I Became The Pope, Now What?

More than three hundred million people died from Smallpox, as far as Sylvester remembered. He didn't know what this disease was, but it looked similar. The small pimples all over the body were not very pleasing to the eye, and death was inevitable once it was contracted.

There were mothers beside their little children. Both inflicted the same misery. There were orphans, and old people, without anybody to care for them. Bright mothers were kept away, for they, too, were at risk. Only the wizards could go close to them. But, sadly, there were not enough wizards in the Sorrow Kingdom.

The entire hall where the praying for Solis was held now was a hall of death. Those who came there were damned to die a horribly painful death.

Sylvester felt his heart beat fast as he realised the predicament. If the disease were to spread, and if it was indeed Smallpox, then forget ever winning against the Beastaria. The Sol would implode in itself. With a lack of commoners to grow crops and serve the rich, wars will break out.

"How contagious is it, your grace?" Sylvester asked with legitimate fear in his voice.

Archbishop Nelson looked around and, with a sad face, answered. "Priest, they are the fifteenth batch of people to come here. All those who came before have passed away, five thousand in total in this small village of eight thousand."

Sylvester glanced at the weak form of the Archbishop. The man may have looked scary before, but on a different look, the condition was pitiful. Archbishop Nelson's clothes were dirty, patched in a few places. His body was utterly frail, and he had baggy dark circles under his eyes. His brows were naturally fallen due to age, while his back was slightly hunched. He didn't look like he'd survive too long.

"Have you sent anyone from this village to get help?" Sylvester inquired.

Archbishop looked down and mumbled something unintelligent. He flared up soon after in anger, just like any old man would. "I had written everything in my letters to the Holy Land. Some families have run out of the village to save themselves. I tried to keep them here, but they didn't listen. I couldn't chase them."

'The virus is spreading already. I don't think it's plausible to find the escapees and stop them now. But, can the church stop the transmission?'

"Do all of them fall sick and die the same way?" Sir Dolorem inquired.

The Archbishop nodded, his shoulders plummeting in defeat. "It starts with a sudden fever. Then rashes all over the skin — flat spots that change into raised bumps, then firm fluid-filled blisters, which then scab. Severe headache is also common, along with back pain, abdominal pain, vomiting and diarrhoea. It's too much for any human body."

'That's just like smallpox.'

"But then, for a day, they'd suddenly get entirely well. You'd think it's a blessing, but in reality, it's a curse. Everyone dies after that one day of wellness.

"It's mentally exhausting as all those sick here now don't want to get healthy for a day, for it means doom."

'Alright, I have no idea what this plague is.'

"Your Grace, what can we do to ease their pain?" Sylvester asked and kept the acting going.

"Make the Holy Land take this plague seriously. Without them, we can't do anything else other than reduce their pain. I'm too old. My magic is weak now. I can use strong men like you. But before that, tell me why they sent you here. No clergyman gets transferred to these lands." The Archbishop stared into Sylvester, Sir Dolorem and Bishop Lazark's eyes.

"We didn't agree with some things, and they had too much power," Sylvester replied.

Silence ensued, and Archbishop Nelson looked at them for a long time. A sense of strange tension flared up.

"Haha!" The old man laughed instead. "Then you're just like me. I was banished to here fifty years ago for 'offending' someone."

"Who?" Sylvester inquired.

"The Pope."

"..."

'The Pope did this to him?' Sylvester wondered what such a selfless man did to offend the Pope.

After all, Archbishop Nelson had been working in the Sorrow Kingdom for five decades now, and working in such a poor region where there was nothing to gain was commendable. That meant he wasn't a bad man.

"Saint Paul… Please look at my son! He's not breathing!"

Suddenly a woman shouted and called for the Archbishop. In response, the old man rushed quickly, albeit having a weak body. His long hair and beard fluttered wild, and a sense of worry flashed in his eyes.

Seeing that, Sylvester felt somewhat bad for the old man since the scents were genuine. 'There is… nothing but love, worship, and worry in his heart. That's all I can smell… How is he still so positive after all this? Shouldn't he be angered at the church?'

"Priest Charles," Sylvester spoke with Sir Dolorem. "Please write a letter to our friends in the Inquisition in the Holy Land. Perhaps they will help us. We need more manpower here. But tell them only to bring wizards."

"Understood, Priest." Sir Dolorem quickly walked back out to the carriage.

