I Became The Pope, Now What?

The Week of Bards was supposed to be the first of its kind gathering out of many planned. Sylvester wanted to gauge them first and filter out some prospective bards for the job he had planned.

So, that whole evening as the food was served and the music was played, he checked all of them through their emotions. But their physical features told a story too.

‘Strange, why are there so many fat bards? Don’t they have to travel a lot? Or perhaps their jobs are too lucrative already?’

It was a problem for Sylvester since the method of brainwashing was different for the rich and the poor. For the poor, Sylvester only had to appear like a beacon of hope for a better future while looking like a sage that they must never offend. But when it came to the rich ones, their loyalty would be hard to gain.

Since money was a driving factor, nothing was stopping them from taking money from someone else in the future and becoming a double spy. Or worse, join the enemy outright.

‘I need to show them some sort of a consequence for harming my interests. They must fear me as much as they adore and respect me,’ Sylvester thought as he remembered the words of Niccolo Machiavelli, ‘It is better to be feared than to be loved if one cannot be both.’

Sylvester understood, however, that fear did not equate to hatred, so he had to be careful. He just needed to show the bards that something terrible could happen if his interests were harmed. Not only that, he needed to somehow make them willingly become his spy without asking or revealing his intentions.

“Lord Bard, this night was one of the most joyous and eventful dinners I had in my long life. Thank you for showing your new creations in the form of those melodious miracles,” Elvis said. The dinner was finally over, and all the bards were returning to their tents to sleep.

Sylvester did the same while walking with the old bard. “I’m glad you liked it, Bard Elvis. But I have planned something for tomorrow that will leave you even more flabbergasted.”

“Oh, I can’t wait!” Elvis clenched his hands like an excited child. “Have a good night, my lord.”

Sylvester waved and entered his well-guarded tent. It was private, so he removed his robes and quickly entered the thick blanket as the nights were still cold.

“Maxy! I sleep with you!” Miraj proclaimed and quickly tucked himself inside the blanket, pushing his back on Sylvester’s chest.

Sylvester chuckled and slept sideways while hugging the fluffy cat, his partner in crime and his greatest strength.

‘Perhaps I can use the Pope to entice these men. Or I can show some other miracle to like me even more.’

“Ugh… Maxy!” Miraj suddenly woke up as he rubbed his back on Sylvester. “Maxy, can you scratch my back? It’s very itchy these days.”

“Itchy? I bathed you yesterday,”

“It’s been itchy since before then.”

Hearing Miraj’s innocent and sleepy words, Sylvester felt a flash of worry cross his mind, as Miraj was too important to him as a personal friend. The cat was family already.

‘I don’t remember Miraj ever suffering medically before.’

As Sylvester scratched Miraj’s back, he also fell asleep once his eyes became too heavy to keep open.

The next day, as the morning breeze hit the area and woke everyone up, the Bards enthusiastically went to a strange new carriage that had been placed in the middle of the camp. The carriage was open, and there were various copies of the instruments that they had heard the previous night.

All of them went to pick something out of it, wanting to try. Though Saxophone was the most neglected instrument there since it required one to blow air, so it was useless for a bard who also had to sing. Meanwhile, Violin and Guitar were the most loved, and the Accordion was more of an acquired taste.

Sylvester also woke up and saw the scenes as a crowd surrounded the carriage in the distance. “I hope they have enough artistic and musical sense to learn it quickly.”

“They should know how to play it soon. After all, you provided the little pages with all the notes and chords.” Sir Dolorem commented as he came to report to his boss, Archbishop Sylvester.

Sylvester smiled and patted Sir Dolorem’s shoulder. “Sir Doloren, the experiments were successful. How do you feel about getting your eyes back soon?”

Sir Dolorem’s face remained unchanged, and the seriousness still eclipsed. “Lord Bard, I never complained about being blind. We are mere mortals, and our lives are tests. What we lose, what we gain, in Solis’ palms, our fate rests. We can merely improvise and keep preaching the name and never blame.”

“Even after learning everything that the church has done against me?” Sylvester asked.

Sir Dolorem shook his head. “You are the future of the church, Lord Bard. I accept that the current iteration is corrupt and vile, but isn’t that why I have put all my faith, life and loyalty in you?”

Sylvester smiled, knowing the man had put almost all his cards on him, and the scent of worship never faded.

“Let’s go now. The Bards need to be entertained and educated about what we do.” Sylvester proceeded with his usual plan.

That day, Sylvester spent his time with a few small groups of Bards. It was clear from the looks that some sort of factionalism was going on among them. It wasn’t regulated and had only come into existence there. It was based on popularity and wealth, like any other society.

