I Became The Pope, Now What?-Novel



As the fate of the realm remained uncertain, the heavens seemed to drench the lands as a reminder of the suddenness of nature. Uncommon to the barren lands, the rain began and never ceased.

"I've never seen this much rain here in my life before," Felix muttered as he brought Sylvester to the Count's castle. "And father has gone to meet some traders at this hour. That fool, an Archbishop from the Holy Land, has come, and he dares not show respect. Max, you should just slay him for his insolence."

"..." 

"He's your father, Felix." 

"So what? I do not want to be called a kinslayer, so I would prefer you kill that worthless waste."  Felix never restrained his tongue.

Knock! Knock!

The door opened, and a knight entered. "Your Grace, a few people have come to the castle to see you and ask for your blessing. They say the Holy Land is too distant for them to afford a pilgrimage, so they wish to be blessed by you."

Sylvester sighed, his shoulders sagging. "Can you arrange a small hall for them to gather so I can hold a brief sermon?"

"Of course!" The Knight cheered up and left excitedly. 

Sylvester looked back at his friend. "Felix, do as I instructed you. Do not care about money; hire as many soldiers, spies, and civilians as possible. Look for any information related to the girl."

Felix, thankfully, did not lack the ability to be serious when required. "I will get it done. You go and bless the people. The County may seem to be flourishing, but they are also suffering under a tyrant's rule. Do not forget why you do not see any beggars or elderly people in the city."

Sylvester recalled the details that Felix had told him in the past, how the Count fed all the disabled and elderly to the lions that he kept as pets. It was inhumane and unnecessary as it went against the church's teaching of compassion towards another man of faith.

"I will not forget it, Felix." 

With that, Sylvester made his way to a spacious hall on the ground floor. It was a modest yet elegant room with a large wooden throne at the center, flanked by two armored knights who stood watch to protect Sylvester from overzealous devotees.

eaglesnovɐ1,сoМ "Woah! Lord Bard!" 

"His Grace is here!" 

"I'm blessed!" 

As soon as Sylvester stepped into the hall and walked towards his seat, the crowd of men and women rose to their feet to catch a glimpse of him. They gasped and prayed fervently, for it was not every day that a holy man of Sylvester's stature visited their border location.

Sylvester dressed in his finest attire and demeanor, ensuring maximum charisma to influence the commoners' minds for generations to come. The magnificent mitre on his head and the shining, immaculate robes embroidered with fine, faint silver linings were a sight to behold. At the same time, he kept his spear at his side, sending a message that he also possessed the martial prowess to enforce justice.

"Please be at ease, my fellow brothers and sisters of the faith!" Sylvester raised his right hand and waved at them, casting warm light magic to set the mood.

Nearly a hundred people were present; some were drenched in water due to the nonstop rain outside. Nevertheless, even more slowly made their way into the spacious hall.

'I will take this opportunity as practice for when I become Pope. Doesn't the Pope hold this type of gathering every Season of Solis?' Sylvester reminded himself and prepared to act. 

Sylvester began by singing one of his old hymns and exhibiting his enlightened form with a halo. Once he sensed only devotion from them, in the form of the scent of tulips, he gestured for them to come forward one by one.

A young man of about twenty, with a well-built body and an average face, stepped forward. "Your Grace, please grant me a wife!"

"..." 

Heads turned to look at the man, for his request was truly ridiculous. Even the people felt embarrassed as they did not want to tarnish their County's reputation.

"Moris! Come back here! What in the name of Solis are you asking for?" A man from the crowd shouted.

Sylvester smiled, for that was all he could do. However, he did raise his palm to cast light on the poor man. "May you be blessed with a lovely and kind wife."

"Thank you, Your Grace!" The man bowed his head and left excitedly, running out of the room.

Then Sylvester's gaze swept across the room, and a tacit understanding seemed to form among the people. A sense of shame was evident in the crowd.

"Ah, I think I forgot something." 

"Me too." 

Slowly, a few men rose and exited the hall, offering a few excuses. It bewildered Sylvester, so he signaled the Knight beside him and inquired about the situation.

"Your Grace, they likely came to ask for a wife as well. You see, Sandwall County only has six hundred women for every thousand men. So the competition is tough when it comes to wooing a fine lady."

'So the sex ratio is problematic. Ah, and it's probably hard to bring wives from other locations in the Gracia since most women would gladly decline to leave their comfortable lives only to live in the wretched Sandwall County under constant fear of cannibals. Rather, I believe women from here would gladly marry outside.' Sylvester accurately hypothesized from limited knowledge. 

"Next, please." He called. 

This time a man arrived, middle-aged but with a hunched back. "Your Grace, please cure my hunched back. I was a soldier and injured my lower back. Since then, I've never been able to stand straight."

Sylvester didn't speak and gestured for him to come closer. Then, he placed his palm on the man's forehead to sense the body with Solarium infusion.

"You are in luck, my friend. I can heal it, but it will be painful." Sylvester warned the man.

