I Became The Pope, Now What?-Novel

Sylvester tried to meditate again and replicate the effects from the last time. But another hour passed, and the night was now shrouding the skies in darkness. He could not enter his visions no matter what he did.

"Did something happen to her?" He wondered and stood up since remaining there was a waste of time.

He found Miraj sleeping beside him after getting tired from playing around for hours. So he just picked him into his arms and made his way towards the little hut of Grandpa Monk.

Arriving, he saw smoke rising from the little chimney. "What's he cooking up now?"

"How are you, Yogi?" He first patted the head of the giant bear that sat in front of the hut and acted as the loyal guard of the old man.

"Grrrr…" Yogi growled and showed his sharp teeth.

Sylvester just took a strategic banana from his robes and gave it to him. "Enjoy, bud."

Yogi quickly got up, grinning unnaturally and took the banana. Which annoyed a certain cat, and a fight ensued, where Yogi tried to catch the jumping banana.

Sylvester just knocked on the door and entered. "Grandpa Monk, you still in there?"

"What do you mean still?" Grandpa Monk blurted from his cooking station.

"Ah, Archpriest Sylvester Maximilian, it's been a while since I saw you."

Sylvester found two oldies inside the room. One was Grandpa Monk, and the other was Archbishop Noah, the man who was his religious studies teacher in the school and the first man who openly believed that he is the real God's Favoured.

Archbishop Noah was as homeless-like as before with his long, white hair and beard, along with simple baggy robes. But, the already wrinkled face had a few more lines now.

Sylvester held respect for this man and knew he was important to himself. "May the holy light enlighten us, mentor Noah. I hope I didn't disturb you two."

The old man smiled like he just saw the shine of his life walk in front of him, so happy and excited. "Not at all, Archpriest. And I am not your mentor anymore. We're colleagues."

Sylvester shook his head. "In a child's life, there are two teachers to whom he always remains a student. One is the mother who teaches the child to walk, and the other is his mentor who teaches him how to live. So, you are my forever mentor, Archbishop Noah."

The old man nodded in contentment. "Of course, if not the sweet tongue bard, then who would dare say such fine words? Come, Archpriest, have a seat beside me. My old friend here is showing me his new tea."

Sylvester bowed to Grandpa Monk and sat down. "I hope it has no nectar in it."

Cough!

Grandpa Monk coughed and eyed Sylvester as if telling him not to talk about the homemade non-alcoholic booze.

'Haha, so even he's scared of offending the ultra-religious Archbishop Noah.' Sylvester internally chuckled.

"What brought you here, Archpriest?" Archbishop Noah asked.

"I came here to meditate and see if I get an update on my visions or not. At the same time, I hoped to check up on Grandpa Monk."

"Did you?" Grandpa Monk asked. "Get an update on the visions?"

"Sadly, no." Sylvester dejectedly denied. "I don't know why, but I tried for three hours and could see nothing. It's as if I've been disconnected. I don't understand. Has the vision come true? Or did something change?"

The two old men looked at each other as if talking with eyes. Then, Archbishop Noah spoke. "Archpriest, it's impossible to say anything about this subject, for there exists no master in this field. Visions are like the fruits from Solis. Only a few are lucky enough to have them.

"When they appear, and when they don't, there exists no fixed pattern. It could mean anything. It could mean that your visions have shown you everything that they want. It could mean that the visions have changed and have become invalid. Or, it could mean your visions have already passed without you noticing it."

Sylvester was reminded of a past vision where the girl directly spoke to him. "No, I don't think the vision has passed. But, Archbishop, could it be that this other person who appears in my vision has gone beyond the range of how far this Soul Tree can see?"

"Hmm… That's an amazing theory." Grandpa Monk muttered. "It's a known fact that the world is full of spots where sometimes an abundance of Solarium exists, and in some cases a great deficiency."

Sylvester silently wondered what it could be if even these seniors could not answer his questions. But he wasn't disheartened as he was warned enough times not to fall into the bottomless pit of divination and visions.

All he could do now was to keep the face of the girl in the vision etched into his mind so that when she finally appears in front of him, he could recognise her.

"I should take my leave then. I'm sure mum is waiting at home. I will return again later, Grandpa Monk." Sylvester got up. "I also need to see Sir Dolorem in the sick bay."

"I won't be here for the coming months, son." Grandpa Monk blurted. "I'm afraid, seeing so much turmoil and mess around, I have to come out of my retirement and work a little more. I shall head south tomorrow to stop the mad war the Grand Duke of the Patch has waged. They say they need someone senior, and I'm the most eligible one left."

'This could very well be the last time we meet then.'

Sylvester walked forward and extended his hand. "I shall pray for your calm and fruitful travels, Fifth Guardian."

"Come here, you." the old man instead hugged Sylvester. "This may be the last time we see one another. If that is the case—then take my blessings. May you help the faith shine brighter in the time of darkness—and in times of warmth, may your light lead to calmness."

"Amen." Archbishop Noah muttered.

