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Lorenzo's expression shifted slightly, and he straightened up. "Let him in."
Following the servant into the office was a man, looking like a common city thief. His clothes and shoes were filthy, and his hair appeared greasy.
He was one of the city's thieves.
Though Lorenzo felt somewhat offended by the intrusion, he ultimately decided to heed the alchemist's advice. In the past, he had surrounded himself with commoners, artists, sculptors, and anyone who could enhance his reputation. However, as Hedy Kiesler had pointed out, the city's secrets were known not just to the upper echelons of bureaucracy.
Prostitutes, thieves, and even beggars on the street often saw things that were hidden from the higher classes.
In recent days, Lorenzo had been sending his people to subtly win over these individuals, cultivating a network of informants, and instructing them to report anything of importance.
This man was the leader of several thieves. He had come with a note in hand.
"What is this?"
The servant handed him the note. Unfolding it, Lorenzo saw a Latin phrase:
Forma est vacuitas, vacuitas forma.
"Nothing is form, form is nothing."
Lorenzo looked down at the hastily written words, furrowing his brow. "What is this about?"
"A hermit, sir." The thief stood awkwardly in such a grand place, unsure of where to place his hands.
He hadn't needed to come personally, but the matter was strange enough that he felt it required his direct report.
Since receiving the task, he had been keeping an eye on the city's events. Most things were like bubbles in the foam of a bath—small and insignificant, popping up here and there but ultimately not important.
However, recently, there had been an unusually large number of Frenchmen in the city.
Not only that, but there was also a hermit going around preaching, showing off the pus-filled scars all over his body—he had inflicted them upon himself.
"What kind of hermit?"
"An insane one."
The man was convinced that in life, a person must endure enough suffering to atone for their sins in order to reach heaven after death. However, since he had no misfortune or suffering in his life, he began, day after day, to whip himself with a thorny scourge and even voluntarily cut off water and food to torture himself.
Not only that, but this madman was going around preaching like a missionary, widely promoting his inner doctrine:
Pleasure was a sin.
Makeup was a sin.
Art was a sin.
Happiness was forbidden.
People should not pursue immediate happiness, but must suffer enough pain.
These ideas were in direct contrast to the joy and indulgence that filled Florence. Yet, the madman persistently preached them, tirelessly urging others to follow his beliefs.
Now, more and more people were starting to listen to his speeches.
Lorenzo listened to the middle-aged man explaining the situation and suddenly remembered something the young woman had said:
"I hope you pay more attention to Florence."