"Anything is better than this."

"Sir Denis," Sylvester called the Knight. "Press the back of this brother in faith until he's straight. Don't stop until he's cured."

"Understood!" 

Bam!

"Aaaaaa…!" 

As expected, the man screamed but didn't fight back. Soon, sounds of something breaking could be heard, and the back turned straight.

Sylvester stood up. "Hold him like this."

Sylvester employed his palm to use healing magic. He was no expert, but simple injuries were easy to heal since they weren't deep flesh wounds but simple muscle issues.

In fifteen minutes, Sylvester was finished and allowed the man to stand.

"Oh! I can stand straight? I can… MIRACLE!" The former soldier prostrated himself near Sylvester's feet, thanking him.

Just like that, Sylvester's legend began to form in the far north. The murmurs of the people were the proof, and the subsequent miracles that Sylvester performed were the nail in the coffin to establish the legend.

He remained in the hall, listening to everyone's problems. Some required mental aid, and some physical. He assisted everyone as long as they didn't ask him for money. He had a lot of money, but he knew helping one was like opening a dam of a thousand more money seekers.

Like that, he spent almost all of his day, and only when the castle's gates closed in the evening did the long gathering end. Sylvester didn't mind, though, as it was all for his future.

"Your Grace, the Count has returned and is ready to meet you." The Knight escorting Sylvester informed him.

A Count defining the terms of our meeting despite being of a lower rank than me? Is he trying to act arrogantly?' Sylvester wondered, as his past experience had taught him that even kings showed him deep respect.

"He is in the solar," the Knight guided him to the Count's tower and then to the room.

Sylvester entered and heard the door closing behind him, followed by the sound of locks being placed. 'I don't have a good feeling about this,' 

"Your Grace." The Count finally spoke, appearing from behind a bookshelf. 

It was the first time Sylvester had seen him. Just like Felix, Count Edward Sandwall had black hair and black eyes, with a muscular build taller than Sylvester. He had a commanding presence and spoke in a heavy voice with a strange accent that was a mix of Masan and Gracia.

"My Lord, it's a pleasure to finally meet the renowned Count of Sandwall," Sylvester accepted the greeting.

The Count laughed, showing no trace of hostility. "Please don't belittle me by calling me renowned, Your Grace. In front of you, I am just an ant before an elephant."

'Is that a threat? Ants can scare elephants, after all,' Sylvester tried to read every micro expression of the man while familiarizing himself with the scents. 'He certainly isn't a waste of a man as Felix suggests. I sense a lot of cunning behind that face.'

"I'm just doing my duty, my lord. I believe you have heard of the Divine Dragons and their warnings by now." 

'Say something. Give me more data to analyze.' 

The Count nodded. "That is why I went to meet with the traders today to secure supplies for the tough times ahead."

'Scent of lie is clear, but why?' 

Sylvester moved closer to the man, walking by his side and taking a seat. 'I detected the scent of lavender, but it was not in the air. Is it genuine lavender perfume? It seems to be unevenly applied.'

"What did the traders say? Perhaps I can help if you can't secure enough." he offered. 

The Count strode towards his seat, passing by Sylvester, giving him the opportunity to notice something on the Count's tunic sleeves.

'Is that…lipstick? Is he involved in an illicit affair? Or perhaps a whorehouse?'

Sylvester looked at the man's face and couldn't help but feel uneasy. He didn't expect such a proud man to have that sort of behavior. 

'Perhaps Felix was correct. He is a waste of a man.'

"No, Your Grace. I have secured ample provisions to last three years. Now, tell me how I can assist you. I'm confident that the Holy Land sent you for a reason," the Count inquired.

'No lies now? Did he meet the traders as well?' 

"Yes, I heard that the once-in-a-century Cannibal festival is approaching, and they will launch an attack with a vast horde. The Holy Land has dispatched me to ensure that Sandwall's defenses remain strong to prevent Masan's ambitions in case they take action."

"Don't fret over those pitiable cannibals, Your Grace," the Count replied, dismissive of Sylvester. "We have defeated them before and will again. Sandwall has endured for a thousand years and will continue to do so for thousands more. In fact, I extend an invitation to you to join the training sessions that I am supervising to prepare my soldiers. It will be an excellent competition to collect cannibal scalps. The grand prize is a thousand Gold Graces!"

'Confident, domineering, with a hint of secrecy and cunning. This will not be an easy man to handle.'

"I will happily accept, my lord. Now, if I may be excused to rest," Sylvester said, standing up to leave.

Bam!

"Wait a moment!" Count Sandwall suddenly slammed his table with his fist. "Your Grace, aren't you forgetting something?"

"..." 

'Forgetting? I didn't even know his full name before arriving here.'

"That is?" 

The Count rose from his seat and stopped a foot away from Sylvester's face.

"You have inflicted immense harm upon my County, Your Grace. I demand compensation!"

"..." 

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