I Became The Pope, Now What?

For the following day, Sylvester’s mood was spoiled. He saw Spine and EX10 every now and then, and he could not do anything to them for the time being as they were under the official service of the church.

But it was not just him who felt frustrated. Bishop Lazark felt the same for EX10, his elder brother that he hated so much as the latter tried to secretly experiment on him by attempting to mutate him with a chameleon’s blood. Of course, the experiment failed, but the relationship turned utterly sour following that.

With nothing else to do but wait, Sylvester decided to look for the cure for the plague. He knew what to look for. He just needed to seek it. So, after getting permission from Saint Medico, Sylvester ventured out into the Sorrow Kingdom with Sir Dolorem and Bishop Lazark. However, they changed their disguise again so no one could track their origin in the Wailing City.

“What do you feel about EX10?” Sylvester asked Bishop Lazark. “Would you mind if I killed him?”

“I’d rather kill him with my own hands.” Bishop Lazark replied coldly. “He’s a bane to society and stands against all the holy charters of the Church. He’s only alive because he’s useful, and I don’t want him to remain useful.”

“We have a common goal then,” Sylvester responded, a sense of a dangerous aura looming over him. “I plan on killing him and Spine by the end of our current assignment. They are currently on official duty, and to stop them is akin to breaking the Holy Law. So once we solve this mess in Sorrow Kingdom, we will have a window”

“But… The Pope will not be happy.” Sir Dolorem warned.

Sylvester mocked. “And I’m supposed to be happy when the church tries to kill my mother, get Shadow Knight chasing after me and kill my first student? They must accept my terms because there is only one me, while the Void Keepers can be replaced.”

“And you’re an Archbishop. Your words and demands carry a lot of weight. Just like how those other old men in the Council of Thirty-Two influence things with their power, you must do it too.” Bishop Lazark suggested with an air of wisdom. “My old teacher used to say, ‘It’s foolish to let a fruit wither when you can eat it, even if you’re not hungry.’ Selfishness, far from being a vice, is oftentimes the very wheel that drives our ambition to greater heights.”

Sylvester couldn’t help but let out a small chuckle. “I never thought you’d be such a wise talker, Bishop. I don’t see you often joining such conversations with us.”

Bishop Lazark scratched his face under the black oversized hooded robes. “I… I merely wish for my brother to die. The longer he lives, the longer my family name gets spoiled.”

Talking about family reminded Sylvester of something. He faced Sir Dolorem and, in all seriousness, offered something. “While we’re at it, let’s go to Foxholm village and kill the village Elders and the Baron responsible for the death of your wife and son, Sir Dolorem. I’m an Archbishop now, a Judge on top of that. Since a crime was committed, I can declare them heathens.”

Sir Dolorem went silent for a good ten minutes. His eyes were covered, so there was no way of saying if he was shocked, hopeful or sad. Sylvester still smelled it, and Sir Dolorem induced nothing but the scent of pure rage.

However, what he spoke went against what he felt. “That… Feels like a misuse of your authority, Lord Bard.”

“Don’t worry about such little things, Sir Dolorem. Every story needs an ending, and your story of vengeance is still incomplete. Don’t you want to bring them to justice?” Sylvester insisted, as he wasn’t scared of anyone anymore. He had a lot of pull in the Holy Land, and since Foxholm town was in the Highland Kingdom, Sylvester could just tell his wishes to King Highland, and the King would personally serve the heads of the village chiefs and the Baron on a golden platter.

Bishop Lazark moved his horse a bit closer to Sir Dolorem’s and patted the willfully blind knight’s back. “There is no harm in seeking vengeance, Sir Dolorem. The sin starts when you let the vengeance control you.”

“Besides, we’re the Church. We are the bringer of justice, the slayer of heathens. They harmed the family of an Inquisitor. That’s a heresy in itself.” Sylvester added, and whipped the horse lightly to move faster.

Sir Dolorem sensed Sylvester’s fleeting back and felt a strange pull of string in heart. “H-He… He grew so fast.”

Bishop Lazark sighed and looked ahead. “Let’s be honest. He never had a childhood. Assassinations, duels, magic, praying and pain — that’s all he has seen in his life.”

Sir Dolorem bobbed his head in agreement, though his mind stayed turbulent. ‘I hope he finds the peace he’s searching for.’

“Ha!”

