Chapter 101: The Progress of War |
During a routine consistory meeting, Rafael sat in the papal chair, his hands resting on the armrests. His expressionless eyes were downcast, looking at the assembly below.
The Hall of Our Lady was not large, just big enough to accommodate fewer than twenty people. On both sides of the elaborately carved long table sat twelve high-backed chairs spaced moderately apart. The design of the chair backs mimicked the towering spires of a cathedral. With their slender, sharp decorations and the thorn carvings wrapped around them, these luxurious chairs looked like some form of artistically modified torture devices.
Under the oppressive, frozen atmosphere in the room at this moment, these chairs seemed to functioning infinitely close to actual torture devices. Everyone sitting on them appeared somewhat restless—though in reality, not a single one of them dared to move an inch.
Only five of the twelve chairs were occupied. As time ticked away, the seven empty seats became increasingly glaring.
The five cardinals present were all close confidants of Portia, or owed their red cloaks to Rafael; they naturally belonged to Rafael’s faction. But even so, the expressions on their faces at that moment could not honestly be described as being there out of agreement with Rafael.
Rafael had no doubt that if they weren’t trapped by their political alignment, they would never have obediently sat here on time.
The Hall of Our Lady was dead silent. The cardinals kept their heads modestly lowered, staring at the table as if some rare and exquisite flower had suddenly bloomed on it, demanding their immediate appraisal. The pope at the head remained silent, his hands hidden beneath his sleeves, his fingers lightly tapping the armrests. The faint, rhythmic sound was like a heavy hammer, each strike landing on the uneasy hearts of the cardinals.
“It seems we won’t be waiting for those esteemed gentlemen today.”
When the pope suddenly spoke, the cardinals instinctively shuddered and straightened their backs.
The moment these words left his mouth, the other cardinals cast surreptitious glances at him, their eyes practically screaming, Where did this idiot come from?
Regarding the promulgation of the Religious Freedom Act, the consistory meetings had already descended into irreconcilable arguments. The Pope had kept the secrecy of this act very well, but the news eventually leaked out anyway—after the clergymen enacting the decree boarded the ships to Assyria, that particular consistory meeting turned into a veritable battlefield. The opposition, blinded with rage from being kept in the dark, brandished vases and chairs to engage in a full-blown brawl. They didn’t dare lay a hand on the Pope, so Materazzi and the rest of the papal faction bore the brunt of their misfortune.
Thanks to the excellent soundproofing of the Hall of Our Lady, while the venerable cardinals descended into a chaotic melee inside, those outside heard hardly a sound.
However, the messy, torn robes and disheveled hair of the cardinals after the meeting adjourned did inevitably leak some secrets. Of course, a major contribution also came from the opposition’s unsparing efforts to widely publicize and attack the Religious Freedom Act.
The cardinals were not merely displeased with this act, which shook the very foundations of the Holy See’s faith; they were even more dissatisfied by the Pope’s choice to act first and report later. True, even if the Pope had brought the matter before them for discussion, they would never have agreed to the promulgation of the act. But being completely shut out like this filled them with unparalleled fury.
At that moment, they simultaneously felt the suppression of the Pope’s authority. Unlike their previous self-deception, this time it was a blatant, undisguised disregard, which made the cardinals feel an immense sense of humiliation.
Rafael sneered inwardly. He naturally knew exactly what these cardinals were thinking. While some among them indeed could not tolerate the Pope’s “heretical” behavior due to genuine piety, did he not already know exactly why the majority of them opposed him?
The Pope folded his hands together, quite naturally ignoring Materazzi, who had just uttered such foolish words. Toward this “gold-cloaked” cardinal, Rafael’s attitude had always been mild. No matter the era, people always showed greater tolerance toward the financial backers who provided the money. Not to mention, Materazzi was the very candidate Rafael had selected as a potential successor—a fact currently known to no one except Julius and himself.
Even Rafael, after draining Materazzi’s wealth and plotting to make him a puppet pope, a front for Julius, occasionally felt a twinge of remorse. Of course, if Materazzi himself knew about this, he might instead be ecstatic, but that didn’t stop Rafael from sometimes secretly feeling guilty while touching what little remained of his conscience.
With such emotions, when Rafael looked at Materazzi, his gaze carried a touch of forgiveness, much like one would look at their intellectually disabled son.
“Since they refuse to participate in the consistory meetings and refuse to fulfill their duties as cardinals, then please have them strip off their red cloaks,” the Pope said casually, uttering words that could only be described as terrifying.
