I Became The Pope, Now What?

Sylvester ran his mind at top speed to reply to Saint Seer. ‘I already have the support of Lady Aurora, Inquisitor High Lord and King Harold. There is no way possible for him to get any permission. Without Gracia Family’s nod, none can touch Daemon’s body. So… he’s seeing if I back down?’

He still tried to sense any other emotions that Saint Seer possibly felt. ‘Hmm… There is an awful lot of hope I smell. So he wants me to back down?’

Sylvester confidently replied to the man. “I’m afraid you are misinformed, Saint Seer. I have been given the nod by King Harold Gracia, Princess Isabella Gracia, Inquisitor High Lord and Lady Aurora. So ‘I’ will be taking Duke’s head to meet King Riveria.”

Saint Seer smiled for the first time. “Is that so? Then I think I haven’t received the notification yet. I wish you luck with your… adventure. Many eyes will be on you after your return.”

Sylvester didn’t stop looking the man in the eyes. He could easily kill the fool standing before him, as being a Saint didn’t require any martial or magical talent. What mattered were other necessary skills.

‘I need to start being careful in the Holy Land from now on. The faction wars are intensifying slowly. But… which side does this man stand for? He’s even the mastermind behind the Shadow Knight fiasco.’

“I already have too many eyes on me, I’m afraid. But, I know, as long as your eyes are there to help me, I can rest easy.” Sylvester replied in a very calm, emotionless manner.

But Saint Seer was a seasoned spy and knew that Sylvester was merely showing his dissatisfaction in a very polite manner. “Of course, Archpriest Sylvester. Now, let’s focus on this burning.”

Sylvester agreed and walked away from the man to stand beside Sir Dolorem, Lord Inquisitor and Lady Aurora. He personally was coming to hate Saint Seer as he felt being looked down upon whenever the man called him Archpriest, instead of ‘Bard’, like the rest of the people.

Lady Aurora passed him a smile and brashly put her arm on his shoulder. “Ignore that bald buffoon. Even I get annoyed by him.”

“Aurora, behave!” Suddenly, Inquisitor High Lord’s eyes shone as he stared at his adopted daughter.

Lady Aurora scoffed, perhaps the only person in the world who could do so. “Sylvester is my brother, and I shall do whatever I wish to do with him. Beat him, scold him or fight him.”

Sylvester rubbed his temples as he noticed the Inquisitor High Lord’s gaze falling on him next. Again, he felt the rage rising, and this was likely the rage of an overprotective father who didn’t want his daughter to be near boys.

Sylvester quickly cleared things up. “Sister Aurora, I hope you don’t ruin my name with that loudmouth of yours someday.”

She chuckled and patted his back as she was shorter. “Don’t worry, boy. Our little fights will just be among us. For the world, we’ll be badass siblings.”

Sylvester didn’t refute her words and merely nodded. ‘She probably never had such a close friendly relationship with someone of her mindset before. Can’t really complain, considering the higher clergy ranks are full of old boring folks.’

“Hah…”

‘What the!’ Sylvester was alerted instantly as he heard a faint chuckle from the Inquisitor High Lord. He was in utter disbelief.

‘Good god! Is the sun rising from the east today? Since when did this madman start showing such complex emotions?’

But, of course, he didn’t point anything out and focused on the stake that was mostly prepared by now. The Inquisitors were doing this work as they were the experts, not the Holy Army.

Chomp!

Chomp!

All of a sudden, Sylvester heard a chewing noise and looked to his side. There stood Felix beside him, with a small plate in hand. “You’re eating roasted peanuts while waiting to watch a witch be roasted?”

Felix shrugged. “What? I was hungry, brother. Not everyone has mad bodies like you. I had to steal this from the kitchen; the cooks are fierce in this castle.”

“…”

Sylvester then looked further. There was Gabriel, reading some religious books as usual. Meanwhile, Bishop Lazark and Elyon stood at the back, talking about something. Only Isabella was missing, perhaps spending what time was left with her brother.

“Aaaaargh! Please! Mercy! I will do anything you want. Let me go!”

Before Sylvester could call his team to the front, loud screams of the Witch started to come from the distance. Clearly, she was making her last effort to escape. Sadly, Inquisitors could forget they are Inquisitors, but burning a Witch? They never forget or regret that.

Amidst the Inquisition’s loud, boastful marching song, the men dragged the Witch forward. Her legs, leftover arm and neck were cuffed with thick iron chains, limiting her movements.

Burn the witches, demons and possessed,

Forsaken worldly craving, for only holy hymns we’re obsessed.

No tainted desires, our honour, you can’t question.

We are the mighty men of the Holy Inquisition.?

As she was dragged to the stake, she noticed Sylvester standing at the side as a spectator. “Damn you, sunfucker! Damn you! Do you enjoy seeing me burned like this? Why? Because I look different? Yet, I possess and manipulate the same Solarium as you! Solarium that Solis makes—that you pray to!”

