I Became The Pope, Now What?

Sylvester wanted chaos, and the best way to do that was to create disarray among organisations. Doing that was easy for him, as rumours had the strength to bring down kingdoms, let alone cause chaos.

Sylvester as Johnathan, Sir Dolorem as Charles and Bishop Lazark as Leonardo, they made their way down south. This time they didn’t stop in any big city and simply spent some time in a few monasteries in disguise.

They tried to find out how the clergy in the Highland Kingdom was doing. To their surprise, King Highland was a genuinely great ruler. The man had not only established some sort of police order but also kept an eye on the monasteries through various reporting mechanisms where even the commoners could report some wrongdoings to the King directly.

The only thing Highland lacked was wealth, and if they had the same resources as Riveria, Sylvester believed King Highland could have changed the entire landscape of Sol.

Alas, they traversed through the lands and reached the border of the Sorrow Kingdom. It was heavily fortified now, and the roads had many checkpoints. King Highland was trying to manage the refugee issue by stopping them from coming in hordes.

They moved across the Mineworth town, where the Viscount Mineworth lived. Sylvester wanted to go there and study metal manipulation from him, but it was not the right time.

So they skipped staying there and entered the Sorrow Kingdom. It took them no time since almost nobody was going into the Sorrow Kingdom. To say the condition was abysmal was an understatement.

Just as they entered the Sorrow Kingdom, right near the boundary, thousands of makeshift tents were erected close to one another. They were small and untidy. In a cluster, they looked like a slum. There were kids roaming around without clothes, most of them with dirty bodies.

Open sewers were flowing between the tents, spreading the horrendous smell of faeces and much more. The quality of life was absent from there, and hygiene was perhaps not even a topic of discussion.

“This place is the perfect breeding ground for disease and plagues,” Sylvester muttered.

“This is what war and destruction do. Most here likely used to have a village or a town where they lived.” Sir Dolorem added.

They felt pity, but there was no instant solution to the people’s misery. The kids who watched them pass by on the carriage could only hope that one of those carriages would someday stop and give them something to eat.

With heavy hearts, they went deeper into the wretched lands. It was all barren and desert-like. Only some short yellow grass was visible here and there. The rest was just dirt and the heat of the summer.

“That’s The Burning Mountain.” Sir Dolorem pointed to the distance, where they could see a massive mountain on the horizon. But, strangely, there was a fire on top of it, raging like a volcano.

Sylvester had heard about it but saw it for the first time. “Do you know about its origin? I had read that one of its kind forges was supposed to be here. Supposed to be the best in Sol.”

“The Wild Forge. This was its name, Lord Bard. The mountain has been burning for as long as books have been written about it. There used to be a famed Wild Forge here with humans producing fine products on par with the Dwarves. But, the smiths became greedy.

“They wanted to expand the forge, but for that, they needed more pathways under the mountain from where the fire could reach them in the forge. The only problem was the old forge had natural pathways for fire. This time, they destabilised the mountain as they tried to make it artificially. As a result, the fire expanded and melted everything. The smiths ran away, but the forge was rendered useless.

“Now, there is no saving it as the mountain resides in a pit, and no natural pathways are left for the mountain fire. The forge is now just a leftover building with many ghost stories attached to it.” Sir Dolorem ended the tale of how greed cost the Sol the finest forge.

“Such a pity,” Sylvester muttered with a long sigh.

They slowly made their way forward and passed by the Burning Mountain. The heat radiated from the mountain, making breathing around it problematic. However, there was something that Sylvester smelled that others likely ignored.

‘So that’s why the mountain is burning. I can smell some gaseous substance in the air. The mountain probably sits on a giant gas reserve of sorts.’ He reckoned.

“Has nobody gone into the forge recently?” Sylvester inquired.

“There is no reason to. The heat is unbearable for most. The wizards have no interest in it either, so it’s merely a leftover building, a piece of history.” Sir Dolorem answered.

‘If gases are involved, then isn’t it easy to regulate the flow towards the specific locations? With wizards’ help, it should be possible.’

But Sylvester remained quiet for the time being. He had a more significant task at hand than starting a gas company.