This time, not only the other cardinals, but even Rafael’s mindless sycophant Materazzi fell fearfully silent. They stared at the Pope in shock and disbelief, as if the Pope, sitting perfectly normally in his seat, had suddenly transformed into some unknown creature. Of course, they would rather the Pope had truly turned into some strange animal than actually hear those words.
Holy Lord protect us, I must not be awake yet.
Similar thoughts drifted simultaneously through the minds of the five cardinals.
In history, it wasn’t unprecedented for a cardinal to be stripped of their title and communion by a Pope, or even expelled from the Holy See and exiled for life. But surveying the thousand-year history of the Church, such unfortunate cardinals numbered fewer than ten. Every single one had been done after rigorous scrutiny and judgement. Yet today, their Pope actually wanted to wipe out the next millennium’s quota with a single sentence. This sheer efficiency truly left the cardinals feeling dizzy and lightheaded.
Even Materazzi, who stood most firmly by Rafael’s side, developed a trace of dread toward His Holiness.
“Your Holiness, please calm yourself. I believe they simply haven’t realized their mistake yet. For the sake of their past pious service to the Holy Lord, please maintain your usual tolerance and love, and forgive the transgressions caused by their ignorance and folly,” someone immediately stepped forward to plead for their rivals.
Dismissing seven cardinals all at once was a matter significant enough to cause an unprecedented, massive upheaval within the Holy See. Even the assassination and death of a Pope might not have such an effect. At least when Pope Vitalian III was assassinated, the cardinals were still holding up the Church. But right now, the Holy See was already in a precarious position due to the promulgation of the Religious Freedom Act, with believers casting doubts on the Pope. If the Church leadership underwent another upheaval, the resulting consequences would be unimaginable.
Rafael’s gaze swept across the faces of the cardinals before he smiled faintly. His tone was so gentle that it made everything that just happened feel like an illusion. “Of course, I was merely joking.”
He wasn’t actually insane. Getting rid of seven cardinals at once would only leave him to deal with the messy aftermath.
Your tone just now didn’t sound like a joke at all.
The cardinals grumbled inwardly, but they nonetheless breathed a sigh of relief at those words.
Taking in every shift in their expressions, Rafael said nothing more. He simply signaled the end of the meeting. The cardinals swallowed the words they wanted to say, stood up with anxious expressions, and watched the Pope depart. The thoughts in their minds welled up like spring water, but in the end, none dared to speak them aloud.
The news that seven cardinals refused to attend the consistory meeting would soon spread across the entire continent. This was undoubtedly a major blow to the Pope’s authority, tantamount to opposing the Pope to his face. Rafael remained indifferent to such superficial opposition. The matters weighing heavily on his shoulders right now were overwhelmingly numerous; these blustering shows of resistance could not capture his attention at all.
“Send word of this to Assyria,” Rafael said calmly, turning his head to Ferrante behind him. “Let them know how resolute the pope is in pushing this act through.”
This matter could even serve as a powerful lever for him to win the hearts of the Assyrian people.
“And the seven cardinals…” Ferrante asked in a low voice, a hint of menace creeping into his tone, as if the moment Rafael showed even a slight inclination, he would use any means necessary to eliminate the seven people who displeased Rafael.
Rafael gave him a helpless glance: “Seven dead at once—do you think everyone else is a fool?”
Ferrante protested, “I wouldn’t do it all at once—”
“Enough. Even if it weren’t them, someone else would come up to oppose me. It’s better to keep them. At least I am more familiar with these fools and ambitious men,” Rafael simply dismissed Ferrante’s suggestion.
“How is the situation in Assyria?” Rafael reached his hand back. Ferrante immediately pulled out the latest battle report tucked into his belt and handed it to him, slowing the pace of pushing the wheelchair slightly.
Lowering his head, Rafael unfurled the parchment, scanning the text rapidly. After a long moment, he let out a slightly surprised “Hmm.” “Redrick is actually doing quite well.”
It was more than just well; the Duke of Lusanne had demonstrated extraordinary military talent on the battlefield. In just a few months, he had established a base of operations in the south and was steadily expanding northward from its center. Neither the southern bandits nor the military groups were a match for him. Even those “Sargon Dynasties,” which had established themselves under the guise of royal bloodlines after Queen Amandra’s death, collapsed under his offensive. The vanguard of his army pressed all the way north, creating a tripartite balance of power alongside the northernmost Assyrian Heavenly Pilgrimage Alliance and the Calais Expeditionary Force, which was likewise expanding in the east.
