The envoys have arrived.
Salicado gazed toward the edge of the night. The signs were unmistakable. Pillars of light pierced through the darkness, advancing steadily until they reached the docks of Old Dunling.
Shermans cast a glance through the window as well. Beneath the darkness, only sorrow lingered in his eyes.
"The man leading them is Anthony Russo. Does that name mean anything to you?" Salicado asked. Acquiring the delegation's roster was effortless for a duke of his standing. In a few days, he would likely even attend the welcoming banquet in their honor.
"So... it's him."
At the mention of the name, Shermans' expression shifted ever so slightly. Fear mingled with a weary melancholy.
"It seems he left quite an impression on you."
Salicado took careful note of the change.
Ever since the night Lawrence attacked, an entirely different world had unfolded before him. The Cleaners had erased every trace of those memories, yet the nightmares refused to obey. Night after night, the forgotten horrors clawed their way back into his mind.
Old Dunling stood on the threshold of a storm. Countless factions had converged upon the frozen city of steel, each waiting for the first spark to ignite the powder keg. Salicado and Shermans remained hidden in the shadows, knowing full well that exposure would invite extermination at the hands of that mysterious organization. For now, all they could do was conceal themselves and watch the tides of fate shift.
"He is a traitor," Shermans said quietly. "Anthony betrayed us. He betrayed the Sacred College of Cardinals... and pledged himself to the new Pope."
He paused before continuing.
"Anthony was originally one of ours. Though he never appeared remarkable within the Knights Templar, with our support he had secretly gained control over a considerable portion of their strength."
Salicado listened in silence.
"After the Night of Divine Descent, the Evangelical Church was devastated. The old Pope suffered grievous wounds that night, and everyone knew he had little time left. Once he died, a new Pope would have to be chosen. Yet within the Seven Hills, chaos had already consumed everything."
Unlike the other exiles, Shermans had lived long enough to watch countless ambitions rise and fall. Years of struggle had worn away his spirit. Power no longer tempted him. Desire no longer called to him. Like a stubborn old man refusing to abandon a forgotten promise, he continued onward for nothing more than a sliver of meaningless unwillingness to yield.
"Perhaps this is simply humanity's nature," he murmured. "Neither faith nor fear of darkness is enough to restrain greed once it begins to grow."
"There were originally two obvious candidates for the papacy. One was Cardinal Michael. The other was Cardinal Medici."
"The Medici who controlled the world's wealth?"
"Lloyd Medici," Shermans answered, reverence unconsciously entering his voice. "The great Lloyd. The man who led Florence into its Golden Age... and whose own twilight ultimately brought that era to an end."
Even Shermans could not hide his respect when speaking of the legendary cardinal.
"When I was still a young man, he was already one of the most powerful cardinals in the Church. I believed he would eventually become Pope."
A faint, bitter smile crossed his face.
"He did not. Instead... he accomplished something far more terrifying than I ever imagined."
Shermans' thoughts drifted back to an age now yellowed by time.
"Cardinal Medici never wore the papal crown himself. Instead, he placed several Popes upon the throne from behind the curtain."
He turned toward Salicado.
"A Pope is expected to sever himself from worldly affairs. That inevitably weakens his control over the secular world. But the Medici family... their very foundation was finance."
"The Pope became Cardinal Medici's puppet. Through him, Medici ruled both faith and the secular realm simultaneously."
Shermans lowered his voice.
"Such a thing had never existed in the history of the Church."
Though unfamiliar with the Church's inner workings, Salicado could still sense the frightening implications hidden within those words.
"No one opposed him?"
"Of course they did."
Shermans laughed softly.
"But whenever someone opposed the Medici family, they found their entire house ruined overnight. Not a single drop of blood needed to be spilled. Their fortunes vanished, their influence disappeared, and someone else would quietly take their place."
"In those days, all of Florence belonged to him."
"The Pope he had elevated once attempted to resist. Medici imprisoned him, then publicly declared that His Holiness had been corrupted by demons."
"The Pope eventually hanged himself in his own chambers."
Shermans' voice remained calm.
"Cardinal Medici personally arranged a magnificent funeral. Soon afterward, another puppet ascended the Holy See."
"Only then did we realize..."
"He had already taken control of everything."
"And, to be fair..."
"He governed remarkably well."
Shermans looked toward the city beyond the window.