For once, Sylvester wholeheartedly agreed with her last words. He didn’t really see the Witch as a different person, but since she committed grave sins, this was her punishment. He knew he might have even built a friendship if she had been a good witch.

Though, he had to put her in her place as she disrespected Solis. “Witch! You are a pest who denies ever learning! You had enough chances to take a turn. Hence, here you stand, ready to be burned.”

She even tried to spit on him.

Of course, her spit didn’t even reach Sylvester’s feet. Instead, he just smiled at her, frustrating her even further.

‘I do feel a sense of relaxation with this mess being over. But still, a few more remain unresolved and incomplete. Good god, I really need a short vacation.’ Sylvester sighed silently and stretched his neck sideways.

Eventually, the Witch was tied to the stake, and one of the Senior Inquisitors came forward to pray while throwing holy water on her.

“Aaargh! Release me!” She tried to free herself from the confines like a trapped animal.

“Oh Lord of this world, let this soul rest in your arms. The wrong road it has taken; may you enlighten her path. Now, we shall purge her sins with your fiery wrath! Amen!”

“Amen!” Everyone else repeated.

With that, two Inquisitors came forward with fire torches in their hands. They started putting fire all around her on the wooden logs. Of course, since it was a Witch burning, they used special Inquisitor techniques to stack the wood for maximum anguish to the Witch.

Slowly, the fire started to engulf the Witch. But her screams had not started yet. She merely kept staring at Sylvester, possibly cursing him to god knows what. .

Sylvester smelled her emotions clearly. Fury, sadness, fear, anxiety and whatnot. ‘I guess… To her, what she did was normal since she was probably brought up that way.’

Woosh!

The Inquisitor Wizards started using wind elemental magic to fan the flames and force them towards the stake in the centre.

“Aaaargh! I-It hurts… Please…!”

Sylvester sighed, knowing very well that even when he becomes the Pope, he will likely never outlaw witch burning and torture. He knew very well that the dream of democracy was foolish in a world like this.

He looked beside him, and it reaffirmed his mind after hearing the Inquisitor men talking.

“It’s so sunny today! Such a fine day of Season of Solis.”

“Indeed, my brother. It’s a fine day to be burning a witch.”

Such words were prevalent among the Inquisitors as they all watched the burning.

“Graaaa!” The Witch’s screams soon became hoarse and unintelligible.

Everything was visible. Her hair burnt away, her clothes vanished, and her skin slowly melted down. Her legs gradually gave up, but she was tied to the stake tightly. Finally, her eyeballs started to fall out, and blood began to boil, creating popping bubbles.

“Ha Ha Ha…”

Finally, like most Witches, she lost her mind and sense of pain, prompting her laughs. They expected her to say her last words at any moment and fall into dead silence. There were even scribes standing nearby, prepared to write whatever she said.

“Aaaargh! L-Long Live!”

Sylvester focused on her words, cutting every other noise from the surrounding.

“L-Long live… The Sand Lord! Hahaha…!”

“Hahaha…!”

She screamed whatever she wanted and laughed like crazy, which slowly diminished and vanished eventually, leaving her dead body to be burnt away into nothingness slowly. The Scribes had frantically written everything down.

Meanwhile, the faces of all the higher clergymen had fallen. Even Saint Seer appeared as if the devil had just kissed his cheeks.

Sylvester looked to his side at Lady Aurora. “Who is the Sand Lord?”

Lady Aurora’s eyes widened, too, just like the rest. But she soon turned to Sylvester and replied. “I-It’s the… Lesser known name, mostly used by small tribes, for the Emperor of the Masan Empire. Good Lord! Was this all a conspiracy?”

Boom!

A silent explosion erupted in Sylvester’s mind as the various dots connected by themselves, and he too appeared, like the rest, shocked.

“Wait!”

He frantically searched his pockets and took out the letter he had found on the Witch, addressed to his name. But he didn’t read it out loud.

‘Dear Lord Bard, the Witch is likely dead if you’re reading this. But still, let me tell you a story. There was once a witch, lost in the deserts of the west—Tired, alone, thirsty and hopeless. She was ready to sell her soul to the devil for some water.

‘But, I offered her power, magic, wealth and above all, a prominent position in the court of the Masan Empire. She lunged at that opportunity and got ready to do my bidding. It took five years, but—She did what I wanted.

‘After semi-successful work in the Colorwood Duchy, I knew you’d eventually sniff this conspiracy out as well. But I’m delighted to say that this time you were late. Lord Bard, I truly admire you, but sadly, in this grand scheme, you’re a mere reactionary at the moment, chasing the shadow of a dream—too late to be in the game.

‘Still, I hope that someday we meet. The playing fields are honestly boring with no one to compete.

‘From Sir Walder… Sometimes also called Sir Kenworth—But people usually call me Shadow of Masan, sounds great, right?’

Sylvester’s shoulder fell, and he blinked dumbly while staring at the burning Witch. ‘This madness… How am I to get over—When, by the time I learn his schemes, the game is already near closure?’

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