Thinking of that younger brother who always hurled harsh words at him, Rafael suddenly found that his memory felt a bit blurred. The hot-tempered youth who used to relentlessly chase him down to mock him back in the seminary seemed to appear only as a fleeting shadow, replaced now by the man in the battle report who fought bravely and led from the front lines.
Harboring an unidentifiable emotion, Rafael smiled to himself.
“Further north, he will encounter the Heavenly Pilgrimage Alliance,” Rafael’s mood, which had lightened slightly due to the favorable war situation, grew heavy again. “Those old men won’t be as easy to deal with as the previous enemies.”
The fact that they could quietly manage their own forces in the north indicated they possessed sufficient patience and had accumulated abundant resources. Furthermore, most of the legions that scattered after Amandra’s death were unaccounted for, which was cause for concern. Added to that were the advanced weapons Amandra had brought from Rome to Assyria upon her death, filling the gap left by Assyria’s weapons shortage. It was hard to gauge the true strength of the Pilgrimage Alliance now.
“I hope he can be a bit more cautious,” Rafael pressed his brow. “How is the recruitment for the fourth legion coming along?”
Ferrante hesitated for a moment. “…It is underway.”
Keenly sensing something from his pause and phrasing, Rafael understood perfectly. “Not many people are signing up anymore?”
Ferrante did not answer.
Because of the promulgation of the Religious Freedom Act, many who viewed this war as a holy crusade and hoped to plunder wealth from it were profoundly disappointed. The pious believers had already boarded the first three batches of ships. The remaining people began to watch from the sidelines and shrink back. The recruitment drive, which had initially been proceeding like a raging fire, turned desolate and neglected overnight.
Rafael nodded calmly. “I see.”
Redrick wiped his face, smearing a mask of sticky blood and dust across his features. The Duke, who was usually impeccably dressed and very mindful of his noble appearance, held his sword. With one hand, he forcefully yanked out the corner of his cloak that was trapped beneath a corpse, pulled his boot free from a mud pit, and roared loudly, “Where are the horses?! Who else has a horse?! Call back all those idiots who went chasing after them!”
He shouted at the top of his lungs with an utter lack of decorum, then plopped his backside onto the ground, completely indifferent to the fact that right beside his leg lay a corpse staring blankly with unclosed eyes.
Redrick took a deep, ragged breath. His personal guards gradually gathered around him, each with a bloodied face and unreadable expressions.
“Your Grace, please don’t charge ahead next time,” his guard captain pleaded miserably.
“A good general should be surrounded by his troops, waiting for the outcome, not at the front, doing the same work as the soldiers!” The captain examined his notched sword with a pained look.
“If something happens to you, how will I explain it to Lady Cassandra?”
If it were the past, Redrick would have been furious upon hearing such words and jumped up to slap the captain across the face. However, after spending this period of time together, he more or less knew that this captain’s disposition was just that nagging. Thus, he merely rolled his eyes indelicately. “Even if I die, Mother still has other children.”
Seeing the captain reveal a disapproving look and prepare to open his mouth to lecture again, Redrick, already sensing the impending headache, quickly changed the subject. “Why haven’t those idiots who went to pursue them returned yet?”
This was not their first encounter with the Pilgrimage Heavenly Alliance. The previous skirmishes had all occurred somewhat suddenly, and were mostly small-scale engagements between small detachments. Both sides had maintained a certain level of vigilance and restraint, with casualties being roughly one-to-one. After a few rounds, even Redrick had let his guard down a bit, but he still maintained a basic level of caution and forbade the soldiers from pursuing the enemy’s remnants. Yet clearly, someone could not contain themselves this time.
“When they return, dock their meals for today and have the monks make them read scriptures all night long,” Redrick ordered grimly.
But by the time they returned to camp, those who had given chase still hadn’t returned.
Redrick’s face darkened as a grim realization set in: something had gone wrong. Could that afternoon’s skirmish have been a trap? But if it were a trap, the enemy must have a much grander scheme in motion. If so, why would they risk exposing it just to butcher a few stray pursuers? On the other hand, chalking it up to mere coincidence seemed even more impossible.
Every muscle in Redrick’s body tensed. He began to frantically review every single battle they had fought recently, unearthing every detail that seemed reasonable on the surface but felt wrong in hindsight, desperately searching for the root of it all. Yet no matter how he turned it over in his mind, he couldn’t find a single shred of suspicion. Everything had fallen into place far too perfectly, without a trace of forced intent—unfolding precisely like a destiny written by the Holy Lord Himself.
