Rafael stormed up the carriage steps, his movements as swift as a gust of wind. His servants ran after him at a trot, their faces filled with suppressed panic and bewilderment.

    The carriage started moving as soon as the Pope got in. The servants hurriedly chased after it, forming a comical long line.

    Everything that had happened today was too strange. As they ran, they exchanged glances secretly, and then retracted their gazes after seeing each other’s equally confused and surprised expressions.

    The servants living in the Papal Palace all had the same instinct for self-preservation. They knew very well that no matter what had happened today, they couldn’t discuss it openly.

    Inside the carriage, Rafael revealed a pained expression as soon as the vehicle started moving. He bent down and carefully examined his right leg, from his fragile ankle to his more shattered knee. The kick he had landed on Carlos just now was too strong, and the way of exerting force was a bit awkward. The knee, which already had a serious old injury, began to ache slightly, announcing its existence with an unmistakable sharp pain.

    The Pope sighed softly, squeezing out the turbid air in his lungs, calming his overly racing heart before slowly beginning to tidy up his disheveled appearance.

    In order to express his anger, he had rushed out without straightening his disheveled clothes or hair. Taking advantage of this little time, he finally pulled out the slightly curled long hair hidden under his cloak. The pale golden strands, looking like a handful of cruelly crushed gold, were roughly pulled out and tossed behind him. His pale purple eyes were devoid of emotion.

    Choosing Carlos had been the result of careful consideration. After ‘drunkenly’ walking into the building, he had chosen an empty room and waited quietly. As the banquet progressed, there would inevitably be people who couldn’t resist coming here to have fun. His guess was correct. Gradually, nobles came from the end of the path, and after waiting for a while, he set his eyes on Carlos who was alone.

    Looking at his face, there was no impression of him at all. He was just a minor noble without any qualifications to meet the Pope. The family crest on his clothing is very simple. His family roots weren’t deep and wouldn’t cause any turmoil in Florence.

    Rafael selected his prey with an almost cold eye.

    He sat by the window, and when the other person looked up at him dazedly, he gave them a smile.

    ——How pathetic.

    The monarch of Florence thought. He controlled the faith of millions of people on the continent, was God’s representative on earth, held supreme authority, was called the King of all Kings, and even kings had to bow their heads before his chariot.

    ——But now he had to resort to selling his looks to achieve his goal.

    This was the method with the least adverse consequences. But if it were in the past... in the brief moment before the other person came upstairs, he thought aimlessly, if it were the him of the past, the him who was well protected by Julius, he would never have accepted such a humiliating method. The head of the Portia family would never have let him do such a thing. He could use the Portias to achieve any purpose –

    The hot breath with the smell of alcohol approached him. Rafael endured it until a pair of hands touched his hair and began to pull at his clothes. A heavy body pressed against him, and Rafael suddenly opened his eyes, raised his right foot and kicked hard.

    —If, what a beautiful word. He suddenly realized that Julius had actually protected him very well, like a precious piece of porcelain or a delicate rose. He kept him from harm and rain, blocked all the storms outside the Papal Palace, and built him a carefree Eden.

    —Until he got tired of it.

    Rafael retied the strap of his cloak and pressed down hard on his right leg, using the artificially created pain to suppress the sourness that was rising in his bones. He silently let out a hideous smile.

    Even with this flawless face, this smile could not be made any more beautiful. However, it had nothing to do with any beautiful words and was entirely the product of an evil spirit that had crawled out of hell.

    The corners of his mouth were exaggeratedly stretched, his skin was deathly pale, his pupils dilated, and bright red blood vessels climbed up his eyeballs. The holy angel had shed its beautiful skin, and its white wings and golden hair were soaked in the malice of revenge and resentment. The blood of the world had become chains dragging him to hell, and he, rooted in hell, still vainly tried to climb the flowers of sin to the sky. His soul howled, roared, and screamed with resentment.

    The carriage stopped, and the interior was silent. The servants exchanged glances, not daring to disturb the Pope who might be in deep thought. Finally, the curtain was drawn back, and the Pope stepped out of the carriage. The servants hurried forward to support his arm, and the Pope slowly and solemnly stepped down from the footstool, walking straight into the corridor where the lights had already been lit.

    The iron-gray hair was covered with a thin layer of water vapor in the hot and humid air, and the dark red lips looked even colder against the pale skin. Unlike the Pope’s clear and transparent lavender eyes, the visitor’s deep purple eyes was like a deep well, with no one able to see the gloomy things flowing inside through the layer of mist.

    Julius Portia was dressed in a formal shirt, long coat, and a silk scarf tied in a beautiful knot, with a large purple sapphire embedded in the scarf, echoing the color of his eyes.

    The patriarch of the Portia family, who was in his prime, stood at the edge of the pool, his hands resting on his cane, looking down at the person in the pool with a dignified air.

    He looked calm, but Rafael saw that beneath his gentle and calm exterior was a quietly simmering rage.

    “I heard you had some interesting experiences at Francois’s place,” the Secretary General of the Papal Palace said softly.

    Rafael did not answer.

    He knew that there must be Julius’s men among his attendants, and this matter could definitely not be hidden from him, but that didn’t mean he needed to give any explanation.

    The Pope’s silence seemed to be the final stone thrown into the volcano.

    The polite and gentle secretary threw his cane violently to the side. The heavy ebony wood collided with the marble, making a sharp sound. Amidst the reverberating echoes, he raised his hand and forcefully pulled off his silkscarf. The expensive violet gem, worth thousands of florins, splashed into the water. The silk scarf was thrown aside, followed by his long coat, and then his boots.

    The head of the Portia family slowly rolled up the sleeves of his shirt and then, wearing only a shirt and trousers, jumped into the pool. His fierce and furious demeanor made even Rafael unable to help but take a step back.

    “You’ve overstepped your bounds, Sir. You shouldn’t—” Before the young Pope could finish his words, the Secretary General of the Papal Palace broke through the water and came before him. The splashing water soaked his iron-gray hair, and drops of water slid down his cheeks and chin. His thin red lips were tightly pursed, and the anger in his deep purple eyes was clearly visible.

    “Shouldn’t I?” Julius’s voice was low but clear.

    “Then was what you have done perfectly fine?” he asked coldly.

    The thin silk shirt barely covered anything in the water, and his muscular body exuded an oppressive heat. The Pope, with his frail constitution, could hardly bear this oppressive feeling of being stripped of all external things and exposed to the essence. Just like male animals in nature instinctively resisting the same sex showing off their strength, Rafael looked away.

    But clearly, Julius was not satisfied with his response.

    “Answer me.”

    Commanded the Portia patriarch, who was more tyrannical than anyone else.

    Rafael was enraged by his commanding tone.

    Who had the right to speak to him like this? Especially Julius—the man who had protected him and then abandoned him. Even if Rafael were to die again, he would not accept his arrogant and self-righteous protection, let alone the fact that this protection was inherently tinged with distrust of him and pity for the weak.

    “Julius Portia! The one standing before you is your sovereign!”

    Rafael said in a voice even colder than his.

    This should have been a very ambiguous scene. Both men in the water were exceptionally beautiful. They should have embraced or kissed, whispering soft and hot love words in the shimmering pool. Instead, they were confronting each other like wild beasts, staring at each other with fierce and cold eyes, wishing to strangle the other’s neck, with neither of them willing to back down.