The Reversed Hierophant

On the ninth day of the war, Gonda fell.

—No, it should be said that the rebellious royal city of Assyria had once again pledged allegiance to their Queen.

Years of chaos in Assyria had filled its ranks with spies and informants from various countries. The fall of Gonda quickly spread across the Black Sea through multiple channels, reaching the hands of different factions.

In the opulent palace of Dudley, banquets and music and dance continued day and night. The nobles of Calais inherited the ancient Roman tradition of extravagance, using it to flaunt their wealth. The previous emperor had even dug a huge swimming pool in the palace courtyard, filled not with clear water, but with aged wine. Commoners outside would never taste a single cup of such wine in their lives, but a single royal banquet would consume hundreds of barrels.

The banquet hall of Dudley Palace covered more than two thousand square meters, cleverly divided into different spaces with mirrors and flower walls. Curtains woven from crystal and diamonds made the entire space glitter. The wall decorations were either gold or silver, blatantly luxurious. The owner of the palace seemed to want to engrave the words “I am rich” on their forehead.

A band by the dance floor was playing a waltz. Men and women in splendid attire skillfully twirled and moved in the dance hall. Grand and magnificent court dances were the origin of group dances. When the notes for changing partners fell, the vibrant and beautiful voluminous long skirts of all the women blossomed into dazzling circles on the polished floor. That extreme aesthetic and impact were beyond imagination.

However, for the emperor, who was lazily seated at the throne, this scene was merely a daily embellishment he had seen since childhood. He was even tired of the repetitive dance steps.

The young emperor leaned against the golden throne, his body as if boneless, propped against the armrest, his legs crossed. His fluffy, wool-like long hair cascaded down his back. His black jacket was open, his cravat long gone. His pristine silk shirt was messily unbuttoned down to his abdomen. Apart from the two lowest buttons that held their ground, the jewel buttons above were long gone. Faint lipstick marks of varying shades could still be seen on his collar.

Debauched, extravagant, decadent.

However, unlike before, the nobles showed more trepidation and respect when facing their emperor. He had returned alive from the border, and had successfully brought back an engagement with a future Roman Queen. Everyone could smell the scent of an impending storm in the air. Hadn’t even the once-overbearing Duke grown noticeably subdued?

It seemed that the silent war that had spanned years between uncle and nephew was about to end.

Despite this, the nobles couldn’t help but sigh inwardly. Who would have thought that the winner would be the seemingly meek young emperor? When he was a prince, he was notoriously absurd and violent. After becoming emperor, he had improved a lot—though it couldn’t be ruled out that the pressure from his uncle, the Duke, forced him to rein himself in.

With Duke François’s recent low profile, that twisted brutality in the young emperor’s character seemed to be slowly resurfacing. The most perceptive nobles could feel the increasing pressure from the emperor. The number of palace staff would occasionally decrease, and people could hear horrifying screams from the palace in the silent night, a sound that would send chills down the spines of the bravest. Yet, no one dared to speculate on what was happening.

Truly a bloodthirsty family, the nobles whispered privately. Every member of the royal family seemed to be naturally twisted madmen and sadists. The history of this family was written in dark, bloody ink. Among them were emperors who killed for pleasure, princesses who bathed in the fresh blood of maidens to maintain eternal youth, and dukes who tortured their wives to death. The previous emperor had a hobby of flogging his attendants, and his brother—now Duke François—enjoyed toying with beautiful men and women. As for his son, the current Emperor of Calais, he didn’t seem to have any perverse fetishes at the moment, but peculiar signs were gradually emerging.

This family’s blood runs with sickness and madness. Every one of them is a born sadist and murderer. To crown them as rulers is a mockery of all laws and the mercy of the Holy Lord.

This quote came from a noble fifty years ago who was beheaded by the emperor. The reason for his death sentence was his refusal of the emperor’s sudden proposition during a parliamentary session.

The key point was, the emperor propositioned him in parliament, while ministers were debating tax collection. The emperor, who was seriously listening to the ministers’ speeches, suddenly turned to his finance minister and extended this invitation.

It was hard to imagine what the scene was like then. No one recorded this absurd event in their notes—perhaps because they didn’t dare to. In any case, the finance minister who flatly rejected this outrageous invitation was dragged to the guillotine that same afternoon.

This unparalleled absurd event directly led to internal turmoil in Calais until François III and his brother demonstrated extraordinary military talent, sweeping away a group of “ill-intentioned” nobles, which then stabilized the throne once again.

Thus, some people secretly cursed, saying that members of this mad family often died from ignominious murders or assassinations, yet incredibly, prodigious geniuses also often emerged among them. It’s as if the Holy Lord has cursed Calais with them!

