him as prey. They weren’t fools; living in such a chaotic place, they excelled at reading people and understanding others’ intentions. The Mayor brought them here, and they knew their mission without needing to be explicitly told.

Thus, within half an hour, four girls had actively approached him to ask for a dance. Rafael hid behind the curtain, watching as François went from initial ease to displaying faint impatience, and finally to numb silence. He eventually found some excuse to leave the dance floor.

Rafael confirmed that the direction he headed was the lounge.

Rafael hesitated for a moment, then cautiously circled out from the other side and stood next to a girl. This girl had been the most enthusiastic toward François earlier, and judging by her frequent glances toward the lounge, she likely hadn’t given up on the handsome young officer.

“He truly is young and promising, isn’t he?” Rafael struggled to control his voice, imitating a feminine pitch while feigning a look of sympathy. “Perhaps I should try to approach him too—”

The girl quickly turned her head. The moment she saw Rafael, a hint of awe appeared in her eyes, quickly followed by even greater wariness: “What?”

Rafael acted as if he didn’t notice her slightly hostile expression. “Perhaps I should be more proactive? Wait—did someone just went over there?”

The girl was taken aback, forgetting her wariness toward the inexplicable Rafael. Like a swan ready for battle, she stretched out her long, slender, pale neck, and the moment she spoke, a string of curses burst forth like rapid fire: “Those deceitful bitches! We agreed on fair competition! I knew they were lying to me! Damn it, just wait until I scratch that woman’s face!”Saying this, she aggressively lifted her skirt and strode toward the lounge, her pace so fast that her skirt hem rippled behind her like waves.

Rafael watched her go, then deftly opened his fan to cover half his face—primarily those particularly striking eyes—and moved closer to a group of whispering girls. “Goodness, that gentleman is so popular. If I hadn’t sprained my ankle, I’d want to go chat with him too.”

The girls, with ears wide open, quickly caught the keywords in the sentence and turned around, just in time to see the girl who had lifted her skirt rushing toward the lounge.

Rafael stood in place, watching several of them suddenly stand up and rush over to fight for their spoils, and couldn’t help but sigh.

Well, he hoped those girls could delay François for a while longer.

With that thought, he wasted no more time. His gaze shifted, and he quickly caught sight of the Mayor of Belem, fluttering around like a butterfly. Anthony was currently flirting with a young lady. The girl was slender and graceful; the visual effect of her standing next to his large figure was quite jarring, causing Rafael to instinctively avert his eyes.

The thought that he would soon be the one standing next to the mayor gave Rafael a sense of dark amusement.

Anthony was bragging to a girl he had just taken a fancy to about his noble status in Dudley. The girl gazed at him with admiration, timely displaying expressions of astonishment, tension, and reverence with every word, accompanied by soft gasps. Anthony felt every pore of his body open with pleasure, flattered by the wine and the girl’s praise. He narrated a hunting story, forcefully turning it into a tale of battling a wild boar barehanded for three hundred rounds, ultimately achieving victory and receiving an award from the Emperor.

When he reached this part, something vaguely flashed in his mind. His brain, feeling light-headed from the wine and the girl’s compliments, instinctively recognized that this thought must be important. But before he could delve deeper and grasp that fleeting inspiration, a gentle voice interrupted his thoughts.

“Esteemed Sir, might I have the honor of a dance with you?”

Anthony turned his head, displeased, intending to refuse this impolite lady who had interrupted his flirtation: “I apologize, Madam, I think—oh.”

His voice comically caught in his throat.

The woman before him was tall and slender. The amber gown looked like gilded sunlight on her. Her pale blonde hair softly fell over her snow-white shoulders and chest. A pair of noble, light violet eyes shone brightly in her perfect face, like a river nymph born of a narcissus flower. No one could bear to refuse her invitation.

“Oh, you—what did you just say? Of course!” Anthony already had two sons and a heap of illegitimate children, and enough mistresses to fill a whole lounge, yet he still felt the same helpless awkwardness as a youth experiencing his first love. For a moment, he felt he had fallen in love!

“Of course!” he emphasized again. The fact that this beautiful lady had actively invited him made his male pride swell infinitely. He stroked his meticulously curled mustache with one hand, completely abandoning the girl he had been talking so eagerly to just moments ago. The spurned girl’s cheeks flushed with anger. She shot Anthony a fierce glare and stomped away on her high heels.

