Sylvester did not dare to lose consciousness in the middle of nowhere. He could not afford to allow anyone to access his blood.
"A-Amy… Can you please help me reach my room?" He asked the little girl beside him.
The young girl, fraught with worry and fear, bobbed her head with great effort as she assisted Sylvester to his feet, which he managed after several attempts. The sensation he felt was not pain but rather one of weakness, brought on by a peculiar poison that weakened his physical functions.
As the toxin persisted in his body, its effects would only continue to worsen. Thus, Sylvester hastened his way down the lengthy corridor of the monastery, determined to reach his room before he was forced to crawl on all fours.
Fortunately, the monastery was not a fortress, and Sylvester made it to his chamber just in time. Upon slamming the door open, he rushed to the washing sink with all the energy he could muster. "Close the door and bar it tight!" he implored.
Woosh!
Wasting no time, he seized a sharp knife and proceeded to make a deep incision on each wrist, causing a crimson stream to flow forth and into the water basin in the room. As the pool of blood gradually swelled, Sylvester's face grew increasingly ashen and wan, his life force inching away with each passing moment. Such a gruesome sight was not for the faint of heart, in that case, Amy.
"Chonky! Feed my solarium crystals and blood-replenishing potions." Sylvester ordered, much to the confusion of Amy, for she knew not who he spoke with.
In no time, out of thin air, strange crystals flew into Sylvester's mouth. Amy just saw everything unfold from a distance, shocked and in awe, as she simply thought it was Sylvester's amazing magic or something.
He felt no pain and let the blood spill out so new blood could replenish his body and reduce the toxicity in his body. The crystals and the potion vials ensured that his body didn't lack the necessary minerals required, nor would he face any lack of magic.
Throughout the process, he was mindful not to fall unconscious, as he didn't know what Amy would do after that. She may just call someone, and that would have resulted in a bigger problem. Furthermore, he felt he didn't even have the energy to speak to her.
All he had was his mind to himself, free to think about when and who poisoned him. 'I drank water in Saint Medico's room. Did he poison me? But I've been feeling tired and sleepy since before I arrived in Wailing City. Could it be that the poison was a slow burner and was introduced in my body days prior?'
He remembered what happened to Archbishop Nelson. 'Could it be that I was given the same poison, but because it's my body, it worked slowly? But then Sir Dolorem and Bishop Lazark should be equally afflicted, for the poison would have contaminated all within reach. What is that only I touche— Spine! That wench!'
The sudden epiphany struck him, and everything became clear in that instant. He knew there was something wrong as he was able to grab Spine's throat too easily back then. It all made sense now why, as it was her plan from the start.
"Mister priest, will you be fine?" Amy sat beside him nervously.
Sylvester cast his gaze upon her face and imparted a gentle smile, albeit lacking the vitality to utter a single word. Alas, he could only offer his reassuring look as solace to her in this moment of distress.
All he could do was wait until the toxins left his body. It was a slow process, and the entire night went by for it. He healed his wounds on the wrists after three hours of letting his blood out, and then he focused on replenishing the lost blood.
Somewhere along the way, fatigue overtook him, and he succumbed to the sweet embrace of slumber. By his side, little Amy lay in rest, clasping onto the hem of his robes with her fingers, fearful that he would suddenly disappear.
When the morning came, Miraj woke up first and walked on Sylvester to reach his face. "Maxy, wake up."
Bam!
He slapped softly with his paw. "Wake up, Maxy. It's morning already."
Sylvester slowly tried opening his eyes despite them feeling too heavy. "Oh… I can speak again… My head still feels light, but the effects of the poison are gone, it appears."
He sat up on the bed and proceeded to get rid of the blood that was still in the basin. However, when he looked, there was nothing in it. "Did it turn into Solarium this fast?"
"Maxy, I'm hungry. We haven't eaten anything since yesterday." Miraj complained and slumped on Sylvester's lap. "Even Amy didn't eat anything last night."
Sylvester sighed and combed his flowing locks of blonde hair, cascading like a waterfall down his back. With his fingers, he brushed them to the back of his head. A dangerous smile remained ever present as a look while he stood up. "Now I have all the more reasons to kill Spine and EX10. Let's go now."
…
Holy Land, Pope's Office.
In a modest room covered with red carpet, the Pope sat behind an ornate wooden desk, carved with intricate designs and polished to shine. He read scrolls of paper while two more men sat in the visitor's seat.