This was the city where the steam engine had first been born.
Factories thundered without pause.
Steel had accomplished what no army ever could.
It had broken faith itself.
"One reason we underestimated the rise of steam was because of Cardinal Medici. Though your empire of iron was terrifying, under his leadership Florence entered an age of unprecedented prosperity. He was a ruthless tyrant. He crushed enemies with gold rather than swords, then seized every asset they possessed. Wealth flowed endlessly into the Church's treasury."
"In time..."
"Even those who once despised him came to stand beneath his banner."
"But every man grows old."
Shermans sighed.
Thus ended the legend of Cardinal Medici.
"He aged."
"He seemed... tired."
"In his final years he gradually surrendered power. As he withdrew from public life, the Golden Age came to an end. Only after losing him did we realize how indispensable he had truly been."
"In the first half of his life, he possessed unmatched wealth and incomparable prestige. Florence lay entirely beneath his rule. He governed both faith and the mortal world."
"But in old age..."
"He laid down every weapon."
"He devoted his fortune to supporting artists instead."
"He became gentle. Compassionate."
"Every artist sang of his generosity."
Salicado found himself smiling.
Though he had never met the legendary cardinal, admiration welled naturally within him.
"In the first half of his life, a tyrant."
"In the second..."
"A saint."
Shermans nodded.
"That may be the most fitting description of Cardinal Medici I've ever heard."
He smiled faintly.
"Like a butcher stained with blood... perhaps everything he did in old age was simply his way of seeking redemption."
"After the Night of Divine Descent, we needed a new leader."
"The names everyone supported were Michael... and the aging Cardinal Medici."
"The truth is..."
"Most of us hoped the old lion would return."
"We believed he alone could restore the Church to its Golden Age."
Shermans' expression darkened.
"But only then did we discover..."
"Cardinal Medici was already dead."
"He had died during the Night of Divine Descent."
"Silently."
"No one noticed."
"In his later years he lived in seclusion, dismissed every servant, and almost never saw visitors. Only a single priest remained by his side."
"The priest was dead as well."
"We examined the decomposed body."
"Everything indicated that Cardinal Medici had perished on that very night."
"The turmoil of the Night of Divine Descent had extended far beyond Saint Narlo Cathedral."
Salicado let out a quiet sigh.
"...That was no ending worthy of him."
Such a titan of history had died unnoticed, alone in an isolated residence, his body left to decay until someone finally came searching.
"We had no time to investigate his death."
"With Medici gone, Cardinal Michael was all but guaranteed the papacy."
Shermans' voice trembled.
"And then..."
"Seni Lothaire appeared."
"The current Pope?"
Salicado remembered the name.
Shermans nodded.
"He emerged from nowhere."
"He carried a letter of appointment supposedly left by the previous Pope."
"In truth, such a letter meant nothing. Every Pope is chosen by the College of Cardinals."
"But after his arrival..."
"Everything changed."
"It was as though the entire affair had been planned from the beginning."
"Cardinals who had always stood beside us suddenly defected to his side."
"The entire election descended into chaos."
"His votes rose until they matched Michael's exactly."
"We immediately investigated his background."
Shermans frowned.
"And what we found..."
"...made no sense."
"No one had ever heard of Seni Lothaire before."
"None of us knew the old Pope had someone like him."
"Even the priests who survived the Night of Divine Descent had never seen him."
"And yet..."
"Every document he presented perfectly recorded his entire life."
His voice grew lower.
"It was as though..."
"...some divine power had inserted a man who never existed into this world..."
"...and rewritten reality itself to give him a flawless past."
Neither Shermans nor Cardinal Michael could explain it.
Everything felt predestined.
"After that came everything I told you before."
"Seni Lothaire's support continued growing."
"We refused to surrender."
"In order to restore the Evangelical Church..."
"We even resolved to use methods that should never have been used."
Shermans inhaled deeply.
"Back to Anthony."
"He had always been our man."
"Our hidden piece within the Knights Templar."
"Our original plan was simple."
"We would use him to assassinate Seni Lothaire."
"Everything proceeded perfectly."
"Until the operation began."
"Not once did he reveal the slightest sign of betrayal."
"We believed that night marked our beginning."
His expression became hollow.
"It was our end."
"The Knights Templar somehow obtained our list of names."
"They were supposed to assault Saint Narlo Cathedral."