“I am deeply honored to receive your favor.” Anthony bowed and extended his hand like a gentleman, wondering why he hadn’t noticed such a beautiful girl before. And she had purple eyes… but this minor doubt was instantly overwhelmed and erased by her stunning radiance.

“Eulalia, Sir,” Rafael suppressed his disgust, primly placing his hand in the mayor’s palm, proactively offering his alias, and presenting a false smile.

“Your name is truly beautiful; it reminds me of the roses in a summer garden and a newborn goddess of spring.” Anthony launched into effusive praise of Rafael’s alias, racking his brain to use his meager literary skills to leave a better impression on this girl. At this moment, he deeply regretted not studying rhetoric in his youth; otherwise, he could now say impressive, sophisticated things like “sapphire blue melancholy” or “noble solitude.”

Rafael’s expression twisted strangely for a moment, but he suppressed a faint smile, maintaining his composure. “Thank you for your compliments. My uncle would be delighted by your appreciation.”

“Your uncle?” Anthony tried to find a new topic. They slid into the dance floor with the crowd. The music was light and airy. Miss Eulalia spun lightly, her long hair sweeping through the air, scattering beautiful streams of light like gold. When she faced Anthony again, the Mayor felt certain he had been struck by Cupid’s golden arrow.

“My name comes from my uncle,” Miss Eulalia replied. “He is an outstanding scholar, who once studied at the Florence Theological Academy, and like you, is a devout believer.”

Anthony’s name came from Saint Antonio, so parents who chose that name for their child are undoubtedly followers.

“The Florence Theological Academy?” Anthony paused. That was an academy for the nobility. He cautiously assessed the girl before him, realizing she might be a noble lady after all, which only increased his interest. Just as the music reached a small crescendo, he instinctively embraced her waist, following the rhythm. She stepped forward as well, in a posture that suggested she was throwing herself into his arms, which made Anthony’s heart skip a beat. Before he could savor the feel of that slender, supple waist under his palm, the beautiful lady slipped out of his grasp like a fish.

“The weather is lovely tonight, and the moon is very beautiful. If you are willing, I will wait for you in the Town Hall’s back garden in an hour.” Miss Eulalia lifted her skirt and performed a slight curtsy, her smile demure.

Understanding her implication, Anthony became fully energized. He watched the lady leave the dance floor, calculating what gift he should send her to make her willingly become his mistress.

After gracefully moving out of the Mayor of Belem’s sight, Rafael instantly darted into the washroom like a cat whose tail was on fire. Laughter and chatter still drifted from the lounge next door, indicating that François was still likely suffering inside, receiving an abundance of affection. Once Rafael confirmed the corridor was empty, he immediately opened the window while holding his skirt and looked left and right.

The washroom window faced the small path leading to the Town Hall’s back garden. He struggled to climb out of the narrow window, being careful not to get stuck in the overly voluminous and heavy dress. By the time he successfully climbed out, he was drenched in sweat.

He closed the window behind him. By now, it was completely dark. The music from the ballroom became faint and indistinct. Rafael determined his direction, heading toward the front courtyard where the carriages were parked. He easily found the only person still diligently holding their post.

The guests were enjoying themselves inside, and the idle coachmen were gathered in the servants’ quarters, gambling. The coachman sitting on his carriage with a straight back was conspicuously noticeable.

“Let’s go, I got it.” Rafael took out the small seal in his hand to show it, and with a flick of his wrist, the seal vanished. This sequence of movements was as smooth as silk, like magic, making Leshert momentarily stunned, unconsciously trying to figure out how it was done.

Rafael certainly wouldn’t tell him this was a skill learned from his childhood. He quickly climbed into the carriage, pulled out the blank papers and Anthony’s document hidden in his chest, and, using the faint light flickering outside the window, urgently began to familiarize himself with the handwriting.

Leshert had placed ink and a quill pen in the carriage. The quality of the materials was mediocre, certainly not comparable to what Rafael usually used, but he couldn’t demand much in this situation.

Leshert drove the carriage, not towards the inn, but directly towards the direction out of the city, while Rafael in the compartment began forging the document.

