I Became The Pope, Now What?

Sylvester gave the CPR for more than a dozen minutes and kept trying to heal her simultaneously, so her body would get out of the initial injury shock. The blood replenishing potions were also given to her, by force this time. At the same time, he used healing lotions for flesh wounds and put them on her chest while giving chest compressions.

“Ha!”

“Ha!”

He stopped giving compressions and trying to hear her heartbeat. “Yes!”

It was very faint, but it was there. She was alive, and all he needed to do was make sure she only got better. “Chonky, good job. Now sanitise your hands with the alcohol and give me the tools as I will ask. I need to perform minor surgery on her chest to sew a few wounds and heal the others.”

Miraj, like a dutiful boy, stood beside Sylvester, while on his left was a leather pouch unrolled with multiple shining tools on it. They appeared scary to normal eyes, nor was Sylvester trained to use them. But he had eventually reckoned that if there was anybody to test modern medicine, then it had to be him.

“Scissors.”

“Here.”

Sylvester performed an emergency surgery the best he could. The woman would likely never be the same, but at least she will live. At moments he looked at her pretty face and wondered who could have done something like this.

“Her genitalia do not seem violated at all… which means this crime was likely not sexual in nature. So then, why would someone cut her breasts?” He wondered while he worked on her and checked her heartbeat and pulse from time to time.

After a few more hours, she seemed in a stable condition with his limited healing capacity. Good enough that he could put her on his back and bring her to the Count’s castle. He didn’t have much time either, as it was already past midnight, and the Count must have likely started to gather the troops.

“Chonky, you’re going to have to walk this time.” He said as he put the woman on his back. She occasionally cried in pain, but she was not fully conscious, so there was not much resistance.

“I hope we’re not too late, or else Lady Aurora will have to force them to stop.”

…

In the castle, Felix and Sir Dolorem had put on their armours and sharpened their blades. They were also going into the battlefield to ensure that the Counts did not die.

“Where is Sylvester? I thought he had left for here.” Felix wondered annoyedly.

Bam!

“Priest! Lady Melinda was found!” A servant in the castle came running and informed them.

“He’s here!” Sir Dolorem exclaimed and rushed out to see how the woman was because if she had died, then the war was inevitable.

Both of them soon arrived at the medical bay of the castle and found Sylvester standing beside a bed, while the Count was on his knees, crying, and the healers were working on the woman.

“Priest Sylvester.” Sir Dolorem greeted.

Sylvester just nodded and helped the Count stand up on his feet. He was amazed that the man was so emotional for his wife as he had thought the man would be cold to the woman, who was likely his second choice. “Count Raftel, please stand up and talk to her. She can still hear you, and I’m sure that will cheer her up.”

The Count clasped his hands together as if praying and spoke to Sylvester. “Thank you, Archpriest. I will never forget this boon you have bestowed upon me. But who was it? Did you find the bastard who did this to Melinda? Poor foolish girl… she didn’t deserve this… she is so cheerful… my light in this dark castle.”

Sylvester patted the man’s shoulder as he felt the grief was real. “She will live, Count. As for the one who did this, I didn’t get there on time. But I believe if I had been late, she would have died from blood loss. Maybe the culprit did expect her to die… which means the only way we can know who it is…”

“If she wakes up!” Felix blurted in.

The Count turned to his wife and caressed her face before kissing her forehead. “I’ve caused her so much pain—all she wanted was a child and my happiness… I can’t put my life at risk for nothing. Fine, I will withhold the war until she wakes up. I vow in the name of Solis—and as per the traditions, we never cheat in warfare. But… you must promise me something, Archpriest… I know you can.”

‘Here it comes.’

“If my brother did come out to be the culprit! You will not stop me from waging this war.”

Sylvester denied it outright. “That I cannot. War is not good for business. It leaves behind nothing but death and destruction, and the Holy Land explicitly has stated it does not war. But, I promise you that—if he’s the one—I will give you his head.”

“I have heard a lot about you, Lord Bard. The clergy in the monastery speaks about you all the time. I hope you keep your words—as your reputation precedes you.”

“I will, Count, but for now, you need to send a man to inform your brother of the situation. That the war is postponed until Lady Melinda wakes up and tells us who the culprit is. I’m sure he wishes to know as well.” Sylvester advised. But he also knew that there was no going back now. The armies had been mobilised, and they would only stay ready in the fields.

Sylvester knew that he was not doing something entirely different from what any other investigator could have done. The two counts had hired their own men to investigate. But the problem was that they would have never accepted the results from the other side. Hence, the Holy Land was asked to mediate as the neutral middle party.

That is why the two counts were obliged to at least hear Sylvester and trust his actions. As his loyalty only lies with faith, not the two counts.

“Umh…”

Sylvester hastened closer to the bed as the woman finally made some noise. He looked at the healer. “Is she physically fine? Her blood?”

“It is, Lord Bard. You did a splendid job before you even brought Lady Melinda here. She’s only tired and mentally shaken. Give her some time, and I’m sure she will wake up fine.”

‘She better.’

He decided to retreat and rest now as he had had enough of the day. “Then I will retire to the spare room and rest.”

Sylvester left with Sir Dolorem and Felix in their room and got a status update about the castle’s politics.

“The Count is a mad man. He keeps no assistant to manage the finances. He’s a one-man army at everything. Only Archbishop is the only advisor, but the man left a while back. From my understanding, he’s not hated by the people or loved. He just exists to brood over his dead lover and now his hurt wife.” Felix read the full report on the Count he had made.

Sylvester was lost in thought, however. He wondered who the real culprit could be and why? The whole case was too mysterious. Was it a dark wizard doing this? But if he needed breasts, then why only target noble women? Something was going on that he just couldn’t pinpoint, or imagine.

“Don’t you feel that the timing of Lady Melinda’s kidnapping is really suspicious?” He asked them. “It’s as if someone wants a war between the two.”

“You suggest a foreign hand is behind all this?” Sir Dolorem asked.

Sylvester laid back on the bed and looked at the ceiling. He closed his eyes and rubbed them tiredly. “It could be both. Seeing that the two counts are on the wrong terms, someone could have easily taken advantage.” .

“But why cut breasts then?” Felix questioned. “Won’t just killing women have the same effect of angering them?”

“That is a mystery, Felix. What’s the reason for chopping breasts? If we find that out, we may just crack the case. In the case of Lady Melinda, it’s understandable that she was abducted from outside. But in the case of Lady Marcella… She was taken from inside Count Jartel’s castle. How?” Sylvester wondered as he slowly drifted into sleep.

“Maybe it’s someone from insi-”

He was interrupted by Sir Dolorem. “Shh… he’s sleeping.”

“I should sleep too then.”

Felix was also tired, so he lay on Sylvester’s side and fell asleep. As for Sir Dolorem, he was used to staying awake for a long time.

Sir Dolorem just stood by the window and looked outside in the distance, up east. There was a shadow of a mountain visible in the night. High and mighty, all alone—tall. “I think I should take him there. Maybe it can serve as inspiration and motivation for him.”

…

Sylvester has no dreams most of the time. He just sleeps and wakes up like a machine. And when he does dream, it’s usually about some tragedy, some fight where he was finally unable to come out on top and ended up dying. He hated such dreams because he could never know if they could be a vision. But, this time, he woke up early in the morning.

“Sylvester, come with me.”

He sat up and tiredly looked around. He glanced outside the window, and it was still nighttime. “Sir Dolorem? Where to?”

The old wizard-knight held a little wooden carving of the faith’s sign. “To the holiest site in the entire north… the Mountain of Tears!”

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