The young emperor, with half-closed, half-awake amber eyes, adjusted himself into a comfortable position, hooked his feet over the armrest, and lay sprawled across the throne in an extremely impolite manner—though it was very impolite, who would dare to criticize him?

The gold-inlaid ceiling was painted with intricate and lavish frescoes using dissolved colored minerals and abundant silver. Huge crystal chandeliers cast a brilliant light. When the light hits the facets of the crystals, the falling rays carried intensely pure and transparent colored halos. These halos were as beautiful as a dream, and staring at them for too long would induce a dizzying, floating sensation.

François felt a little lightheaded now.

The light, flowing music was distorted into disjointed notes in his mind. In his peripheral vision, he could see the shifting figures of women, their wide, scarlet, snowy white, and dark blue skirts blooming like flowers. Silken scarves were draped over their plump arms, and soft tassels concealed skin made pale and fragrant by perfume, mixing together like melted pigments, reminding him of thick, neon-pink liquid oozing down in slow, viscous streams.

François then smiled strangely. The lady closest to him boldly cast a flirtatious glance at the young and handsome emperor—they were well aware of the emperor’s bad reputation, but what girl would be indifferent to that noble empress’s crown?

Gain always comes with risk, and besides, His Majesty seemed to be in a good mood now.

François lazily slid off the chair and sat on the cold floor for a while, then unsteadily stood up and stepped onto the dance floor.

Everyone rejoiced at the emperor’s arrival.

He moved through countless arms. Soft, fragrant fingers lightly grazed his cheek, shoulders, and chest with the changing dance steps, ambiguously trying to stir his emotions. François casually took a lady’s hand, kissed the back of it, and then pushed her into the arms of her dance partner, hearing undisguised snickers from the onlookers.

Fervent, admiring gazes enveloped him tightly like a silk net. If François were an insect, he had no doubt he would be completely bound and devoured by the ladies’ gazes.

Unfortunately, he was no insect.

The young emperor seemed to have grown tired, or perhaps the large amount of alcohol he had just consumed made him drowsy. He completely disregarded that he was in the center of the dance floor and simply lay down. Without his command, the band dared not stop playing, and the dancers in the hall dared not leave on their own. So, everything continued smoothly, even if the scene looked truly absurd.

The disheveled young emperor lay on the marble floor, his eyes slightly narrowed. The light from the crystal chandeliers made his eyes uncomfortable. The expensive and magnificent skirts of ladies and noblewomen bloomed and twirled around him at intervals. Bold women deliberately twirled their skirts over his face, like an unspoken invitation.

François reached out to touch the deliberately close, snow-white thighs, grabbing an ankle. Amidst their quiet gasps, he pulled them over, lying on the ground, embracing and kissing the face he couldn’t quite see.

This hazy, semi-intoxicated state made him feel comfortable. In his half-closed eyes, his pupils glinted with an inorganic, viscous coldness, like a snake’s. The girls, their cheeks flushed and lost in dreams of becoming queen, feared these eyes, which were infinitely close to a reptile’s, yet yearned to approach the monarch of the empire. This contradiction made the people around François flow in and out like water.

The lavish affair was interrupted by an untimely sound from a stringed instrument.

A string on a violinist’s instrument in the band suddenly snapped. It was a minor mistake, but the emperor, with his keen hearing, caught it even in his daze. Through countless pairs of gleaming leather boots and exquisite high heels, the emperor’s snake-like eyes fixed on the errant violinist. The ferocity in his gaze slowly turned to surprise as soon as he saw the man’s face.

The band was disrupted by this sudden interlude, stiffly ceasing their movements under the emperor’s stare. The violinist, whose eyes were fixed on the emperor, trembled all over, his hand gripping the bow so hard it turned blue, his purple eyes filled with terror.

He had a pair of purple eyes.

Their color was unique, like a pair of amethyst stones.

François climbed up from the ground, stumbling through the crowd. Under the gaze of countless onlookers, he bent down and used a finger to lift the violinist’s chin, bringing his face close to examine him carefully.

The other man was terrified beyond measure, his face was as pale as paper, his body trembling like a leaf in the wind. Combined with his delicate appearance, he looked extremely pitiful.

Those chosen for the court orchestra had to be not only exceptionally talented but also have proper features and good looks. This violinist’s talent might not have been outstanding, which was why he was relegated to the back of the band, but his face undoubtedly provided the most thorough explanation for his presence there.

A beautiful young man, with rare and stunning purple eyes. Many nobles displayed covetous expressions.

After scrutinizing him for a while, the young emperor suddenly asked, “Which family did you come from?”

