I Became The Pope, Now What?

Sylvester was amazed and also pitied the people who had surrounded the city to create a camp around it. It was amazing that these thieves knew they could not climb the wall or break and enter the town. So they just decided to commit suicide in front of the town.

Soon, all the town's decision-makers were standing on the boundary wall and looking at the camp of refugees in confusion. The thing was, they had no reason to go out. They had made sure to make the town self-sufficient, and it wasn't as if the trade was happening on the route anyway.

"Let them rot." Sir Holand, the new chief, said.

Sir Dolorem refuted him, however. "As they said, they will indeed die if they stay here. If not from hunger and nightly cold, then by the creatures of the night or some wild desert animals. Then, their corpses will rot and spread disease."

"This is extortion!" Sir Holand bellowed.

Sylvester agreed with that statement, however. This was indeed extortion at the price of one's own life. But it also meant these people were desperate. "Sir Holand, can you not spare anything for them? Not even a soup to fill their bellies? I can send a letter to the Cardinal Supreima of this land, and due to my rank and profession, he can not ignore the request. Until then, you will have to care for them."

"Well, we can certainly get some thinned soup for them, but no bread! We don't know how the future is going to be, and we can not waste our storage. Even the traders don't come here, so we can't buy more either." Sir Holand agreed swiftly.

Sylvester nodded and looked towards the campsite. Then, he made a light blink on his palm and sent the signal. A man trotted close to the wall on a horse soon.

Sylvester first took a test. "I am Sylvester Maximilian, representative of the Holy Land. State your name, where you're from, and why you're here."

"I am Van Sigurd, my lord—I was a sheep farmer back in the South. I am the leader of this group... We're just hungry." The man spoke with reverence in his voice.

Sylvester did feel a hint of worship towards the faith and honesty from him. But he was not stupid enough to open the gates of the town.

"Sigurd, I shall contact Cardinal Suprima to send relief to all of you. In the meantime, the chief of this town has agreed to provide you with large containers full of soup. In the meantime, I shall award you 10 Gold Graces that you must use to buy flour to bake bread. Also, you must allow a messenger to be sent out of town towards the Governor's Keep." Sylvester commanded the men from a position of authority.

The people were refugees and had no rights in the foreign land. The only thing protecting them was their belief in Solis, so he was their best bet for a better life.

"Thank you, my lord! The people here will be forever grateful to you. One little thing… Can you look south from your walls at the Desert road? A large group of refugees was supposed to arrive here yesterday, but they still have not." Sigurd asked respectfully.

Hearing this, Sylvester looked at his partners as they knew what must have happened. 'They're probably dead if they entered the mist."

He didn't lie, though, as he felt telling them the truth would scare them to be careful or move further back. "Sigurd, I'm afraid they are not going to come. In the mountains south beside the road, a mighty Dark Creature has taken abode. It kills anything that comes its way… so the refugees are either dead, or they have returned."

'Great, contorted eyes and a pale face… fear more, young man.'

"T-Thank you… My Lord. I shall keep an eye out for when you send the soup." The man gloomily turned around to leave.

"Take this." Sylvester threw a small pouch of money, however. Enough to buy them a lot of flour.

Once that was done, Sylvester looked at his team and then abruptly announced a decision. "Felix, you will stay in the town just in case they decide to take advantage of our kindness and attack the town."

"What?! No! I will go with you all to fight that Bloodling." Felix refuted instantly and could do so since he was of the same rank as Sylvester.

Sylvester had made up his mind, however. "Felix, you are a strength build; your talents are in close-range fighting, not magic. While Sir Dolorem is more experienced in battle than us, Gab has light magic, and Bishop Lazark will create an army of undead as our shields. You can better help here at the moment, and if this mess had not arrived, I would have taken you along. This was the plan originally."

Frustrated—But Felix couldn't help but agree. He'd be useless in the mountains as he can't really fight from a distance that well. His body was his weapon, and that was pointless in front of a creature that wanted to eat him.

He sighed and looked at the camp of refugees annoyedly. "Fine, but you better bring me a souvenir. I'm gonna rub it in my old mentor's face back home later."

"Hah, I will. Alright then, let's prepare. Sir Holand, you know what to do. Do not open the gates under any condition when I'm not here. We will leave from the back walls by lowering down directly." Sylvester ordered the man, a power he had earned after slowly helping the townspeople and earning their trust.

…

Two more days passed, and the tally of the dead did not increase, but there were two more demons possessed that Sylvester had to exorcize and 500 more people who fell to Schizophrenia. It was madness, but Sylvester could only wait until his preparations were complete.