Early the next morning, Redrick dispatched several squads of Holy Crows to search for tracks of the missing men. The search initially yielded nothing, until a soldier accidentally stumbled upon a linen coin pouch scattered in the jungle, which had belonged to one of the lost men. Following this trail, they confirmed the grim reality of the missing men’s deaths, discovering their bodies buried deep beside the roots of a massive tree.
The experienced Holy Crows quickly determined the cause of death. Almost simultaneously, the men had died from violent lacerations inflicted by cold weapons. The blades had savagely slashed open their necks and abdomens at the exact same moment, nearly hacking each man into multiple pieces. Such force was beyond the average person. Even specially trained, physically robust Assyrians could not deliver that many cuts in an instant.
But steam-powered light armor could.
Those were weapons forged strictly for slaughter.
It seemed all those weapons Queen Amandra had brought from Rome had indeed fallen into the hands of the Pilgrimage Heavenly Alliance.
This intelligence was rushed post-haste to Florence, accompanied by a formal request for the deployment of their own steam light armor. To insist on using human force against such a deadly weapon would not be courage—it would be foolishness.
The moment Rafael received the requisition, he approved it. Along with it, he signed a Papal Commendation and handed it over to the Holy Crows to be brought back to Assyria.
Redrick couldn’t quite define what he felt when he received that unexpected Papal Commendation.
He stared at it blankly, verifying it a full four times before convincing himself that the name on the decree was truly his own, and that every single word was written in a handwriting he knew all too well.
This was a document penned by the Pope’s own hand, not a mass-produced product from the Secretariat of the Papal Palace.
Redrick gazed at the document as if it were gunpowder ready to explode at any moment, feeling lost for the first time.
He didn’t understand.
Even Redrick himself admitted that he had treated Rafael extremely badly in the past. He had cursed and mocked Rafael with the most vicious language, come to blows, regarded Rafael with the hostility of an enemy, and used every means to try to push Rafael out of the Florence Seminary. If Rafael hadn’t later been taken under the wing of Pope Vitalian III and studied under Julius, it was hard to say what might have become of him.
But now, as he thought vaguely, he realized he couldn’t remember at all why he had once hated Rafael so much.
A bastard of unknown origin certainly seemed to carry a justified reason for resentment. He should have been groveling in the mud, living a wretched, muddled existence just like the rest of the lowest commoners. And yet, he had somehow risen to stand beneath the brilliant canopy of heaven, displaying a brilliant talent and grace that cast a dazzling shadow above them all…
Suddenly, Redrick recalled the very first time he had seen Rafael.
Redrick suddenly recalled the first time he saw Rafael. He had come home from the seminary to find the servants behaving strangely. He hadn’t paid attention to those small details but had looked through the floor-to-ceiling windows of the hall and seen someone sitting in the garden.
The young Rafael had been painfully thin and frail. His long, pale-golden hair, brittle and frizzy from malnutrition, had been forced back into a single bundle with a silk ribbon. A stark white silk shirt with a heavily starched, rigid collar enveloped his frame, and his black breeches cinched a waist so slender it felt like one could wrap a single hand around it. The sunlight streamed in from behind him, filtering through the silk fabric and faintly revealing his porcelain skin through the cloth. His entire silhouette was bathed in a soft, fuzzy halo, making him look so serene that it felt as though an angel had gently alighted there.
He was holding a book, his spine slightly curved, looking as cautious as a small kitten suddenly thrust into an unfamiliar environment—every hair on his body subtly bristling with apprehension. Back then, he wasn’t nearly as beautiful as he was now; prolonged hunger had left his cheeks hollowed out and gaunt. But even so, Redrick could discern an underlying, hidden refinement from his exceptionally striking bone structure and high bridged nose.
He looked just like a stray kitten that had fallen into the water and been washed clean.
Whose adopted child is this? Or did they find a playmate for me? If it’s this person, I suppose I could consider taking good care of him—at least I won’t let him starve like this, the proud young master had thought with absolute certainty. I won’t bully him, and I might even give him the position closest to me by my side.
At that time, he hadn’t known who Rafael was. That had been his very first impression upon meeting him.
So he truly didn’t understand. Staring down at the commendation, Redrick simply couldn’t believe that Rafael would ever forgive him…
No, using a word like “forgive” felt somewhat disgusting. But then, why?
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