"Instead..."
"They came for us."
"We were utterly unprepared."
"Blood flowed like rivers."
It had been a night straight from a nightmare.
"We were nearly annihilated."
"The few survivors fled the Seven Hills before dawn."
"Not long afterward..."
"Seni Lothaire ascended the Holy See."
"And every remaining cardinal bent the knee."
That was how these exiles had come into existence.
Salicado was one of the patrons keeping them alive.
And even now, they still dreamed of overthrowing the new Pope.
"Anthony is dangerous," Shermans warned. "He may appear cold and uncompromising, but he is exceptionally cunning. If the new Pope has sent him here..."
"...it can only mean trouble."
Salicado nodded silently.
After a long pause, he finally spoke.
"Is there anything else?"
"Any other secrets?"
Night after night, the same nightmares returned.
Where ordinary men would have recoiled in terror, Salicado had discovered something else within that endless fear.
Longing.
The unknown called to him like an irresistible abyss, drawing him deeper with every dream.
Shermans slowly shook his head.
"Secrets are a form of currency."
"You already know enough."
"In other words..."
Salicado smiled knowingly.
"...I simply haven't offered a high enough price."
"Name it, Cardinal Shermans."
"I imagine that was Michael's intention as well."
"You people possess nothing anymore except the knowledge locked inside your heads."
"You need money."
"You need manpower."
"You need everything."
"After all..."
"No one retakes the Seven Hills with slogans alone."
His eyes gleamed like those of a starving wolf.
He had never sheltered these exiles out of kindness.
He wanted only their secrets.
Once every secret had been extracted...
They would no longer have any value.
Shermans understood that better than anyone.
Yet he had no alternative.
The new Pope had driven them into absolute desperation.
Otherwise, men of such dignity would never have bowed before Salicado.
"There are secrets..." Shermans said quietly, "...that are forbidden."
"They aren't mine alone to reveal."
Compared to Salicado's flourishing power, the old cardinal seemed little more than a dying tree whose roots had long since begun to rot.
"The truth is..."
"I'm tired."
He sighed, lowering his eyes to the scarlet robes draped across his frail body.
"I wanted to leave all of this behind immediately after the Night of Divine Descent."
"I no longer cared who won the struggle for power."
"Only then did I finally understand..."
"...why Cardinal Medici had chosen to relinquish authority."
"Then why not submit to the new Pope?" Salicado asked. "If that's truly how you feel."
Shermans looked impossibly old.
His skin folded like ancient bark.
His voice, however, remained unwavering.
"I never will."
"That is my final line."
"I can accept many things."
"But I cannot accept that new Pope."
"I am a Cardinal."
"No matter how the world judges the Evangelical Church..."
"I remain one of its servants."
"But he..."
Shermans opened his mouth.
For a moment, it seemed he intended to reveal something.
Instead, he swallowed the words.
The most important secret remained buried.
"At the very least..."
"I will die with my dignity."
"I would rather perish..."
"...than survive on the pity of a man like him."
His voice carried the exhaustion of an exile who had wandered far too long.
Salicado watched him quietly.
Shermans stared toward the distant darkness.
Beyond that horizon lay the Seven Hills.
In that fleeting instant, Salicado felt as though he could see through the entirety of the old man's soul.
"You and Michael are different."
"That man merely wants to become Pope."
"But you..."
"You only want to die at home."
Shermans answered with the solemn conviction of ancient tradition.
"Every Cardinal should be buried within the Seven Hills."
"Together with the saints who came before."
"Not abandoned in a foreign land."
Old-fashioned.
Perhaps even absurd.
Yet that stubborn conviction had become the last thing this old man possessed.
"I am not like the others."
"I still believe in that ancient holiness."
"And I am willing to spend my entire life defending it."
"Michael and I merely happened to stand on the same side."
"I do not care who becomes Pope."
"I care only that the holiness I devoted my life to..."
"...does not become corrupted."
His faith remained unbroken.
Even after falling into exile, he refused to remove the crimson robes from his shoulders.
They were no symbol of rank.
They were his faith made visible.
"Then why," Salicado asked at last, "can't the Pope be Seni Lothaire?"
Shermans' eyes suddenly blazed with fury.
His answer rang through the room like iron striking steel.
"Because..."
"He is a heretic."
"Seni Lothaire..."
"...is a heretic."