The Reversed Hierophant

Chapter 91.2 Disagreement Part II

Rafael pondered for a moment before acting as if he had just noticed Leshert kneeling before him again. He said: “Please rise, Commander. Would I really be displeased with you for praising my late father?”

Leshert looked at him earnestly, as if trying to discern if Rafael’s words were sincere. The Pope allowed him to look, his pale violet eyes containing a flawless smile. He seemed even more relaxed than before.

The Grandmaster stood up silently and sat back in his place. Rafael was suddenly glad Leshert had chosen that spot; it allowed him to see every subtle expression and reaction on Leshert’s face effortlessly.

Rafael said: “Calais has announced its claim to the Assyrian throne.”

He paused for two seconds, watching Leshert’s reaction out of the corner of his eye, before continuing slowly: “It seems that a war is inevitable.”

Leshert’s fingers resting on his knee twitched slightly.

“If that is your command.”

After a long silence, the Grandmaster’s voice rang out, steady as usual.

A perfectly normal answer, but to Rafael, something felt off.

“My command…” Rafael pressed further. “What if I order the Knights to serve as the vanguard to enter Assyria and suppress those rioters?”They both knew the current situation in Assyria. They knew who those so-called “rioters” really were—mostly impoverished people who could no longer survive and had to resort to illegal means to seize resources. To provide fresh blood for the constant military campaigns, Assyria had even developed a profession called “soldier-traffickers,” who captured these unprotected poor and sold them to nobles and officers under the guise of “clearing out rioters.”

This rumor had long ceased to be news in Florence.

Leshert looked at him in surprise. The Grandmaster realized this was a test, but he didn’t quite understand what Rafael was trying to probe.

Was he trying to confirm his loyalty? But his current injuries and the fact that he had risked his life to bring Rafael out of Calais were proof enough that his loyalty to the Pope was beyond reproach.

Leshert sensed something was wrong, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on it.

He fell quiet for a moment before saying cautiously: “If that is your command.”

Rafael seemed to let out a very quick, cold laugh. He now understood where the problem lay. This new discovery chilled him, and a nameless anger made him sit up straight. He grabbed the bell on the table and rang it forcefully twice.

A attendant standing in the distant garden quickly approached, bowing as he awaited His Holiness’s command.

“Fetch me a blank writ of command.”

The efficiency of the Papal Palace clergy was always high. A blank parchment scroll, along with special ink and pen, was soon presented to Rafael. The parchment bore a pattern of papal lilies, honeysuckle, and thorns. At the top, in gilded cursive script, was written: By the Holy Mandate of the Supreme Pontiff, Vicar of the Holy Lord, Prince of Florence and Sovereign of All Nations, Pope Sistine I.

This was an official papal decree, symbolizing the Pope’s absolute command.

Rafael grabbed the quill and dipped it twice into the inkwell. His cold eyes turned toward Leshert. The Pope’s voice was soft, yet it contained a terrifying power akin to a brewing storm: “This is my command. Are you truly prepared to accept it?”

The gold nib of the quill touched the paper. It was obvious that the moment Leshert nodded, Rafael would write down that terrible order. Leshert’s pupils constricted slightly; he could see that Rafael was not joking.

He really intended to do it.

“Please, reconsider,” the Grandmaster finally pleaded. “You know these people are innocent. This command would tarnish your reputation—”

“I do not need you to consider things for me. You only need to answer whether you accept it or not.” Rafael interrupted him, ruthless to the point of cruelty.

The Grandmaster fell silent for a while, then said slowly: “The Knights Templar obeys all commands of Your Holiness.”

With a sharp snap, Rafael felt a cord of reason in his mind instantly break.

No one could deny Leshert’s noble character. He had always been the best exemplar of knightly ideals: compassionate towards the weak, a guardian of justice, brave and self-sacrificing, devout, loyal, and never cowardly.

And yet, he would place the very principles of his faith beneath the Pope’s command—even when he was absolutely certain that the command was irrational.

Was he loyal to his own principles, to the Holy Throne, or to Rafael upon that throne?

In his wildest dreams, Rafael had never dared to imagine he could obtain such overwhelming favoritism and faith. Precisely because Rafael knew exactly how upright the Grandmaster was, he had felt certain he could control the Knights Templar’s power in his own way. How precious a person with principles was! Rafael both feared and admired him. He hoped Leshert would forever remain this upright, shining like an unyielding beacon in this dim world.