Meanwhile, amidst a throng of fiercely competing girls, François, who had maintained a mask-like smile, finally grew impatient. His personality was very peculiar. Sometimes he would show an almost boundless good temper, as if nothing could anger him, while at other times, he would explode in rage over a seemingly random comment—of course, his way of exploding was also different from others. While others might smash things or hit people, he preferred to wander around his maze garden at night with an axe.

So, when he felt annoyed, he was less willing to tolerate these girls.

François sat up on the sofa, gently pushed away the two girls leaning on him, and pinched the bridge of his nose. When he raised his eyes again, the smile was still there, but it carried something much more chilling: “Ladies, the banquet outside is spectacular. What a shame it would be without your radiance. Please, give the other gentlemen a chance to dance with you.”

His tone was still soft, but for some reason, everyone who heard him speak involuntarily stood up.

The girls hesitated for a moment, sensing the dangerous aura emanating from him instinctively. No one dared to say anything more, and they obediently left the lounge. Only when they were about to exit the officer’s line of sight did they begin to whisper among themselves.

The most enthusiastic girl, the first one to rush over, muttered angrily, “Damn it, if that woman hadn’t talked nonsense and made me come over, I would have certainly charmed a rich idiot by now. When I go back, I’m going to slap her and make her open those foolish purple eyes wide and remember my face!”

On the sofa, the weary François suddenly lifted his eyelids.

“Wait a moment, that—” He paused. He couldn’t remember the girl’s name, even though he had spoken to her more than once during the earlier conversation. But that wasn’t important. He brushed past this minor detail, the weariness and irritation in his eyes swept away, replaced by a fierce, twisted joy. “Who did you say you saw just now?”

The girl hesitated. She didn’t want to mention that woman, for no other reason than that the woman was simply too beautiful. If the Captain of the Guard saw her, then she herself would have no hope at all. “No, it’s nothing. Just an ordinary woman. She was talking nonsense to me, and I was a bit angry, but it’s not a big deal…”

François stood up. As a man, his height was quite imposing. He walked over to the girl, his face still wearing a smile, and reached out—

With a dull thud, the surrounding girls let out terrified screams. Several backed away in fear, one even tripping over her own skirt and falling to the ground.

This seemingly polite and gentle man had, without a word, grabbed Sally by her hair and violently slammed her head against the wall. His strength was perfectly controlled, not enough to draw blood, but a red welt quickly swelled on the girl’s pale forehead.

“Don’t lie, Miss. It’s not a good habit.” He was still smiling, but this time, no one would think he had a good temper anymore. The savviest ones had already dragged their companions away. Of course, they dared not resist. Even if he were to beat Sally right here, what could they possibly do? Self-preservation was their philosophy of survival.

“Alright, please try to remember carefully now. What did the person who sent you here look like?” The softer his voice, the more frightened Sally became. She vaguely felt she had provoked someone formidable, and that this person seemed a bit unhinged.

The girl’s tears flowed uncontrollably: “Sh-she’s very beautiful, with blonde hair… wearing an amber dress. Her eyes are purple, light violet—very unique. I’ve never seen that color before…”

“Oh,” François called out softly, filled with delight. “Yes, that’s right, very, very beautiful… Do you like him too?”

He used the pronoun “him” here. Sally thought he had misspoken, but didn’t dare to correct him. She just forced herself to hold back sobs and said, “I… I didn’t like…”

François raised an eyebrow disapprovingly. “What a girl with no taste.”

His comment made Sally shudder. Choking back sobs, she hurriedly changed her tune: “L-Like! I liked her!”

“Ah,” the smile on François’s face vanished. He stared expressionlessly at Sally, like a wolf watching a pitiful, trembling lamb. “Who gave you permission to like him?”

Sally was practically driven insane with fear. Her voice was caught in her throat, her face flushed red, and her entire face was soaked with tears.

François watched her for a moment, then suddenly lost interest. He let go, watched Sally slide down to the floor, completely drained of strength, and walked away with light steps, like a wolf who had found prey delivered right to his doorstep.

“My dear, you knew I was here, so you came looking for me, didn’t you? Oh heavens, I actually didn’t find you. That’s truly my fault. But I will bring the most beautiful rose and present it to you, and then—” The mad emperor of Calais licked his lips and smiled a strange, delighted smile. “Catch you.”

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