The dense raindrops pounded against the window, as if countless palms were striking at one's spirit.
The fireplace was already lit indoors, though it was spring, the rainy season of Old Dunling brought people back to those cold winter nights once again.
Anthony was clearly not accustomed to Old Dunling's strange weather; compared to it, the beauty of Florence seemed heavenly.
He furrowed his brows, reading the telegram from Florence with unease. The content was sparse, but it all came from the mysterious new Pope, who, though miles away, issued new instructions to Anthony.
The scant content made him repeatedly check, fearing he had misread something. After mechanically repeating the process, he leaned back in his chair, sighing wearily.
"Can someone who's been dead for so long still wield such power?"
He was puzzled; Cardinal Medici had been dead for several years, his legacy and power long devoured by greedy men. Yet now, that name had returned, with the stench of death.
