The year was 1345.
South of Florence, at the rural Monastery of Saint Lucia, a bitter cold seeped into a stone room lit only by trembling candlelight. The flames danced across the walls, and the shadows danced with it.
The bed creaked once, an old, worn sound. Then it creaked again, like someone struggling to turn a sack of wheat.
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The room grew quiet.
The woman climbed off the bed and smoothed her rough cloth dress. She did not dare look at the abbot's face. She only dared look at his feet.
The abbot wore simple sandals, with a bit of mud clinging to them. To her, that was holy soil.
She knelt and kissed the tip of his toes.
"Abbot, the demon possessing my daughter will leave today, right."
Giovanni da Fiesole gently stroked her head.
"Of course."
His voice was soft, like an April breeze passing over the wheat fields of Tuscany.
"You belong to the Lord. His light shines upon you. Demons fear the light. They will not trouble your child again."
Her body trembled as she lifted her head. Tears covered her face.
"Thank the Lord. Thank you, Abbot."
Giovanni's hand slid from the top of her head to her cheek and lightly wiped away a tear.
"It is the Lord who shows mercy, not me. Go back. Stay with your child. When she wakes tomorrow, she will be like she is newly born."
The woman thanked him again and again before leaving. The door closed, and he was alone again.
Giovanni walked to the wash basin and slowly washed his hands. Once. Then again. It was as if he was not washing away dirt, but something else.
He stared at his reflection in the water. A young face, too handsome. Blue eyes like the Adriatic Sea, and a high, sharp nose like an ancient Roman statue.
This face was called Giovanni da Fiesole.
But he was not Giovanni.
His real name was Alex.
Alex was a financial scammer. In the twenty-first-century, he could turn worthless junk assets into the hottest unicorns on Wall Street, all with his mouth and his mind.
He knew Western philosophy well, from Plato's ideas to Nietzsche's will to power. Everything could serve his lies. What he was best at was manipulation. He played with desire, fear, and hope as if they were toys in his hand.
He once believed his future held only two destinations: Nasdaq or prison.
It was neither.
It was a car accident. A heavy truck.
When he opened his eyes again, he was here, in fourteenth-century Italy. He had become an orphan named Giovanni, a devout and timid youth who blushed just speaking to others.
But Alex was not like that.
On his first day awake, he tricked half a piece of black bread from an old village woman. All he used was a tragic story and a few well-timed tears.
He knew weakness here meant death. He had to live, and live better than anyone else.
The chance came quickly.
On his eighteenth birthday, the old abbot of St. Lucia Monastery fell from his beloved Arabian horse. A fat fool who loved wine and fine horses, his neck snapped, and he died on the spot.
In a poor rural monastery like this, when an abbot died, the successor was decided internally.
Alex saw the opening.
He spent three days stealing the finest parchment and ink. He studied the church documents left behind and copied their script and seals. Then he forged a letter of appointment from the Bishop of Florence.
The letter claimed the Church had long known of Saint Lucia's corruption and chaos and had decided to send a young man of noble virtue and pure faith to restore order.
That man was Giovanni da Fiesole, a saint secretly trained by the bishop for many years.
To make it convincing, he also forged a saintly past. He claimed Giovanni was born into nobility, gave away all his wealth, and chose to live among the poor to experience the Lord's gospel.
It was no different from how he packaged startup stars in the modern world.
He bet on the authority of the Church. In fourteenth-century Italy, no one dared forge a bishop's letter. He also bet on the information gap. Even if someone tried to verify it, travel meant walking and messages meant shouting.
From this remote monastery to Florence and back would take at least a month. By then, he would be long gone.
He won the bet.
When he appeared before the arguing monks, wearing a faded robe and holding the "bishop's own letter," everyone froze. His eyes held a calm they could not grasp and a presence they dared not meet.
It was the aura Alex had carved into his bones after playing successful men countless times.
An old monk tried to question him.
Alex, no, Giovanni spoke only one line.
"Are you questioning me, or questioning the bishop's decision, or questioning the Lord's judgment in choosing His servant."
A heavy accusation fell. The old monk turned pale, and no one dared speak again.
Just like that, the scammer Alex became Abbot Giovanni da Fiesole.
He had held the position for fifteen days. But he knew a title alone was not enough.
He needed believers. Many of them. Fanatical ones. Loyal ones.
So he began to show "miracles."
With simple chemical tricks, he made holy statues "weep." With psychological skills, he successfully "predicted" a few harmless village events. He even performed "exorcisms."
Just like earlier.
That woman's daughter was not actually possessed. It was teenage rebellion mixed with mild depression. He told the desperate mother the illness came from her own sins.
She needed to offer her most precious thing to the Lord to cleanse herself and trade for her daughter's rebirth.
That was how the "exorcism" happened.
It was disgusting.
But effective.
In the modern world, this was called a cult. Here, it was called a miracle.
He dried his hands, and the reflection in the basin became still. The saintly face curved slightly at the corner of the mouth.
Giovanni liked this era.
No surveillance. No internet. No atheism.
The people here were ignorant, devout, and fearful, like a flock of hungry lambs.
And he was the only shepherd.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
Urgent knocking broke Giovanni's thoughts. The mockery vanished from his face and was replaced with gentle compassion.
"Come in."
The door opened, and a young monk rushed inside. His name was Luca. He had been promoted by Giovanni himself.
The reason was simple. Luca was young, devout, and foolish enough.
The way he looked at him was the same as the woman earlier, full of worship.
"Abbot! Something terrible happened!"
Giovanni gestured for him to sit.
"Luca, the Lord's believers must always remain calm. Speak. What is it."
"It's… it's Matteo and the others! They gathered in the wine cellar and said… said they want to remove you!"
"Remove me." Giovanni smiled lightly. "The Lord brought me here. If they remove me, are they not going against His will."
Luca was on the verge of tears.
"They don't believe it! They say your appointment is suspicious. They say you are too young and not someone the bishop would choose!"
"Matteo said that since you took office, the rules are in chaos. Prayer time has shortened, and you are always with female believers. He said you are… a devil wearing holy robes!"
When Luca said "devil," his whole body shook. He felt it was the greatest insult to the abbot.
The smile never left Giovanni's face.
Matteo. The old monk who first tried to question him. A trusted man of the former abbot, highly respected in the monastery.
It seemed a forged letter could not suppress these local powers forever. They endured for fifteen days. Now they were ready to strike.
"How many of them."
"Except me, almost… almost everyone is there…"
Luca's voice grew faint. He felt like a traitor. Yet he believed the abbot was right. The others were blinded by jealousy.
"How do they plan to remove me," Giovanni asked.
"They… they wrote a joint letter and plan to send someone to Florence. They want the bishop to investigate your identity!"
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This is a new novel I'm posting. As mentioned in the synopsis and shown in this chapter, the Mc is a bad guy who will use Christianity to fool the masses. Beware of that.
With that warning out of the way, enjoy.
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