I Became The Pope, Now What?-Novel

In the distant land of the 'so-called' heathens. In the southeastern part was a giant, walled kingdom called Alfia. It housed High Ragnum, the seat of power of the Elves, the contender to be named the strongest species in Beastaria, and Dragons of the northwest.

For the most part, life in Alfia was blissful, with a preference for nature being the priority for all the species that live under the protection of the Elves, such as Dryads, Fairies and Centaurs.

It was like any other day for most. But, in a room inside the Royal Palace, the Elven King remained unconscious while his face sweated, and his closed eyes appeared full of activity.

His fingers also moved, and his legs seemed to kick every now and then lightly. His pale-white face and short pointy ears all seemed to glow red, as if he was suffocating. But if someone were close, they'd have noticed even the heart had stopped beating.

The situation remained the same for seconds and then minutes. For fifteen minutes, the Elven King, Rathagun Xeek Eldaron, remained virtually dead.

Woosh!

"Gah!… Yes!"

Suddenly, his deep grey eyes opened wide as he panted loudly and fast. Tears slid down from the corner of his eyes. The tears were filled with the pain of more than a decade. Of the long secret searches that went unfulfilled again and again.

He then quickly stood up, tied his long black hair behind, and dragged his body to the table beside the bed to write what he saw in that dream-like vision, afraid he might forget it.

"H… Holy Land…! X-Xavia… Sylvester!" He wrote it down weakly.

"Ha…!" Then he took a long breath to calm himself and ensure his heart was beating again.

Still, he couldn't help but cry even more as the sunlight from the windows felt a little more pleasantly warm today. And that feeling strengthened his resolve as he clenched his fist tight.

"H-He… My son… Is so… Blessed!"

…

"Heathen!"

Sylvester turned towards the voice, another Cardinal accusing him of something in the second hour of the meeting. It didn't feel like a meeting anymore, however—It felt like a trial—one-sided. The only difference being he was sitting by the same giant table as others.

"Archpriest Sylvester, what you did can tarnish your name and brand you as a heathen! Complete insubordination, gross misuse of power and constant overstepping of authority! What are you? A Cardinal? A Saint?"

"But, your eminence, I had to act, or it would have been too late. In the end, I was able to help build a friendship with Duke Conrad, and because of that, now he has made me the Faith Advisor of his court after the untimely sad demise of King Riveria."  Sylvester spoke in his defence.

But he didn't slip the fact that he killed the king. He doubted that these Cardinals knew about it. They likely knew the church was behind it, but when and how was impossible to know.

The Cardinal sneered. "What do you have to say about the death of Duke Daemon? Couldn't you have handled it differently? Or allowed a more experienced, high-ranked Clergyman to handle it? Now we have lost a great military commander—Now Gracia's coast remains weak."

Sylvester didn't take the accusations silently, however. But he could already smell that what was happening had nothing to do with his actions and everything to do with the factions that divided the council of thirty-two men. Their jealousy against him was not hidden from his senses.

"I did send words to the administration. But I had to act before the situation got out of hand. Before he could lay siege to the Green City, Gracia's capital. I even defeated the Duke Daemon's army while being abysmally outnumbered, with extreme casualties on their side."

Another Cardinal pointed the finger then. "You made contact with Duke Conrad without our permission and plotted everything? For how long were you planning this? Are you the Lord's Bard or a fiend conquerer in disguise? You overstepped your authority by multiple levels. Only the Holy Father could decide something like that."

Sylvester sighed, knowing that factions had been formed and these men were divided among themselves too. Some of them sang his praises, and some of them only wished to tear him apart.

'Ah… Politics.' Sylvester sighed inside. He noted down everyone's emotions. Many were admiring him, some were worshipping, but the jealousy was thriving above all. However, there was one emotion that alarmed him the most.

'Why does the Holy Father reek of sadness? What happened to him? Shouldn't he be speaking right now?' He wondered in silence and let the Cardinals do their barking.

"Speak, Archpriest. Your silence will not clear your name. We have heard a lot of troubling words from Saint Seer's report as well. More than half of the treasury in Duke Daemon's castle is missing, and you were the first one to arrive there." Another Cardinal questioned Sylvester, this time making everyone straighten their backs.

Sylvester glanced at Saint Seer sitting there, too, as he was a member of the Sanctum Council. 'That smugness. I so much wish to break all his teeth.'

Sylvester made himself appear shocked and disappointed. "And where do you think I kept all that wealth? Are you saying I ate it? Please, your eminence, don't accuse me of something you don't have proof of. I was inside that castle to battle a Witch and was busy doing so. If anything, Saint Seer should know better as he came to take over the command from me."

"When I arrived, the gates were already open. And the Duke confessed that you took the keys to that chamber." Saint Seer spoke from his seat.