So Sylvester gave each one some time and shared some hymns with them or helped them form some new melodies. He also taught them how to play musical instruments, and in just a day grew closer to all of them. He tried his best to memorise the name of every person there, so whenever he’d call someone by their name, the other side would bloom with a huge smile and a spike in the scent of worship.

Eventually, the evening came, and Sylvester started preparing for the main event. He had planned to pull the bards to his side entirely with it.

A stage was set in the middle of the camp, a bigger one this time. The bards were told to wait around it, although they didn’t know for what, as Sylvester had left on his horse before the sun vanished and the darkness took over.

Pa!

Eventually, a loud trumpet resounded in the distance, and all eyes looked towards the direction, heads popping up to look farther.

Thud!

Thud!

As if the ground had started to shake, all the bards heard the sound and knew very well what it was. The resounding hooves of the horses of an army were something they had seen and felt many times in the past.

Soon, with a small cloud of dust, a huge entourage approached the camp. There were a thousand soldiers in the most beautiful, intricate armour, all golden and red-caped, covered from head to toe — even the horses.

“His Holiness, the seventy-ninth Pope, Axel Tar Kreed, the wise, is here!” The tall giant knight on a massive stallion roared. “Make way to the stage!”

The bards quickly moved aside and made a long narrow path for the horses to reach the stage in the middle of the camp. As the entourage moved, the bards saw the Pope in all his grace and power, looking old and yet so mighty.

In the majestic yet simple robes, with the tall, crystal-jaded Pope’s mitre adorned on the head, the Pope unmounted the horse and walked up the stairs of the stage. Behind him, Sylvester in his Archbishop garbs followed.

But he wasn’t alone. There were also Ninth Guardian Lady Aurora, Eight Guardian Faithwalker and Tenth Guardian Geralt Brightson, the headmaster. All of them in their ceremonial clothes looked absolutely majestic and made the evening look more regal than it already was.

The Pope raised his right hand, and his palm shined with hazy blue light for five seconds. “May the Holy Light enlighten us, Bards of Sol. Before Archbishop Sylvester, a Bard was just an entertainer. But after his arrival, I learned the majesty of music and the power of hymns; and truly learned to appreciate the magic that Bards can spread. For that, I bless you all for an everlasting serene voice and sound mind.”

“Long live his holiness!” One of the ‘bards’ randomly shouted.

“Long live his holiness!” A second man followed.

Beyond that, the entire camp ushered in loud cheers and chants for the Pope. They tried to show their devotion not by singing this time but by shouting until their throats went sore.

“Be at ease, my children.” The Pope waved his palm to signal them. “Bard of Solis, Archbishop, Invited me here to bless you, so it is him you should thank.”

“Long live Lord Bard!” Another ‘bard’ shouted.

Once again, the waves spread, and the entire camp got engulfed in chants. It was magnificent, all according to Sylvester’s grand plan.

‘Alright, my time to speak.’ Sylvester stepped forward on the stage.

“My partners of the same profession! I must inform you why I called you here now.” Sylvester bellowed, silencing them all. “For years, I have realised that we do not know anything about the world. We have books on geography, politics and history, but they only detail the significant moments.

“So, I desire to compile a series of books that will detail the latest stories, legends, and interesting events that may happen around the world — around you. As you write new songs based on the stories, and interesting people, I wish for the world to know it too.”

Sylvester dropped the news, but it was confusing for most, as evident by the looks of their eyes. However, he was only starting.

“That is why I offer you something. I shall compile the books for free, and they shall hold your beautiful songs and hymns in them. But along with your hymns, it shall have exciting stories and legends reported by you.

“I shall be hiring hundreds of writers and copy makers, so we will have many books released every single month. Any news, great event, heartful or wholesome stories, or sinful acts; all shall be written down alongside your magnificent hymns.

“Not only that, every month, the readers will choose one song or hymn from the book that they felt was the finest, and the winning bard shall receive a prize of one thousand Gold Graces from me.”

Boom!

Loud discussions erupted among the hundreds of bards. They looked at each other’s faces with much excitement and hope. Of course, most of them were nameless bards, so the prospect of having their songs and stories written in a book with their names was highly enticing. Not to mention, the possible reward for the songs.

“Well done, young bard.” The Pope muttered in a low voice that only Sylvester could hear. “Using them to report crimes of nobles since the bards are regular in their courts… It’s magnificent.”

Sylvester graciously nodded, even though his goal was different.

‘This is just the beginning. Once they become comfortable, I will move to step two. Until then, I must make do with a bastardised version of a newspaper as my cover for gathering intelligence. Ah~ so much work.’

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1000 GT = 1 Bonus chapter. 𝙚𝙙𝙤𝒗𝒆𝒍．𝒄𝙤𝙢

1 Super Gift = 1 Bonus chapter.

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