He had hoped Leshert was the third type of person, but he had to admit the Grandmaster should have been the first—that would have been fine too. A good man, who wouldn’t like one? Yet reality told him that Leshert was the second type.

Life had never favored him. Once again, Rafael recognized this fact.

I thought… I could have someone to trust, at least a little, Rafael thought, looking at Leshert. But it seems that was just ‘I thought.’

For a very brief moment, Leshert vaguely felt as if he had witnessed a silent collapse. The Pope’s eyes, usually calm and calculating, shimmered with a thin layer of moisture. But when he instinctively tried to look closer, it all seemed to be merely his own delusion.

“…You clearly resist this matter,” Rafael released his grip, allowing the quill to fall onto the table. The ink from the nib dragged a chaotic, dark green mess across the paper. “But you accepted my command anyway. I am somewhat curious: if the person sitting on the Throne of Saint Leah right now weren’t me, would you also accept all commands from him without question? Simply because he was ‘His Holiness’?”

Leshert’s pupils constricted sharply. He moved to retort immediately, even though he had not yet fully untangled his complicated thoughts, but Rafael was even more resistant to hearing the answer to that question. Before Leshert could even speak, the Pope laughed: “Apologies, Commander. That was a rather poor joke. Please ignore the question, and please forgive my tedious game. I would never make you do something so cruel—you are a loyal and upright knight; you should not be involved in such foolish and evil slaughter.”

He was smiling, but there was no mirth in his eyes.

Rafael had to use all his strength to restrain the urge to stand up and flee. It’s fine, he told himself. As long as he sat on the Holy See’s Throne for even one day, Leshert would remain loyal to him. Looked at this way, what did it matter if the loyalty was to the crown or the man? And he was destined to be like a dragon guarding its treasure, pushing everyone who coveted the crown into the abyss just to survive. Thus, it was a happy ending for everyone.

I will be someone worth being loyal to,

Rafael emphasized to himself like a hypnotic suggestion. I need Leshert, especially now. Seeking wholehearted loyalty is a ridiculous endeavor to begin with, but at least I know what Leshert wants.I will give him the Holy See of his dreams.

Rafael was good at this—performing the image others imagined, winning their adoration and followership.

I must endure. Rafael lowered his head, his hands clenching tightly inside his sleeves, his fingers turning pale and bloodless from the excessive force. I must endure. I cannot… kill him.

He knew his current murderous intent and anger were utterly irrational. Leshert had never deceived him; his current sense of betrayal stemmed entirely from his own misjudgment. He had placed Leshert too high, to the point of crowning him with a saintly halo. He wanted him to be independent, upright, unafraid of power, never yielding, walking his own path. Therefore, when he discovered that Leshert was merely a mortal with his own thoughts, he couldn’t accept it.

But when all was said and done, Leshert had done nothing wrong.

Who exactly was he seeing in Leshert?

That dead Rafael?

Leshert wanted to say something; he felt Rafael’s “explanation” was somewhat unacceptable, but he truly didn’t know how to explain himself. Rafael wasn’t wrong, either. He did indeed piously serve the person on the Holy Throne. During the reign of Leo VI, he had deliberately kept a low profile precisely because he didn’t want to receive commands from that Pope. His status as Grandmaster made it impossible to refuse the Sovereign’s orders, but as a knight, he didn’t like that excessively greedy Pope. Thus, he could only use such an obscure method to ensure the Pope did not think of him.

His Holiness isn’t wrong, Leshert turned Rafael’s words over in his mind. They were sharp, bordering on unpleasant, but also… truly correct.

Seeing the look of weariness on Rafael’s face, Leshert tactfully stood up to take his leave. Once the footsteps of the Grandmaster had completely vanished, Rafael lay back in his chair. Without opening his eyes, he said softly: “Is it very difficult to keep the Knight Commander under surveillance?”

In the seemingly empty fountain garden, following those words, a tall and slender figure emerged from the shadows of the trees. It was unknown how long he had been standing there. Hearing Rafael’s mumble-like question, his deep blue eyes looked in the direction Leshert had left. A flicker of murderous intent flashed in his gaze, but when he spoke to Rafael, his voice remained incredibly gentle: “No. As long as you command it, I can do it for you. Even if it means killing him.”

