I Became The Pope, Now What?-Novel

Chapter 704 703. The Old Sylvester

"Good?!" Gabriel exclaimed. "Why are you celebrating the fall of Gracia and Highland? So many soldiers have lost their lives at the same time."

"They all pray to the same God," Sylvester countered. "Aren't you being biased, Gabriel? I was against Masan because they were heretics who undermined the authority of the Church and even murdered the Cardinal of the West. But Leyon has adhered to the faith, and I have received word from our Seer that he regularly prays and chants in the glory of the light."

Gabriel glanced at Saint Seer, to which the man nodded. 

"His Holiness speaks the truth, Saint Wazir. I have received enough information about his affiliations. He once served in the army of King Elmond and hated the war with Marcia. I believe he is waging this war to conquer everything and make it the last war to end all wars," Cardinal Lazark explained what he knew. 

"Will you be able to control the masses after this new empire is formed?" Gabriel asked. 

Sylvester shrugged. "I don't have to. We're not in the business of monarchy, Gab. We are preachers of Solis. Just praise the Lord and have faith in me. Nothing is out of my sight. No matter where they fight, in the end, their destinies are something that I write." 

Another game was being played by Sylvester; Gabriel realized that much. Not knowing what it was made it frustrating for him as he was the Saint Wazir, and it was his duty to handle the administration. Right now, he was drowning in questions from Clergymen who wanted to know why the three most powerful beings in the Sol were not stopping the mindless violence.

"What should I say when questions are raised?" Gabriel asked. 

Sylvester shrugged and pushed a copy of the Holy Constitution toward him. "The truth, of course. Simply tell them that we're not kings and nobles. That this time, the enemy prays as much as them. The Holy Land belongs to all people of faith, not just one part of the realm."

In the end, what the Pope decides becomes the official policy of the faith. So Gabriel simply saluted and left for his office. As for Saint Seer, he received a few more commands before leaving. 

Finally alone, Sylvester relaxed in his seat and closed his eyes to mentally speak with someone. He kept it all under his lips, not wanting anything to slip out and ruin things before they matured. 

But it only lasted a few seconds as he opened his eyes and looked towards the window. "Chonky, why are you sleeping? Have you finished the task I gave you?"

"Of course, it was easy peasy." 

"Let me see." Sylvester got up and walked over to the window-side table, placed there specifically for the furball to bask in the sun. 

He had given Miraj a geometric shape sorter puzzle cube, for him to develop his mind, and also see how smart Miraj actually was. Now, there rested the block in front of him. It was solved, but not the way he wanted. 

"What is this? Chonky, did you just randomly shove any shape into any hole and stick it in with sheer force?" Sylvester inspected the mangled mess of the cube. The circle was shoved into a square, the square was molded to fit in a triangle, and the triangle was nicely resting in a circle. The star was now somehow shaped like a banana, and a hexagon was now a pentagon. "And why is the real Pentagon missing?"

"Oh, I ate that," Miraj proudly declared. "It was easy peasy, Maxy. Didn't even take the time it takes me to eat fifteen… no thirteen bananas."

Sylvester rubbed his chin with a sense of helplessness. "I have no idea if you're dumb or just lazy. How much is five plus five?"

"Ten."

"How much is ninety-nine subtracted by thirteen?" 

"Eighty-six."

Sylvester was amazed. "How much is one million subtracted by nine hundred and seventy-eight."

"Umm… I don't know. I never ate that many bananas in one go." 

Sylvester silently pondered on what he said and realized why Miraj seemed so good at math just now. "Do you only remember the calculations till the maximum number of bananas you have eaten in one go? How much is that?"

"Nine thousand," Chonky answered lazily. 

"No wonder you've grown so fat." 

"Not fat, only fluffy. Even Big Mum calls me handsome." 

Sylvester chortled. "She can't see you, boy." 

It took a few seconds, but Miraj's little jaw fell in the end. "N-No! You mean she lied to me?" 

"Hah, that's just how mothers are. She calls me a handsome man too, but I know I look like a young boy without a beard—sometimes even misrecognized as… a woman." Sylvester felt pain in his little heart, remembering the incident. "Don't think too much. Let's go. It's time to hold the Holy Court. I'm sure there will be a lot more people coming to plead today. After all, war is a dirty business."

…

Sylvester went to the massive room where the Holy Throne was placed. He noticed a much bigger crowd today than most of the days before. A lot of nobles were also there, and many more commoners were in the spectator seats. All the seats reserved for Clergymen were also occupied by Cardinals, Archbishops, and Bishops. It felt like his Popehood ceremony all over again. 

However, he knew there would be a lot of chaos this time—controlled chaos.

"Are you ready for the madness?" Gabriel asked in a low voice while standing beside Sylvester's throne. "There are more than a hundred applicants today to plead with you."

Sylvester sighed, not feeling interested in seeing them one by one. "Group all those who are here to discuss the war into a nobles group and commoners group. Let the others come forward one by one." 

"I already did that." Gabriel looked towards the gates and gestured to the herald to make the announcement. 

Right away, the twin doors opened, and a crowd entered. This one was in fine, silken clothes of nobles, their robes fluttering, shoes made of the finest leather, and some even had various jewelry of gold, from rings to bracelets. 

'These must be my victims, not the war's victims.' Sylvester realized this before they even spoke. 