The blond violinist swallowed, feeling his throat terribly dry. He began to desperately regret insisting on joining this performance; for it, he had even deliberately injured another violinist’s wrist. He just wanted to come here to flirt with a noblewoman. With his looks, becoming a noblewoman’s lover would have been easy, but he never expected to be noticed by His Majesty!

It was too terrifying, too terrifying.

Essentially, he was a timid and self-serving commoner. How could he have imagined that one day he would be this close to the emperor?

But His Majesty had asked, and he dared not not answer.

“Eugene… Your Majesty, my name is Eugene.” Excessive nervousness made his vision go white, and he even misheard François’s question. The young emperor slowly raised an eyebrow, surprisingly not getting angry, but instead smiled intimately.

“What does your family do?” the young emperor asked, almost amiably.

“…My great-grandfather…. was a banker, I think…” It clearly sounded like a vague “ancient family history” meant to gild his own reputation, but François showed a thoughtful expression.

The descendants of the Portia family were numerous. Just as there were those like Julius who held great power, there would naturally be those like this one, adrift in a foreign land, their lineage so thin that even their surname was long forgotten.

A distant side branch, whose name would no longer appear even on the family tree. Only they themselves orally passed down a glorious past, yet they didn’t even know their own surname anymore.

François laughed happily, pinching Eugene’s chin and shaking it, as if petting a pet. He nonchalantly dropped a bombshell: “I like you very much. I’ll make you a viscount. From now on, you’ll live in the palace with me.”

This good news came too suddenly, instantly making the violinist dizzy.

Ten minutes ago, he was a penniless, down-on-his-luck violinist. Now, he had leaped to become the noble Viscount?!

“But, I don’t really like your name. Let’s change it,” the young emperor narrowed his eyes, gently patting Eugene’s head as if patting an obedient dog. Eugene stiffened his body, allowing the pat, as if fearing he wasn’t compliant enough, wishing he could bend his head all the way down. “Let’s call you Julia. The great archangel beside the Holy Lord—what a beautiful name!”

But it was a girl’s name. Eugene didn’t dare to voice this thought, instead echoing with a smile.

The newly appointed Viscount Julia became a hot favorite in the Dudley’s court. He and the young emperor went everywhere together, inseparable like conjoined twins. The emperor’s favor for him reached a level that astonished everyone. Jewels flowed into the viscount’s palace like water, and various rare artworks were sent for his enjoyment. The emperor even indulged him in freely entering his study.

An unknown attendant claimed to have seen the viscount acting coquettishly to the emperor in private, and the emperor actually let the viscount play with his crown.

This overwhelming favor instantly made this young man of ordinary background lose himself. He madly and greedily demanded wealth and jewels from the emperor, imperiously ordered the noble-born attendants, and spoke curtly to ministers who sought an audience with the emperor. For a time, Calais seemed to have gained an uncrowned empress—except for not being able to bear His Majesty a child, Viscount Julia possessed everything a empress would.

François sat on a long bench, watching Julia tune his violin. Unlike the shabby uniform he wore at the previous banquet, the viscount was now dressed in splendid attire similar to the emperor’s. His short blond hair had grown long enough to be tied back. The pampered life had caused the frivolousness and arrogance in his demeanor to inflate infinitely. After two adjustments, Julia tossed the violin onto the table and touched the ends of his hair at the nape of his neck.

“Your Majesty, my hair is a bit too long. I want to cut it.” After probing for a period of time, he had discovered the emperor’s inexplicable indulgence and kindness towards him. He interpreted it as love at first sight, because each time the young emperor looked at him, the intense and passionate love in his eyes made even the surrounding maids blush.

But to his surprise, the emperor did not agree to this small suggestion. Not only did he not agree, but he also revealed a chilling smile: “No, my dear. I wish your hair could—”

He extended his hand, gesturing towards Julia’s waist: “—reach there.”

Under the refraction of sunlight, the emperor’s amber pupils glinted with an alien, serpentine gold. His tone was sweet and intimate, just like every time he coaxed him into bed, yet it sent shivers down Julia’s spine: “I like this length, my dear, what do you think?”

“I… me too, Your Majesty,” Julia replied softly, using all his strength.

“Ah, yes, I remember you love iris flowers. I had the gardener plant many in the garden. Shall we go see them together?” François invited with a smile, the love in his eyes as rich as fine wine, enough to intoxicate anyone who witnessed it.

…Except for Julia.

He didn’t actually like irises that much. At this moment, the viscount felt as if he had fallen into an ice cave, but he dared not say anything. Like a rabbit stared down by a snake, he could only nod tremblingly.

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