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.