"Your Holiness, Saint Medico himself has attested to the authenticity of these findings. Therefore, it would appear that Lord Bard has, once again, displayed the benevolence of the Almighty upon us," Uttered Saint Wazir, his face filled with an air of beaming joy. "We must make haste to spread the treatment of the plague."
Saint Seer, the chief spymaster, sat there too. "Your Holiness, what do you wish to do with Lord Bard's plan? He did not ask for permission from any higher authority before meddling in the matters of Kingdoms."
The Pope just sat there, reading something on a scroll. He didn't reply and just bobbed his head the whole time as if he was listening.
"Your holiness?" Saint Seer tried to get attention again.
The Pope only looked up after finishing reading. "What a marvellous book this Devil's Manifesto is. Who wrote it?"
"..."
Saint Seer embarrassingly replied as he realised the Pope was probably not listening. "Nobody knows who wrote it, your grace. It was randomly sent around the Sol, and now many copies of it have appeared."
"How utterly intriguing," mused the Pope as he stroked his beard thoughtfully. "The author of this book certainly seems to possess a remarkable facility with language. But let us set that aside for the moment and address your concerns. Saint Wazir, without delay, release the funds from our coffers and commence with the vaccination efforts. We shall begin with the Sorrow Kingdom and Gracia."
Turning to address another matter, he continued, "And as for you, Saint Seer, I must insist that you leave Archbishop Sylvester to his own devices. He has been appointed to his position precisely because of his abilities and experience. I have full confidence in his ability to complete his mission of investigating the Sorrow Kingdom and restoring peace to the land. So let me be clear: if you can not be of help, don't be a hindrance."
Saint Seer lowered his head, for he remembered his spree of follies in the past. He now had to think a million times before ever speaking about Sylvester. In fact, he often felt fear in information the Pope about Sylveser's actions on some days.
The Pope stood up following his little threatening instructions and put his mitre on the head. "Get to work, you two. I have to go and meet with Grand Cardinal Bison now. He has personally arrived from Beastaria to inform me about the current Dragon-Elf war. If things are going well, it may just be us who launch the first strike, not the other way around."
Saint Wazir and Saint Seer stiffly stood up upon hearing that and crossed their arms to salute.
"May the Holy Light Enlighten Us!"
"May the Holy Light Enlighten Us, your holiness!"
…
Once the Holy Land decides something, things happen very fast. As the religious hegemon of the Sol with a lot of money, their orders were accepted by all nobles as long as they didn't harm the interests of the said nobles.
Thanks to Sylvester's discovery, Count Raftel was approached by the Church to expand the mass production of injections, IVs and many other medical equipments. Since the Church was directly involved, Cardinals travelled all around the Sol like sand in the desert. They were everywhere doing something, gathering some materials or preparing something.
Count Raftel, Baron Strongarm, Baron Loveland and even Duchess Iceling benefited as they were all part of Sylvester's manufacturing group. They all made something on an industrial scale that Sylvester invented and was now in high demand due to the plague.
So, they all made a lot of money, and by that extension, Sylvester received a lot of royalties straight in his bank account in the Holy Land.
In one week's time, the first batch of glass-bottled vaccines started to appear in the Sorrow Kingdom, and the first ones to receive them were those in the Wailing City, as Sylvester needed them prepared.
Over the one week, Sylvester had spread the word through rumours and then with some painted posters that all those who wished to fight the Grand Duke of The Patch may come and register their name in the Sorrow Kingdom's army, which shall be led by Holy Land's Archbishop Nelson, and a victory was guaranteed in written words.
At first, there was confusion, but then some brave hearts registered their names and received armour, swords and clothes. After that, the names poured in, and in one week, an army of thirty thousand soldiers stood firm outside the Wailing City, training in the basic discipline.
"Are you sure about this? You even guaranteed them a victory." Saint Medico asked as Sylvester appeared ready to leave in his regular armour, albeit still in facial disguise.
Sylvester, with no doubt in his voice, saluted the Saint. "I assure them victory because I know it's inevitable. Right now, the future may seem clouded to you, but soon, everything will be clear. This army is just an army in name, and their real purpose is not to fight the enemy with the sword, but rather to fight the enemy that resides within them — cowardice is its name. May the Holy Light Enlighten us, Saint. I'll see you soon."
Saint Medico felt somewhat speechless as his interaction with Sylvester was minimal over the years. "How do you plan on fighting then? The Grand Duke's army is greater than you in numbers and skills."
Sylvester kept walking and just raised a thumb.
"Watch me."
________________________
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