I Became The Pope, Now What?

Chapter 592 591. Curse Of The Blessed

Sylvester didn’t move; Sir Dolorem’s body rested within his embrace. His eyes had dried up by then, but the grief was still in his heart. After a very long time, he lifted his head and looked at Aurora, calling her closer.

“Send a missive to Felix and start the preparations for a funeral in Magna Sanctum,” Sylvester ordered with a dry, hoarse voice. “Postpone everything for a day.”

Aurora’s eyes were also hazy since she was close to Sir Dolorem, seeing the man like a brother. They had worked together for years and had known each other well, but the friendship grew much more after Sylvester became the focal point. All the missions they had done together for Sylvester were sweet memories.

“Did he have any last wish?” Aurora asked him.

Sylvester nodded softly, “I fulfilled it… with the hymn.”

No more did he feel any joy with the mitre on his head. He had supreme authority, yet he had to surrender himself to the forces of nature. Even at that level, he couldn’t do anything to protect his loved ones.

Finally, after a few minutes, the healers came with a stretcher. They took Sir Dolorem’s body carefully and placed a white cloth on him, before taking the body to the sick bay for arrangements. Usually, funerals didn’t take place in the Magna Sanctum; such honors were typically reserved for the Guardians and the Popes, but at that point, who was even going to object? A father figure to the Pope had died. It was all the more reason to honor the man.

After Sir Dolorem’s body was taken away, Sylvester stood up and looked back at his throne. A feeling of disgust rose up in his heart while he patted Miraj, who was stuck on his chest, crying at the loss of his Dol-Dol.

‘At the age of a month, and now—it was never my plan to achieve this, but this cursed throne pulled me to it with its scheme and evil ploys.’ Sylvester thought to himself. His red eyes burned with fury, and veins popped on his forehead.

“Sir Dolorem taught me to remain humble throughout my life!” Sylvester’s tone sounded calm, but his voice reverberated with magic and an air of authority. “This luxury contradicts my beliefs; this gold is tainted in blood and sin—Some remedies must be applied before a new era begins.”

Everyone stared at Sylvester in confusion, though some who knew him closely grasped what he was saying and what he meant to do.

Thud!

Abruptly, the Inquisitor High Lord knelt to his knees, feeling utmost pride and worship in Sylvester’s thoughts. They aligned with his views perfectly. “You are the father to the blessed souls that Solis made. Crusade, justice, or anything else—your words shall be obeyed!”

Sylvester didn’t respond to Lord Inquisitor’s words. He walked up the marble stairs and stopped beside the enormous throne. Slowly, he raised both his palms toward it and a halo appeared behind his head.

?When we sin, we try to reflect on the mind inside,

When there is a disturbance in the sea, there are tides.

We punished the evil, making the realm shimmer,

Yet, how did we forget to destroy the greatest sinner?? ｏｖ𝚕．ｃｏ𝚖

BOOM!

Both of Sylvester’s palms formed a huge, wide beam of light. It was the Wrath of Heavens. It fell on the massive throne and engulfed it entirely, the light forcing everyone to close their eyes. They felt the heat radiating and the scent of burning metal—they now understood what was happening.

?Since ancient eons, battles raged for this sacred throne,

Through countless ages, betrayal this seat alone has shown.

Henceforth, in this realm, darkness shall no longer be sown,

Renounce the seven sins, lest faith cast you from your own.?

When the crowd felt their eyes grow accustomed to the light, they saw the grand throne melting into a pile of formless gold, its various crystals vaporized or deformed in the heat. The age-old throne of eminence, where Popes of old held reverence, was now undone by the one who had won.

Sylvester’s fury only ended when all the gold before his eyes had melted away. Once finished, he turned around to leave, his eyes still furiously red. “Cardinal Gabriel, ask the Dwarves of Miraj City to create a new throne for me—made of wood, humble in its design, in memory of those who fell victim to this grand plot.”

Gabriel wasn’t accustomed to being called Cardinal. It was too much since he officially became the youngest Cardinal after Sylvester now. “It shall be done, Your Holiness.”

“Holy Court is dismissed!” Sylvester bellowed as he strode toward the gates. “Remember one thing, Incompetence, corruption, and sin shall find no refuge under my rule. The punishment shall be worse than death. Go and sleep, eat, or do anything you want while you have time; Once the funerals are over, prepare to work until your final breath.”

There were only two kinds of Clergymen left in the massive hall at that point. The ones who were excited and saluted in the hope of doing some real good for the realm. And others who feared for their well-being, afraid of disappointing the Pope.

…

From the loud vibrance of excitement and cheers for the ascension of the new Pope, the atmosphere changed, and gloom spread in the Holy Land. Word of Sir Dolorem’s death spread around, and even those who didn’t know him at first grieved after learning he was like a father to their new Pope.

In respect and to mourn, all the shops in Guild Peninsula closed their doors. The adventure and magic guilds lowered their flags for the day. The people burned incense outside their homes to state that they stood by Sylvester—the miraculous Pope whose deeds had been well announced from the parchments that fell from the sky.

