I Became The Pope, Now What?

Sylester’s plan to collect the donations was good, but it needed much work to come to fruition. Firstly, he needed to find the whales and check how to access their coffers. That required time and some intelligence gathering. Thankfully, he knew their next destination would provide him with all the needed intel.

With the money, Sylvester went to the Archbishop again. But to his amazement, the man was without his robes. He just wore pants and was cooking something on a giant fire in a huge pot.

He roared various hymns that Sylvester wrote, and his beard and hair fluttered like a madman, but surprisingly the people jumped around the fire and cheered him on. It was like some barbarian festival was going on.

The old man stood tall in front of a massive fire pit, his long white beard swaying in the heat of the flames. The colossal container he was cooking porridge in was just as impressive, standing as tall as two men and wide enough to fit a whole horse inside.

The old man smiled at people, his eyes twinkling with excitement. Then, with a flick of his wrist, he stirred the bubbling mixture inside the container, the steam rising to his face. He took a deep breath, inhaling the delicious scent mixed with the rich aroma of fresh milk and honey. The crowd gasped in anticipation, their mouths watering at the thought of tasting the magical porridge.

As he continued stirring, the old man began to chant in a language none other than wizards could understand: runes. His voice echoed through the air, and suddenly, the flames grew higher, dancing wildly around him. The crowd stepped back in awe, watching the porridge glow in a soft golden sheen.

Woosh!

With one final stir, the old man turned off the fire, and the container began to cool down. He beckoned the crowd forward, and they gathered around him eagerly, each holding a bowl out in anticipation. He scooped out generous portions of the porridge and handed it to the people. Everyone got plenty, and the kids got a little extra with some chunks of meat.

They all took a spoonful and closed their eyes in delight, savouring the delicious flavours that danced on their tongues.

At last, Sylvester also came with a bowl and took a bite. It was a simple vegetable, rice and meat porridge. There were also some spices since the people of the south loved spices more. Of course, it was nothing magical, but after a long day of work, and in the case of the people, after long months of starvation, the simple porridge was like god’s gift.

“Where did you get all these ingredients from, your grace?” Sylvester asked the old man.

Archbishop Nelson showed his thumb and winked with both eyes as that was all he knew. “I bought it all from the traders.”

“Bought? You had that much money?” Sylvester inquired in wonder. Because, as far as he knew, the Archbishop was poor to the point he could not even get new robes.

Nelson chuckled as he replied. “I’m not wealthy, but Count Bradley is. He permitted me to use his noble seal to settle the bills. Truly, a great man he is.”

“What’s his story? All the way in the Duchy of Colorwood in the north, I have heard of his devilish deeds. The story of his inhumane treatment of the refugees and his abuse of slaves to the point they die — such stories are far too common.” Sylvester asked him.

The Archbishop wagged his head reluctantly and declined to expound excessively on the matter. “The rumours, I must confess, were not entirely without merit. However, it is crucial to remember that circumstances alter cases, and this particular individual has undergone a profound transformation. Time has brought a sea change in his desires, aspirations, and outlook. No longer does he covet the vanities of this world; his heart is now consumed with a desire to alleviate the suffering of his fellow beings and spread joy and goodwill wherever he goes. If you seek a more detailed account, then I’m afraid you must consult the man himself, as it is a deeply personal matter that I am not at liberty to divulge.”

‘What is it that they’re not sharing?’ Sylvester was deeply interested as he wished to gather as much information as possible before going along with one of his many plans. He needed to count any variables or issues that could arise later.

“S-Sir…”

Suddenly, a young little boy came to Sylvester and pulled his sleeves. They had finished eating their food, so all the kids were sitting and watching Sylvester and Archbishop Nelson talking.

“Yes, you need something?” Sylvester politely asked the kid.

Hesitantly but slowly, gathering the courage, the boy looked left and right at his friends first. All of them were nodding at him, clearly revealing they had made the boy come forward to ask whatever they wanted.

“C-Can… Sir, can we have more food?” The chubby-faced, likely five-year-old boy with dirty brown hair and patched clothes asked.

Sylvester looked at the big bowls of food they had already eaten. “Are you still hungry? But you just ate so much.”

The boy looked down and clutched his hands on his shirt. “We… We want to keep the food for tomorrow. Just a little will do, sir.”

Sylvester’s shoulder instantly relaxed, and a sigh left his mouth. He ruffled the boy’s hair and sent him away. “Don’t worry. You will have food every day from now on. The bad people will not come to hurt you anymore.”

“Really?” The boy chirped. It meant the world to him. Not having to sleep with a hungry stomach was something no less than a grace from god.