Sylvester patted Grandpa Monk's back and whispered. "I will pray you return safely and cook up a few more recipes of that nectar."

"Bahahaha… good lad." Grandpa Monk laughed and released him from the hug. "Take this for Sir Dolorem. I heard what happened to him."

It was a bag of tea, so Sylvester happily took it and left the little hut. Outside, he found Miraj stuck under the butt of Yogi, as the bear ate the banana slowly.

"How did this happen?" he asked.

Miraj angrily meowed. "Mwaaa… I got too greedy and didn't see his fat butt!"

"Chonky, my friend, you deserved it."

"I know… help?"

Sylvester slapped Yogi's back lightly to make him move a little and release Miraj from the thick prison.

"Wrraaaa…"

Bam!

Sylvester caught Miraj by his nape before he could shoot off at Yogi and scratch the poor bear's face. "We're going to Sir Dolorem, so behave."

"Okie."

…

"I know he's the true God's Favoured" Inside the hut, after Sylvester was gone, the Archbishop spoke confidently.

Grandpa Monk nodded while cleaning a few glasses. "Everyone knows, my friend. Nobody possesses the magical abilities that he does. That Felix kid is too easygoing for his own good. Those Louis and Griffin kids are good as Inquisitors, very strong, and on a path to might. Finally, Augustus has a knack for exorcism of a higher level. But, no one can shine as bright as Sylvester, nor are they as wise as him."

"Then why keep mockery of the test going?" Archbishop asked.

Grandpa Monk answered him. "To drive them all towards greatness. I remember when the current Pope, Axel, was young. He didn't win to be chosen as a final God's Favoured; instead, he befriended all other competitors and proved to them that he was the best, so the rest dropped out on their own.

"As of now, this is not a competition of might anymore. It's a competition of self-discovery. They must question if they are truly worthy—after all, the path to the lord starts from within first."

"Does everyone agree that he's the one?" Bishop asked.

At that, the old monk sighed. "I wish that were the case, but I'm afraid we're seeing something similar happening to what occurred during the era of turmoil. Factions—ugly vicious factions are rising, and they aim for the long game—and I'm afraid I won't be alive to help when they show their real face."

Archbishop disappointedly sighed. "Indeed, it's a vicious cycle. After every era of prosperity, there comes an era of stagnation. The demons are rising outside and within—I hope the right minds can realise it and stop its final rise before it begins."

"Amen to that, my friend."

…

Sylvester arrived at the sick bay and was allowed to enter. But, before that, the guards informed him that he was summoned to the Inquisitor camp.

He knew why, so he went to say a small goodbye to his favourite wizard-knight.

"Sir Dolorem! Why are you trying to walk around?" Sylvester rushed in to help the bald man. "You will open your wounds again."

"No, I must learn this echolocation quickly. I'm afraid I'll lose all my skills if I remain in bed for too long. My muscles shall forget how to swing the sword." Sir Dolorem frustratingly tried to push Sylvester away.

"It's not something you can learn in a day, Sir Dolorem." Sylvester tried to reason.

"But I must!"

'So much desperation. I must force him to relax, or he'll never heal.'

Sylvester stood in front of Sir Dolorem, and then slowly pushed him back, leading him to the bed.

"Do not hinder my training, Archpriest Sylvester!"

Sylvester roared even louder. "Sit back down, you old manchild! I do not wish to see you bleed any further. Do you wish to have me blame myself more and mentally suffer?"

Sir Dolorem stopped struggling, facing Sylvester. His eyes were open and blinking, but they saw nothing. So, Sir Dolorem slowly patted his hands on Sylvester's arms and eventually brought them up to his face, feeling his skin with his palm. "It was not your fault."

"I am your commanding officer. You are an aide to me. I sent you to Green City, so the blame lies within me. No need to deny that, Sir Dolorem." Sylvester spoke. "But I shall not wail in the corner. Instead, I am looking for a cure. And I shall have it in a few months, of this I'm sure."

"Don't make yourself go through this anguish, Sylvester. You have enough on your plate. Forget my eyes. It's too late."

Sylvester gave the man a brotherly hug and whispered to him. "Never. Or else, how will you see me on the golden holy throne? I advise you not to forget your own vows, Sir Dolorem."

He released the man and helped him sit back on the bed. "I have been called by Inquisitor High Lord. We are likely to head to solve the murder mystery. And whoever did this to you, I will bring you his eyes. So, keep yourself safe until then."

Sir Dolorem nodded intensely. "I-I will… Lord Bard… I have not forgotten my vows."

Sylvester put an apple in the man's hand. "And you never will. Together, we are fated to cross each, and every hurdle—for the service to the bard is eternal, as much as the lord's warmth that is so kernel!"

"Amen!" Sir Dolorem muttered, tears of calm finally sliding down, for he felt at peace after so long. Being on the run for life for so many days was not easy on his mind.

But Sylvester was gone by then, for every man deserves to have a place of his own when the 'sweat' from eyes falls down.

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