They, too, whipped the horses and rushed to catch up with Sylvester. They headed Northeast, where most cases of the plague were detected. Their destination was between The Last Hay village, where they had met Archbishop Nelson and Dying City, where they had met with the ex-baron Clofield.

Soon, they arrived in a small place called Jharl village. Boasting a population of nearly three thousand, and almost all of them were currently infected with the plague.

“What are we looking for in this place?” Sir Dolorem asked.

Sylvester kept looking left and right. “Anomalies! We must find a family that is still safe from the plague.”

“And that will lead us to?” Bishop Lazark asked further.

“Cows!” Sylvester exclaimed. “Cow tits, to be precise.”

“…”

Sir Dolorem, Bishop Lazark, and even Miraj stopped and just watched Sylvester. They wondered if all the pressure and the scorching heat of the Sorrow Kingdom got to Sylvester’s head.

Sir Dolorem asked him. “Lord Bard, we wish to understand your whole plan first… please.”

Sylvester turned around and noticed the two’s faces, the scent of confusion and disgust. ‘Ah! I made the Chonky mistake, it seems.’

“Well, it is exactly as I said. The cow tits are the solution to our plague.” Sylvester added further but had no way of explaining the immunology, bacteriology, and virology to them.

“How can cow tits solve a plague?” Bishop Lazark inquired.

“Is it in the milk?” Sir Dolorem wondered.

Honestly, Sylvester didn’t have it in himself to tell them what he was looking for. It was too disgusting for someone who had no idea about medicine.

“No, but close. Let’s go now. Just ask around for any family that is completely fine. If we don’t find one, we go to another village.”

“Understood!”

…

While Sylvester tried to fight a plague, someone was facing much bigger battles. But it was a mess of his own concoction, and the consequences had finally caught up.

Inside the Grand Duchy of Patch, the massive, majestic castle stood mightily beside the Tame river. It was enormous, with two walls and moats around, and no town or village was nearby. It was constructed with the sole purpose of being impenetrable and safe.

But, as the schemes of the Grand Duke went on, the echoes of danger started to ring between the walls. After all, with enough strength, no walls were impenetrable.

Thud!

“Hypocrites!”

Thud!

“Bastards!”

Thud!

“Those sun fuckers! I asked them one thing — make me the King of Sorrow, and they still refuse!”

White-haired, blue-eyed, seven-foot-tall and clean-shaven — It was the Grand Duke of the Patch, slamming his fist on the table in his majestic solar in the castle. Victor Zee Maverick was the name of the man who brought the Sorrow Kingdom to ruins. The man who backstabbed his liege and left behind a trail of blood — Men, women and children, none were spared. He always struck when they were not prepared.

“Your majesty, even King Highland has begun to look our way.” Spoke another man, young-looking this time—middle-aged, black stubbled bearded, short-haired, muscular, and a head shorter than the Grand Duke. “The river dam is nearly done. Once it’s complete, he will stop our water supply, and we can’t do anything for the dam rests within his territory.”

Thud!

Rage was evident in the roars of the Grand Duke. “Then do something, you two! Einarr, you’re a Grand Wizard and a Diamond Knight, and you, Vinland, you too. What are you two doing all this time? We’re losing control over the Sorrow Kingdom now that the Holy Land has begun to act.”

Vinland lowered his gaze as he was young and a mere nephew of the Grand Duke, a Grand Wizard himself. “Your majesty… I am trying to assess the situation. The Holy Land has sent Inquisitor High Lord to our northern borders. As we speak, the Inquisitors and the Holy Army are surrounding us from the north. Meanwhile, if the King Highland stops our water, then we will suffer from a mass drought.”

“Haa!”

Boom!

Finally, Grand Duke Victor slammed his fist on the table hard enough and shattered it in pieces. His voice rumbled throughout the castle, and a strange red aura surrounded his body.

“I earned what I have! I didn’t get the golden spoon passed down because of my blood — And I will not allow anyone to take what is mine. We still have many unfulfilled plans left, so set them in motion. The Highland Kingdom has been able to deal with refugees fairly well all this time, so let’s show them what a real refugee crisis is.

“And Vinland, sound the bugle, ring the bells and let all know — It’s time for war!” ｎｏｖ𝚕．𝚌ｏｍ

“What about the Sorrow Kingdom, your majesty?” Einarr asked with his head held low and voice soft.

“Haha!” The Grand Duke laughed menacingly. “Send all those civilians who contract the plague here to the Sorrow Kingdom — Let them all rot together!”

________________________

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