I Became The Pope, Now What?

“Nobody could have imagined the Masan Empire would go this far when they knew the war could spark at any moment with Beastaria.” Cardinal Karl spoke with Sylvester and Cardinal John.

Sylvester hummed and nodded from time to time as he didn’t feel interested in talking about what had already happened as he was a part of it. He could feel the air of indifference from the two Cardinals. They had no aura of sorrow or such; all Sylvester smelled from them was surprise and peace.

But he could understand why that was the case. Cardinal Suprima was a very high-ranking position, and the men who reach it usually go through situations and training that would leave most men broken. So, to them, this could be just one of the messed up things they had to deal with.

Woosh!

“Maxy!”

Suddenly, Miraj appeared, jumped onto Sylvester’s shoulder, and whispered in the ears.

“Maxy! That fatty! He stabbed himself in the backyard!”

“God da…” Sylvester didn’t finish cursing and jumped out of his chair to run at full speed.

“Max!”

Seeing him go, Felix, Gabriel and Lady Aurora followed, and then others ran behind to see the situation that alerted the young bard.

Sylvester rushed as fast as he could and arrived in the open backyard and found a kneeling form of a man near the bottom of a fire tree. The moon was not shining that night, so it was mostly black.

He quickly created some light on his hands and proceeded forward. He didn’t call the man out, for he already sensed he was dead. He saw a pool of blood underneath the large body, as the kneeling man remained frozen.

He walked around and knelt in front of the Count and noticed a smile on his face but drying tears near his eyes. The scene instantly reminded him of his own final moments.

‘So you made peace with your last breaths?’

“Maxy! I tried to help him!” Miraj tried to clarify his failure.

Sylvester just patted the cat’s head. “It’s okay, Chonky. Sometimes, ending a story is better than dragging it, for there could be something sadder lying ahead–or even worse–nothing.”

“Brother!” Count Raftel arrived and rushed close.

“He’s no more.” Sylvester stood back up and announced.

There was silence all around. It was just another death for most, as they had seen too many already in one day. But that didn’t mean there was no depressing air in the surrounding.

Duke Grimton appeared visibly shaken as well. “Why would he do such a thing? He was no man to kill himself. He’s a fighter.”

“Loss can push even a man as jovial as Count Jartel to such an edge.” Duke Zephyr added. “Sadly, he couldn’t climb back out.”

Sylvester looked at the kneeling man with no particular feelings. He was not close to him and only treated him as a possible suspect for his own wife’s murder for the most part. But he wondered how broken he was to do this. What was in his mind when he thrust the dagger in?

‘I should leave this place and return to the Holy Land.’ He made up his mind.

“A letter!” Count Raftel found a small folded parchment from his brother’s tunic while trying to lay the body back.

Sylvester took it and, at first glance, realised these were the final words of a man. “It’s better if I read it out to all of you.”

After getting a nod, he read it with a monotonous voice, but he could feel the emotions from the words personally. “What is a man without a family? What is life without someone waiting for him at home? A month ago, I had everything–now I have nothing.

“I was blind to not see the devil sitting above my head. I was naive to believe the riches were God’s grace. Now, each breath is like a toll, again and again, reminding me that I’m alive and they are not. That I lost to an enemy I didn’t even realise existed–His sins with my blind trust–I assisted. There is no forgiveness for my sins, for I doomed not just myself but thousands.

“I deserve no forgiveness, and I ask none from any. Nor do I ask for a funeral–Just let me rot, for that’s all I am worthy. I failed everyone, my family, my people and my allies. There are no ways to make amends, so I have decided this is where my life ends.

“But, before I go, I hope to try and ease the pain of some. Lord Bard, as the apostle of God, I hope you shall respect my wishes. In the castle’s treasury, there rests one million gold Graces, five million Silver Crowns, and many more Muds. Please equally divide them between the families of all those who died and all those who were injured. Not just in my County, but also in Raftel’s and the men from Duke’s army.

“Please tell them I ask for forgiveness–but they need not forgive me if they wish not to. I deserve nothing for being a buffoon, that I know.

“I am leaving this heap of unhealthy flesh and bones. I hope that I can meet my family again if there exists a realm beyond–just once, I wish to hear their sound.

“Raftel, I have wronged you, and I ask for forgiveness. You shall be the last of our bloodline left now, and I hope you reach sky high–with this, I bid you my goodbye.”

Sylvester put the parchment down and glanced at the man one last time. Count Raftel was crying near the body of his older brother.

“Let’s prepare for the noble funeral.” He told the various servants who had just arrived.

He then walked back into the castle. Of course, none returned to the dinner table anymore.

Sylvester instead went to find Archbishop Raymond to get statistics of the dead, injured and all other soldiers so he could honour the dead Count.

…

‘Why have I not received any word from Sir Dolorem yet?’