As the next day’s dawn drew near, a massive crowd of high-ranking clergy gathered on the cliff shore of the Gold Peninsula near the Magna Sanctum temple, which harbored the Orb of Purity, a vile thing revered by the realm.

The sky was cloudy. The wind was strong. As if the heavens mourned, the rain also began like a weeping song. The sun was in the distance, slowly rising beyond the horizon. While Sir Dolorem’s body was placed on the pyre. His body was cleaned, his armor repaired, and he was given utmost respect and honor, placing even his long sword over his chest.

The Cardinal Priest of the temple, who had overseen Sylvester’s crowning, was now reading the farewell for the departed from the Holy Book. Sylvester held the torch, ready to set the pyre on fire.

“Max.” Xavia suddenly voiced, tapping Sylvester’s shoulder and waking him from the daze. Her eyes were swollen, signs of a night spent crying. “The rays of the sun are arriving; go.”

Sylvester emotionlessly walked forward, memories running wild in his mind. The what-ifs were countless. “Farewell, old man… Thank you for the great memories… You won’t be forgotten.”

He torched the pyre from various places and poured some alchemical power to burn the wood as the rain grew heavier with each passing moment. None of the people there had any protection from it, allowing the rain to soak them to the bone.

After Sylvester stepped back a little, one by one, everyone approached to pay respect and place a small stick into the pyre. They said their prayers and left one after another. Felix was there, almost on the verge of tears, as was the case with Gabriel.

As Magna Sanctum was a very delicate place, they couldn’t remain there for a long time. Except for Sylvester, everyone had to leave after paying respects.

Sylvester just stood there in the rain and watched as Sir Dolorem’s body was consumed by the flames, returning to nature. The realization that he would never hear his voice again or see him again struck his heart with sharp pain.

“Are you alright?” Aurora halted beside him before leaving. “You can cry if you want to… The heavens want you to.”

“It was meaningless. He didn’t deserve to die.” Sylvester muttered, his voice pained. “If I had accepted Saint Scepter’s demands right away, I could have returned faster, and Sir Dolorem would have… lived.”

Aurora’s tearful eyes silently wept as she embraced Sylvester, “What’s done can’t be undone. Sir Dolorem will forever be immortalized, Sylvester. As the godfather of the youngest and strongest Pope in history—He lives in your legacy—You are the proof of his life.”

Sylvester didn’t agree or deny it. He kept his gaze on the pyre. He let Aurora go and then saw Xavia leave as well, weeping and supported by Aurora as well. At last, only the Lord Inquisitor remained, and he proceeded to place a stick into the fire. He prayed silently for a few long moments.

Then the giant man stood beside Sylvester, taking off his visor to breathe more freely. The raindrops vaporized as they touched his skin. “Your Holiness, get used to the tears. Your long life is a boon and a curse from your bloodline and magical talents. It will have you witness the death of all you hold dear—before your end nears.

Sylvester’s lips twitched as if he were imagining the very scenario. There was a truth to the statement; his natural life span was indeed going to be long. But in his heart, he knew he had no reason to cry. “I don’t think I’m the most cursed. There is someone else I know, cursed with a fate far worse.”

The Inquisitor High Lord didn’t know who Sylvester was talking about, but he felt sympathy for that being. “To see your dear ones grow old and wither away. It’s a law of nature that we all must obey. Be strong, blessed one; there are many more battles yet to be won.”

The Inquisitor High Lord patted Sylvester’s shoulder and left as well, placing the visor back on his face.

Sylvester hugged Miraj on his chest, wondering if his little partner would one day see him on a pyre as well. It broke his heart to know it was inevitable. Moreover, it pained him to imagine who was going to be next.

“Your Holiness,” the Cardinal Priest called out to him. “The fire has run its course. Please gather the ashes in the container.”

Sylvester silently held the steel container in his hand and stepped closer to what remained of the man. From a living, breathing human with countless memories, dreams, and ideas, to a pile of ashes, so delicate and weightless.

“Maxy, I help.” Miraj joined and used his little paws to pour the ash into the container. His eyes were constantly wet since the previous day, but he tried not to cry, to support Sylvester.

“Will you miss him, Chonky?” Sylvester asked.

Miraj nodded his head vigorously. “I wanted happy days with Dol-Dol… Can’t have happy days now.”

Sylvester patted Miraj’s head. “Inquisitor High Lord had a point, Chonky. We should get used to these tears—we’ll see many others grow old and pass away as time goes by.”

Miraj gasped, “Even Big Mum?”

Sylvester didn’t reply, not wanting to imagine such a scenario. Silently he scooped up the ashes; his eyes remained dry and focused. A seed of resentment against the Pope and the Saint Scepter was sprouting within him, as they were responsible for it all.

However, he couldn’t help but wonder something as he gazed at the sky and felt the raindrops on his dry lips. He wondered how long this so-called fate would have him feel deprived.

“What I long for—when will my peace arrive?”

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