Sylvester then looked at Bishop Lazark. "Priest Leonardo, didn't we have a few health potions? Let's dilute them in a water tank and feed these people. It ought to help them. I will go and check the patients around with the Archbishop."

Bishop Lazark nodded and left in silence. They didn't really have much in their carriage. It was all Chonky's magic. But to the others, it was Sylvester's space magic.

So Sylvester went after the Archbishop and found him standing beside a woman covered with pimples on her body, filled with nasty fluid. In her arms was an unresponsive boy, likely three years old, in the same condition as the mother.

Archbishop finished checking the boy and shook his head. "I'm afraid… He's no more, Julie. He was too small and lost the battle before even the one day of wellness phase."

"No! Please do something! Please!" She cried frantically.

Sylvester sighed and looked around. He noticed there were many other mothers like Julie. The hall wasn't big, and it was overcrowded with patients.

'I am no physician, but I should be able to discern if there is magic involved in this strange smallpox. If it does have magic in it, then… Will the cure work on it?'

Sylvester, of course, knew how the vaccine for smallpox was made. The only reason was that it was too easy to produce and could be found in nature itself. Not only that, since he had already invented injections, he knew he could stop the spread before it wreaked havoc.

"Saint Paul! Look at my wife! Why isn't she breathing? Please wake her up… We just got married last month…" Another cry echoed in the hall.

Sylvester didn't have to go there to check what had happened. Another minute, yet another casualty.

'They call him Saint even though he never received Sainthood. He must be loved here.'

Sylvester proceeded with his previous plan and went to meet the patients. He looked at their conditions and finally took a sample of the pus from one of them. After that, he moved on to the private room of the Archbishop and found an empty corner to check something.

'Since my Solarium levels are quite high, I should be able to absorb all Solarium from this sample, and if there is Solarium in it, then it means the virus has magical nature.'

Sylvester placed his palm on the sample and closed his eyes. He cut himself off from all other senses and only focused on his palm. Trying to absorb the Solarium around him, he tried to sense any extra Solarium from his palm.

Slowly, time went by, and thirty minutes passed. Sylvester didn't move an inch and stood there like in a trance. As if the time had stopped, even his chest didn't rise from breathing.

During that time, Archbishop entered the room and found Sylvester. But he didn't disturb him and silently watched, trying to discern what he was doing.

"Ah! It's magical in nature." Sylvester suddenly exclaimed with a big frown on his face.

"As I suspected." Archbishop Nelson added from the back.

Sylvester knew the man was there from the scents already, and even Miraj was keeping an eye on the old man, so nobody did anything wrong to Sylvester.

He turned around and explained. "I felt Solarium from this thing, your grace. How did a plague become magical in nature?"

The Archbishop shrugged and took his seat. He took out a small box from the table drawer and ate some pills. "I wonder that too, young priest. You're quite talented to be able to sense such minute Solarium fluctuations. The Holy Land must have degraded further to have sent you here as punishment."

'He's trying to avert the topic, but why?'

Sylvester didn't pry too much either since the other side was his senior in the situation. "I… I like to study Solarium, your grace. Oh, I wanted to ask, aren't there any nobles left in the Kingdom who can help us?"

"In this Kingdom? None. The Grand Duke of the Patch is a Grand Wizard, and he has two more Grand Wizards as his subordinates. He wreaked havoc here and destroyed and looted whatever he could. A few nobles ran away to the South, to the Sand Continent. Most were killed until the last man of the bloodline. Even the royal family wasn't saved — The little princess was merely eight years old."

Out of curiosity, Sylvester inquired further. "What did they do to the royal family?"

"Butchered them. King Sorrow was duped as the two Grand Wizards from the Patch came to sign an armistice by invoking the name of Solis. But, it was a sham to enter the royal castle — Those heathens! They killed the King and Queen, and the crown prince was publicly abused, castrated, skinned alive and then boiled in oil. As for my little student… Poor Xylena… I don't know where they buried her or burned her."

"Wait!" Sylvester exclaimed and jumped up from his seat. "Did she have a nickname?"

Archbishop looked at Sylvester strangely. "She did… We used to call her Zye… Little Zye, the ever so bubbly and curious girl."

Sylvester froze upon hearing that, his breath became stronger, and his heart skipped a few beats. After more than a decade of looking around and finally.

'At last… The mystery is solved… I found you!'

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