Rafael raised a finger to his lips, his voice light as a whisper: “Shh—do not say things that are so easily misunderstood. I have no such bloody or cruel thoughts.”

The situation with Assyria and Calais was already strained to a breaking point. Leshert, who commanded the Knights Templar, was a vital force in Rafael’s hand that could not be ignored. The Grandmaster was a born military genius; without him, where would Rafael find such an excellent general?

To that end, he could tolerate a man he could not fully control, a man who would never be completely loyal to him.

As long as he was careful and remained on the Papal throne, the rift between them would stay hidden beneath the deep sea, a shadow that would never surface.

In an era of life-long Papal terms, this was virtually risk-free.

Rafael comforted himself with such rhetoric.

At the same time, he vaguely understood why Julius had sent Leshert over.

What was he trying to say? That no one in this world besides him would truly understand or get close to Rafael?

What a foolish process of proof! Did he think Rafael was still that silly child from years ago seeking affection? Julius, who had raised him by hand, knew better than anyone that Rafael was just as good as he was at weighing options, making choices, and enduring. They were always the first to retreat when it was time to yield. What had made Julius suddenly start acting so sentimental?

After that meeting in the garden, the relationship between Rafael and Leshert did not grow distant at alll. On the contrary, the Pope favored the Grandmaster even more than before. His “favoritism” even briefly surpassed that shown to the Secretary-General. The people of the Papal Palace quickly caught wind of the new direction. Following their master’s lead, they showered glory and praise upon the Knights that had been keeping a low-profile for years.

Two months later, the rampant rumors made the various “Sargon Emperors” fighting in Assyria lose their composure. The Queen’s will proved beyond a doubt the Florentine Pope’s legal right of succession to Assyria. They consequently united to issue a denunciation against the Papal States, demanding an explanation from the Pope: either maintain the Pope’s purity according to doctrine and renounce the succession to Assyria, or admit his greed and go directly to war.

It was a foolish denunciation, but it also reflected their panic.

Rafael ignored this messy joint denunciation.

He was waiting for the reaction from Calais.

The chaos in Assyria was never the problem. The only thing that could cause him doubt was the meddling François IV.

And that mad young Emperor of Calais did not disappoint.

Calais declared war on Assyria in the name of “The Emperor announcing his rule over his legitimate territory.”

This was even more absurd than the Pope of Florence dropping onto the Assyrian throne from the sky.

The first to express this doubt was Rome.

Our Queen, the biological daughter of Her Majesty Amandra, hasn’t even shown any interest in the Assyrian throne yet. How does it fall to an unmarried fiancé to issue a succession declaration?!

Furthermore, Queen Sancha had long ago announced her renunciation of the right to succeed to the Assyrian throne, willingly acknowledging the legitimacy of Rafael’s rule. How could the line of succession ever fall to her fiancé?!

Yet, undeniably, the young Emperor shamelessly ignored all logic—perhaps he simply wanted a reason to take Assyria, no matter how flimsy that reason was.

Rafael wasn’t surprised at all. Similarly, regarding Rome’s reaction—which was merely a verbal condemnation without any practical action—he felt neither anger nor dissatisfaction.

The relationship between nations was just that complex. Rafael wanted to secure Assyria, and Sancha had to consider her own Rome. She could not easily announce a break with Calais for Rafael’s sake. At least for now, maintaining the engagement with François IV brought more benefits than harm to Rome.

Rafael set aside these complex, weighty considerations for the moment. He first needed to undergo a surgical assessment by Doctor Polly and meet with Ashur again. There were many things about the Queen he had not yet cleared up, including some hidden legacies the Queen had left behind in Florence.

Author’s Note

Unexpected right! A development completely different from what you imagined!

The back-and-forth! We have to have the “push and pull” before they fall for each other!

The reason I’ve written so little about the Commander until now is that this character is both incredibly archetypal and yet not at all. He has his own firm principles, yet because of those principles, he piously follows the Pope. His faith is in the “Pope” as a guiding beacon, rather to any individual person. This creates a fundamental conflict with Rafael. Rafael is that absolute soul-level person—to love me, you must love my soul through everything, regardless of my ugliness or distortion… So Leshert stepped onto a major landmine [laughs]. But as for what the Knight Commander truly thinks … well, this pure-hearted virgin doesn’t even know himself…

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