“Look at their faces. They should explore life, study, and learn new things at this age. But here they are, having to worry about getting food.” The Archbishop mumbled, displeasure and disappointment evident in his voice.

Sylvester tried to ignore the old man’s charitable rambling. He felt terrible for the people but could not lose his focus on the target. He had too much at stake as Kaecilius prepared to start his slave rebellion in Riveria. He had to first douse the flames in the Sorrow Kingdom and then meet with King Highland.

“There is no instant solution to this, your grace. We can only move on and try to find one, but there is always uncertainty. That’s what life is. I’m no sage, but I know what’s occurring here is wrong, and one day, they will have to answer to a judge, be it in the world of the living or the dead, but one thing is certain, all their deeds matter, and all their sins count.” Sylvester tried to cheer up the man and finished eating up. It was time to head to the Wailing City next.

The Archbishop sighed and stood up to leave as well. “You speak well, priest. We must fight this darkness and never allow it to reign over our blessed minds. The path of Solis is the one eternal true path. As Lord Bard once said in his hymns, ‘Rise not your swords but your voice. To help one or to hurt it’s always a choice. For every action, there is a price. So strive to do what shall make the Lord rejoice.'”

Sylvester felt somewhat awkward since he had never met someone so overzealous about his hymns. The man randomly starts chanting them and even uses them in his speeches. ．𝗻𝐞𝘁

‘It’s hard to assess him. He smells of worship at all times, but on the other hand, he has rage suppressed inside his mind. He has extreme anger outbursts, and that’s not the sort of person I want following me.’

“Indeed, your grace. I like his hymns. They spread the message so well in a palatable fashion. His hymns are memorable, and I’m sure all those who read them remember them, no matter the means.” Sylvester replied, a bit narcissistically, however. “Let’s proceed to the Wailing City now.”

“Let’s do that.”

With that, they got in their carriage in the middle of the afternoon, when the sun was at its peak, and the heat was ready to burn everything in sight. Thankfully, being wizards, they had a plethora of magical means to keep themselves and their horses cool.

So they bid farewell to the village once the Inquisitor Commander arrived to oversee the refugees. Of course, one hundred strong Inquisitor soldiers also came to ensure order was maintained.

The Inquisitors knew the price of corruption and that they’d always get the harsher punishment for betraying the church’s trust. So they were the least likely to harm the people.

Soon, with Sir Dolorem and Bishop Lazark having gone ahead on the path on separate horses to check the road conditions, Sylvester and the Archbishop left the small village. Sadly, it was not the last village on their path, as there were some more refugee camps that had come into existence, one worse than the other. Unfortunately, it was impossible to help them all, so with a heavy heart, they kept on moving.

Soon enough, the carriage rattled along the dusty path, its wooden wheels creaking with each jolt. As they rounded a bend, a dark and foreboding sight greeted them. In the distance, a volcano towered above the landscape, its fiery mouth spewing molten rock and ash. The sky above was a deep crimson, the setting sun’s light filtered through the thick smoke and haze.

As they made their way, it slowly turned darker, and the night dawned upon them. They rushed their horses, as the location, the darkness and the deadly volcano were bound to spawn some nasty creatures of the night. But they still could not look away from the volcano. Its presence was overwhelming, and the heat radiating from its mouth was suffocating.

As they drew nearer, they could see the devastation brought by the volcano’s fury. Blackened trees lay strewn across the landscape, their twisted branches reaching out like skeletal hands. The ground was scorched and cracked, and the air smelled of sulphur and ash.

Eventually, Mount Eternal got left behind as Sylvester and the Archbishop arrived near Wailing City, the last actual city in the Sorrow Kingdom where some sense could still be made, albeit in its rundown condition.

“Where to, your grace?” Sylvester asked before they reached the gates of the city. It was a completely walled city, though the walls were all black as if burned.

“To the monastery,” the Archbishop ordered.

So Sylvester moved the carriage into the city. Only two guards were at the gates, and they seemed too lazy to check them after they saw their clergy robes.

“Was there a fire?” Sylvester inquired as he noticed the buildings in the city were all black too.

“No, this is its original form, the reason why this city is also called Ebony City. The buildings here are made of Volcano stones, which are black and durable, as they don’t melt in lava. In fact, the royal palace is surrounded by a moat made of lava. We’re heading there, as the monastery is inside the castle.”

Sylvester’s interest reached cloud nine as he expected to see a Bright Mother soon and utilise his months of hard work.

However, when they reached the castle, Sylvester felt a strange deja-vu.

‘Wait… I’ve seen this place before.’

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