They soon arrived in a desolate field of hay. It was not good either, as the quality of it was evident to the naked eye. But it was also their first time seeing something other than dead grass growing there.

“We are supposed to report to Archbishop Nelson Paul in the Last Hay village.” Sir Dolorem spoke. “This village is the only land in the current Sorrow Kingdom that can grow something.”

“All of the cultivable lands have been occupied by the Grand Duke of Patch, hence this misery.” Bishop Lazark added.

Sylvester had a different overview of the situation, however. “It’s not Grand Duke’s fault. The world is the survival of the fittest; sometimes, this is true for even the nobles. I’m more disappointed in the King of Sorrow for not seeing through the schemes of the Grand Duke. This tells the tale of nothing but an incompetent king.”

“Agreed.” Sir Dolorem said. “Most commoners think a King only eats and enjoys himself all day. But, sadly, when some Kings think that’s what Kings do, the downfall is all but fated.”

“Does the King not have a family? Where is the rest of the family?” Sylvester inquired.

Sadly, nobody had any answers. So much has happened in the Sorrow Kingdom for the past few years that the whereabouts of even the extended family were unknown. Some said they ran away, while others believe they were killed.

“Quite tragic,” Sylvester muttered and steered the carriage in silence.

In an hour more, they finally began to reach a village in the distance. It looked small and poor from the looks. It was full of thatched roofed houses with mud walls. The streets were clean, and surprisingly, there was nobody outside either.

“Are we late? Where is everyone?” Sir Dolorem wondered.

“No, they are watching us,” Sylvester replied as he could smell the various emotions. Above all, he smelled sadness the most there. “Let’s move to the Monastery and meet the Archbishop first.”

So they steered to the end of the village and arrived in a rundown monastery. Thankfully, it was still in a better state than the rest of the buildings.

They got off and knocked on the door. The sun was about to set down, and the darkness was slowly seeping in. So it was hard to see everything clearly.

“Archbishop, we are from the Holy Land.” Sylvester voiced from outside as the door didn’t open.

Knock!

Knock!

Thud!

Finally, a loud sound of locks being removed came. When the door opened, something appeared that made Sylvester jump back, and the other two raised their hands to cast magic as well.

There, at the gates, stood a wild old man with a long beard and white hair. His eyes seemed dead and sunken, his body was pale, and the veins were clearly visible. The man was tall and looked like an evil wizard.

“Did they finally send help?”

“Help?” Sylvester muttered in response. “Are you the Archbishop?” 𝗼𝘃𝗹.𝗼𝐫𝗴

The old man came out of the house and appeared in the faint light. Instantly, the scene changed as the old man stopped looking evil. He had a very kind face and only appeared dangerous in the shadows due to his frail body.

“Yes, I am the Archbishop of this region. We need help quickly, or the people here won’t survive. If that happens, the plague will only spread. What are your names? Are you healers?”

Sylvester reported. “I am Johnathan. This is priest Charles, and that is priest Leonardo. We were sent by the Holy Land to aid you, your grace.”

Thud!

“We’re doomed. They are not taking this seriously.” Archbishop Nelson fell to the side of the door frame and muttered in despair. “This plague can spread so fast and quickly, and the mortality rate is so high. The world will not survive this…”

‘Plague is spreading?’ Sylvester became alert and asked for more details.

“What happened, your grace? I do know some healing magic. Maybe I can help you?” He offered.

The Archbishop smiled wryly and looked at Sylvester with pity. “Son, I appreciate your kindness. But I’m afraid that only those in the high ranks can stop this plague. It’s too dangerous, even if it does not affect us wizards.”

“Can you show me a patient?” Sylvester further asked. “We’re also wizards.”

“Come with me, but keep your hearts strong.” The Archbishop tiredly stood up and walked into the monastery.

Eventually, they arrived in a small hall with fifty beds, all full of patients. Some cried in pain, and some were asleep. But one thing was common among them — the dots on their faces and bodies.

Sylvester’s heart sank to the bottom at that very moment.

‘T-This… Looks like Smallpox.’

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