"What brings the esteemed nobles here?" Sylvester asked them from his throne. 

"Your Holiness!" Like a wave, they all took to their knees one after another and clasped their hands together. "I am Count Baltimov. Please help me catch the perpetrators of the grand thievery. That Leyon, that animal, has sent spies and thieves into our homes and stole all our wealth. Our treasuries now lay empty!" 

'Raz's General turned out to be much more efficient than I had expected.' Sylvester nodded in hidden admiration. 

"Why do you come to me for such a civil issue, nobles? Go to your monarch, the Holy Land cannot help you unless there's heresy to report," Sylvester proclaimed, sending the nobles down to their hands with his words. "You are all powerful men with your own soldiers. I'm sure you can find and recover your stolen goods." 

"But Your Holiness! We have no armies anymore, as all our men have gone to battle. Please, do something and save our families. Our entire generation's wealth was taken," Count Aslan of Ironstone Duchy pleaded.

"I am from Highland, Your Holiness. I used to be a noble, but now I'm a merchant. Even I was not spared. I know this is not heresy, but our losses will cause civil disturbance. Please, help us," the solemn-looking man with a magnificent white mustache begged. "I am the head of the Southern Trade Convoy. I will face too many losses." 

'Raz is going too far?' 

Sylvester sighed and nodded his head. "I will think about responding to this. Please return to your seats and let the court continue." 

The nobles couldn't defy the Pope, so they silently returned to their places. With that, the second batch entered. This one was of the commoners. Much different; They looked ordinary, wore simple clothes, and looked rugged. 

"Speak, my brothers and sisters in faith." Sylvester sounded far more inviting and calm with this group. 

"Your Holiness, I am Yom, from the land of Count Newman in the Duchy of Colorwood. Gracia has fallen to the Western invaders. We don't know what will happen now, and we hope to know how much tax we will have to pay as we have finished harvesting our lands and feel confused about how much produce we should sell and how much to hand over to the… Emperor," Yom informed him of his concerns. 

Sylvester looked at the other men and women. "Do you have the same problems? If it's something else, go ahead and speak." 

"What about the trade and prices, Your Holiness? How long will the war continue? We're unable to find an answer from Queen Isabella, so we came to you. Our sons have gone to the battlefield. Many of us have lost them already… Without all the hands, we can't sow the seeds in our lands as efficiently anymore." 

Sylvester didn't like hearing about that, but this was the cold, harsh truth about war. He couldn't be soft right now. "In the case of the tax, you will pay what you have been paying before. No matter the ruler, the tax limit is decided by the Church to ensure no cruelty takes place. And about the war… I'm afraid my hands are tied. It is not a holy war. It's a war of kings and queens, nobles and soldiers. Please return to your seats, I will try to speak with your monarchs and see what can be done." 

Once again, with sullen faces, the commoners left. But the third group unexpectedly rose from their seats. It was a mix of high-ranking Clergymen of the big three ranks: Cardinals, Archbishops, and Bishops. 

An old man with a hunched back led them. Of course, Sylvester knew them all by name, so he stepped down from his throne to help the old man. He wasn't a powerful wizard, after all. 

"Cardinal Henson, why did you come out of your resting house?" Sylvester held the man up warmly. 

"War, Your Holiness," the old man weakly spoke. "Please do something… We Clergymen are not bound by families, but the harsh reality is that we all have heard of losing someone already. A nephew, a father, or brother… I have come for them, Your Holiness."

Sylvester sternly stared at the man and stepped away from him. He looked around at the massive hall, meeting the eyes of nobles and commoners. They all had puppy eyes, pleading with him silently. 

"Do you not know who I am?" Sylvester roared without trying. "Do you not know the rules that I abide by? You come here, and I feel your pain, but if I proceed and act, do you know what will be the result of my campaign? My hands are tied, for I am no King, nor Emperor. I am merely a servant of God!" 

There was silence everywhere. Slowly, they all began to realize what Sylvester was trying to say.

"If I make this my own war, then I will have to fight not just Leyon of the West, but the Kingdoms of the East too, for this time there are no heathers—both sides belong to sons and daughters of the faith." Sylvester finally led them to the main point, "If I move, no longer will I be just the Pope—I will be much more, far more than what you might hope."

There were heavy breaths in the hall. 

"Do you want that?" Sylvester roared at last. "Do you want me to absolve the monarchy? Do you want me to turn this realm into a theocracy? Because if I move, that will become the reality."

There was still silence, as everyone had wide eyes of confusion, shock, and even excitement. 

"I thought so," Sylvester muttered, returning to his throne on the high platform, slowly climbing the steps. 

"Yes!" 

"What?" Sylvester looked back, and there was Cardinal Henson excitedly standing straight again as if the effects of his age had vanished. 

"Please, help us!" Someone from the nobles voiced. 

"Who better than you?" The commoners joined in. 

"We accept your rule!"

"The strong should lead the weak!"

Sylvester silently glanced around the rising echoes and sighed as if he didn't want it. Indeed, he didn't want this, but there was no other way. Constant wars, greed, and hatred were deep fractures in the society that he couldn't ignore anymore. For what was coming, the world needed to be united, and it needed a leader who was loved and accepted.

'The fish takes the bait.'

With that, a magnificent halo appeared behind his head, and he raised his hand towards all of them in a blessing. 

"So be it!"

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