Sylvester took out the key he kept around his neck like a locket. "I was going to submit it to Saint Wazir while giving the detailed work report. I took the key because I didn't wish for the Duke to try something and swindle his wealth away. But clearly, it happened anyway."

"What about the extra 'donation' you took from nobles in return for the hostages?" Another Cardinal questioned.

Sylvester promptly replied. "I spent hundreds of thousands in the war, helping Ender Village and much more. It all came out of my pocket."

"And where did that money come from? From what I remember, an Archpriest's salary is merely thirty-five graces." They questioned him.

Of course, Sylvester had an answer for it as well. "I earned that money from my entrepreneurship venture, your eminence. It's quite lucrative and humane."

Not everyone knew it, but some did about his business and deal with the Bright Mothers. Unsurprisingly, those who wanted to find wrong in him spoke negatively about this too, as a Cardinal sneered and pointed his finger in a fake fit of rage. "I remember now! You are making those things called… Bras? Such a perverted hobby you partake in, Archpriest. The Lord is watching!"

'Can't have them walk all over me, or they'd think I'm a pushover. They're already against me anyway… And I still have the support of two Grand Wizards.'

Sylvester read the nameplate and addressed the man by his name. "Cardinal Merryworth, I am disgusted that you'd say that. Do you have any idea what those women face in their day-to-day life? They are my mothers, I saw them since I was a baby, and you accuse me of such vile thought.

"I designed those clothes for their well-being, for the betterment of their life. So they won't have breast ailments and may be able to move around quicker. I care for them, and that's why I made such a thing. And if you consider that sin, then perhaps you should look within."

Sylvester didn't stop, however, and looked at the faces of each member. It was time to carefully craft his words and show his dissatisfaction while also reminding them that he was not to be dealt with politically. Instead, he should be supported and promoted.

"Is this why I was called here? To be slandered? To be shamed and accused of such?" He asked them.

"Archpriest, please. We don't mean any disr…" Saint Wazir tried to speak.

But Sylvester cut him off. "A month! That's how old I was when Solis spoke to me for the first time. I was five when I cured the plague in Pitfall town. At nine, I stood against a bloodling, and at seventeen, I killed a bloodling! Then another bloodling! Then a Soul Eater, which once killed a Pope and many Guardians in the past. I saved Bright Mothers. I saved millions in this war. I invented a life-saving treatment. I brought light to the bloody conspiracy by Masan Empire—I gave my everything to the Holy Land! And you doubt me?"

Sylvester then abruptly sang a few words of a hymn, making a halo appear behind his head.

♫Fear not the man whose eyes are blind.

But the one who is sightless in mind.

To them, even if the Lord speaks directly.

They will shout, scoff and ignore it ineptly.♫

He spoke normally again. "What I do, what I invent, and what I plan—I do that by the grace and words of the Lord. And to deny the knowledge that he imparts to me is akin to denying the words of Solis himself—Which, I consider—Heathenistic!"

Sylvester remained silent for a few seconds and savoured the flashing scents of fear, shame and worship from the Cardinals. After all, no matter what, it was a fact that Sylvester was the Bard of the Lord and incredibly blessed. So, no matter how scheming and evil they were, the fear that god was watching them certainly created some doubt and panic in their hearts.

"I ask of nothing more than what I deserve, respected senior clergymen. I merely hope to be promoted so I can use my authority, name, fame, blood, sweat, tears, hymns and halo—For the best of mankind. That's all." He purposefully made himself sound tired and sad at the end and let his shoulders plummet.

Absolute silence echoed throughout the giant empty hall with only the seats and the stone table in the middle. It was eerie for many who saw the future of faith in Sylvester.

Cough!

Saint Wazir started from his seat beside the Pope. "That was… I'm sure we all know here your immense contribution towards the church. So, let's continue with the vote. Fellow Cardinals, please write your verdict on the parchment in front of you."

Sadly, however, some Cardinals were very vocal while writing their vote.

"Rejected!"

"Unexperienced!"

"Too young!"

Soon, Saint Wazir had all the parchments magically transferred to him. "As this voting mechanism was placed to ensure the powers of the Sanctum Council were kept in check, I will respectfully read the tally.

"Out of thirty-two, twenty are against promoting Archpriest Sylvester to higher clergy. Two have abstained, and the rest are in favour. Holy Father, do you wish to veto?"

Sylvester glanced at the Pope, who had remained quiet the whole time, not even looking at him for some reason. But even now, the man merely shook his head and remained the same.

Saint Wazir looked at Sylvester with saddened eyes. "Archpriest Sylvester, your petition for a promotion has been rejected, and I must respect the council's decision, no matter appalling it may be to me."

Sylvester sighed. 'As I expected from the start—Bloody politics. But what happened to the Pope? Why is he being a mindless mute today?'

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[A/N: Yo! Elven daddy is in the house! Also, while writing this and the next chap, I got the same vibe as when Anakin was denied the rank of Master.]

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