The following day, Sylvester woke up after taking a short three-hour nap in the castle library where the county statistics were kept. He was doing various calculations to decide how much money he should give to whom.

But as he woke up, he was reminded of the murder case that still remained unsolved. Even now, nobody knows who killed the Countess. Count Jartel didn’t even know what took his wife from him.

‘I should wrap things around here and head to Green City too.’ He decided and got back to work.

Bam!

“Wake up, Felix. We have work.” He slapped the back of Felix’s head as the man slept beside him on the chair.

Bam!

Felix then slapped Gabriel and woke him up. But beyond Gabriel sat Lady Aurora, who was already awake and working.

“In total, we have nearly ten thousand soldiers who participated in the war, and about eight thousand died. We need to compensate all of them equally now.” Sylvester started writing and found the calculations.

First, he divided the money. There were one million gold coins, so if he was to give each person equally, that would make it a hundred gold coins per person. But he needed to give less to those who were just injured.𝒃𝒆𝒐𝒗𝙚𝙡.𝙘𝙤𝒎

So, he decided to give 112 gold coins to the families of each of the eight thousand men who died. All those who were injured would receive 50 coins each. This was a lot of money since Sylvester’s monthly salary was 35 Gold Graces. At the same time, a peasant who only works in agriculture earns between one gold and fifty silver crows.

Then finally, for the silver crowns and muds, he decided to distribute them among various businesses in the County as he knew the real dark times were yet to come.

“Felix and Gabriel, you will be responsible for distributing the money in the County of Jartel and Raftel. As for the Duchy, I will hand over the money to Duke Grimton after he swears in the name of Solis to distribute it. We need to head to Green City after that.” He ordered the two other boys, still trying to calculate slowly on the abacus-like instrument.

“Do you still wish to find the killer?” Lady Aurora asked him.

“No, I wish to find Sir Dolorem. He has not contacted me yet–this is not usual for him.”

…

Green City

Sir Dolorem had to resort to various ungodly means to survive inside the city walls while avoiding the guards swarming every street and occasionally having to fight a few.

He had to steal armour at night from a blacksmith shop. He had to pick the pockets of a few citizens. He had to harm a few traders to give him some goods.

But he knew that if he took the lord’s name and ensured he did everything only to survive and serve the light, he’d be forgiven.

Ding! Ding!

The bells of the monastery started to ring. This was the sign of morning finally dawning on the city–a call for all working people to wake up and do their duties and for women to prepare the morning food.

But for Sir Dolorem, this was the time to escape. He had plotted everything after careful consideration. First, he planned to take a noble hostage, but he reckoned if the one after him was sitting too high, then they might just let the noble die.

He considered climbing the city walls and jumping on the other side, but many runes were likely engraved to alert against intruders.

Hence, only one option was left–one extremely appalling option but the only way out. He was desperate and knew that the more he delayed, the lower his chances of escaping would get. And if he died here, Sylvester’s life could also be in danger.

‘I must warn him at all costs!’

“Morning cleaner! Morning cleaner!” a horse pulled smelly carried pulled through.

Sir Dolorem stood in a dark alleyway as the sun had only begun to shine. The city, as every morning, was going through its basic everyday upkeep.

“Filthy boy! Come here and help me! It’s been stuck since yesterday morning!”

Sir Dolorem had already planned everything and waited for the cleaning slave to head into the house to help the resident, leaving behind his full cart.

‘Go… just go, boy.’

He remained ready to make a run for it.

‘Yes!’

After a small argument between the slave and the resident, the slave relented and ran into the building.

Seeing the opportunity, Sir Dolorem–completely naked except for the helmet–ran and dived into the huge wet pile on the city’s shit-cart.

It smelled horrible, enough to make Sir Dolorem vomit a few times. But thanks to the helmet, his face didn’t come into contact with the excrement and having poured a few chemicals into it beforehand, he was able to tackle the stomach-churning smell.

Soon, he felt the cart moving again. But, beyond this point, all he could do was pray to God that he’d be thrown out of the city as they usually do.

The cart then moved to a few more houses and finally headed to the city gates.

“Halt!”

“Sir, please make it quick! I need to make two more rounds!”

“Shut up, filth! The city is in lockdown, and… ugh!… nothing leaves the city without being checked.”

Woosh!

Two guards came close to the back of the cart and started to repeatedly stab their spears into the heap of waste while pinching their noses with one hand.

“Check it thoroughly! Lord Commander’s orders!”

‘Argh’

Clank!

“What was that?” Commanding Knight was alerted.

“M-My… Sir, that was my bucket!”

Plop!

Suddenly, a nasty bubble burst. “Arghh!, Fuck! It fell on me! Go! Holy Solis, I will die checking all these shit-carts this morning!”

The cart finally started moving again, but the spears had done their damage. One crisis averted, another had risen. Sir Dolorem couldn’t cry, he couldn’t growl–if there was pain, he could only silently scowl.

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