However, despite his best efforts, he could not learn to use that powerful beam ability no matter how hard he tried, how loud he sang or what position he took. The best he could do was create some stronger light which would definitely help but not kill the thing. Eventually, he had to make a decision to head out, or else everyone would die.

"Please beat that evil, Lord Bard!"

"I will pray for you!"

"Lord Healer! Take these with you—I made them this morning."

Several townspeople stood at the back walls to see Sylvester, Gabriel, Sir Dolorem, and Bishop Lazark off. There was Lady Merisa, the healer who had concocted some health potions for them that could help stop bleeding.

Sylvester took it. "Thank you, Lady Merisa."

"Priest! Wait!"

Just then, Shane came running, panting as he ran all the way from one end of the town to another. He appeared excited as well and, without waiting, started singing a hymn in a childish nervous voice.

♫O' mortal, basking in my warmth.

The time has come to make an oath.

I shall test your loyalty thenceforth.♫

♫Make the vow here; never will your faith waiver.

I am him, I am you, I am everywhere.

I am earth; I am the sky, I am air…♫

Sylvester proudly nodded. "Ah, I remembered this one. I was too young back then."

Shane grinned. "I memorized all of them. When you return, I will sing all of them to you—and I have also taken permission from mum. I have packed my bags to go with you too."

Sylvester ruffled his hair, feeling somewhat proud of the kid. "You're one smart fella, Shane. Well, if you sing them to me when I return, then I will take you to the Holy Land and also train you myself."

"Really?"

Sylvester had no words to add for this overly enthusiastic kid. Time and time again, he had shown that his worship towards Sylvester was more than fanatics have for Solis. In a way, Sylvester felt he had found the best addition to his little cult now. A boy who would one day become an Arch Wizard.

"Yes. I made a promise to you, didn't I? Now go and spend some time with your mother because she is going to miss you when you are gone." Sylvester advised him.

That, in an instant, turned Shane sad. But soon, he felt Sylvester patting his shoulder. "It's okay, Shane. To love one's family and cry for them is not a sign of weakness… instead, it's a sign of strength for it shows you will do everything to keep them safe—and by that, the world safe."

"Yes! Thank you, Lord Bard." Shane suddenly jumped in to hug Sylvester. The poor boy could only reach his stomach.

'Sweet taste of happiness, the aroma of boiling caramel of excitement and tulips of worship… what a good mix to show one's devotion to another—I hope this feeling lasts forever.'

Sylvester decided to give him something to cheer him up. So he handed the boy a knife, one that he had won years ago from Sir Baldfreak after beating Romel. "I received this when I was little. Perhaps you can do better with it. Take care of yourself and the monastery for me, Shane… and also that bloke."

Felix barked with folded arms. "I don't need a babysitter… I am the babysitter."

"Hehe, thank you." Shane giggled and moved back, eyes shining. But one last time, just before Sylvester and the rest were being dropped down on the other side of the wall, the boy shouted.

"Good luck! Beat that monster's as… I mean—hurt it very badly!"

"Ahaha…" Felix came forward and patted Shane's head. "Kid, I think we're both going to get along just fine."

Sylvester saw it with worry as Felix took the boy along. 'I hope he doesn't teach him anything wrong.'

…

They were dropped on the other side because they didn't want to reveal to the camp of refugees that the town's most powerful people were gone. So, instead, they headed towards the mountains in the South from the south wall.

The dried, barren, and sandy mountains were not too tall and were close. As the four moved closer to it, they smelled a few things in the air already.

"I suggest we wear the masks I made." Bishop Lazark advised.

Sylvester nodded and put it on. The thing was made strangely but was similar to the plague doctor from old times. It had enough space to breathe, and with the oval glasses near the eyes, it was also easy to see—but not below, as the long nose got in the way.

"Keep an eye on your foot as well. If we see any of those snake-like creatures, try to kill them with light magic. If we succeed, we move forward, or else we retreat."

The group slowly made their way into the valleys of the mountains and reached a denser region of toxic purple mist. It was getting harder and harder to see anywhere, but they all used air magic to at least see the ground.

Sylvester had already recognized the gas mixed in the mist, however. 'Pungent—Sulphur Dioxide? It affects the respiratory system, particularly lung function, and can irritate the eyes. It's no wonder people died here.'

However, he soon remembered something from his past, a gas that caused so much trauma and PTSD that many veterans went mad. 'Is this in any way similar to Sulfur mustard—Mustard Gas?"

"Everyone! No matter what—Do not take off the mast!" He quickly ordered everyone. However, just then, he remembered Miraj and worriedly looked over his shoulder.

[A/N: See his current location in para comment.]

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