Sylvester's heart sank at the words. He was unprepared for it. His plans had not even reached the final stage, let alone completion. Nor was he strong enough to participate in the war and survive until the end.
WRAAA!
A deafening roar echoed through the air, as the Dragons circled above the Holy Land. Unfortunately, the mere sound caused many weak-hearted individuals to collapse, never to awaken again.
"Y-Your Holiness! Won't they attack?" Sylvester asked, struggling to speak coherently as he felt such fear after a long time. A single dragon in the sky was larger than a five-story building. Its scales shimmered as if imbued with magic, and its eyes sparkled with an all-knowing gaze.
Clank!
Sylvester took his spear in his hands. "Why so sudden?"
"Calm down, Young Bard," the Pope finally spoke, kneeling while gazing upward. "They won't attack, for they are noble beings — at least this sect is. These are the Divine Dragons from the ancient sect of Dragons that have remained peaceful for thousands of years. They have mastered the art of divination and, thus, appear to warn us before every ominous grand occasion — like now! The last time they were seen, Pope Desmond Jarl was murdered in Beastaria, marking the beginning of the Thousand Years War!"
Sylvester's hands loosened his grip on the spear and looked at the sky. The Dragons were magnificent, looking ancient and full of magic, so frightening and yet beautifully soaring in the skies.
"Look at their scales," the Pope directed. "Divine Dragons can be recognized by their deep shining green scales and red scales on their limbs. In addition, their wings bear naturally forming patterns of moon and sun on each side."
Sylvester focused on the Dragons and noticed the patterns on their wings. "Why did they come here to warn us? Isn't this akin to betraying their own kind?"
"They are outcasts," the Pope explained. "Millennia ago, they were chased away by the rest of their kind. Since then, they have lived in the Wishkeypeak Mountains, home of the dwarves. They provide the Dwarves security in return for peaceful isolation within the mountain caves."
"Wraaaa!"
Soon, just as the dragons appeared, with their echoing distant roars, they vanished back to the East, returning to their homeland of Beastaria. However, many ears still rang with the growls, and eyes could not forget the frames of the flying fire-breathing fortresses.
For the elder clergymen, it was a moment of sorrow, as they had witnessed the devastating effects of war after having fought in them. But, on the other hand, the younger clergymen were fearful, as they had never encountered such a threat before.
As for Sylvester, he felt nothing but dissatisfaction, for he had always known that war would inevitably resume. Nevertheless, he had hoped to be prepared before it did. The swift return of the war meant he would have to rush his plans.
'I should stop my training here and instead focus on honing my skills while on the move, fighting stronger foes. The more I endure... The more I grow.' His eyes brimmed with determination. Although there was a risk of death, it was now necessary.
"What now, Your Holiness?" He asked, extending his hand to help the Pope to his feet.
Sighing, the old man slowly rose to his feet. "Now, we must alter our plans. When I agreed to the peace treaty, I knew this day would come. Hence, I devised a plan, and it is time to implement it. Of course, I would appreciate your input if you have any suggestions, as you appear to be adept at managing crises."
Sylvester did not perceive any mockery or detect any negative emotions. The Pope seemed to have genuine faith in his abilities. Nevertheless, Sylvester was at a loss. 'Perhaps I could have done something if I had a few more years to prepare. After all, my father is the Elven King. I am unsure what kind of person he is, but I should have been able to manipulate him given that he loved Mum enough to protect her and allow her to escape.'
"Pray, I guess."
"Haha!" The Pope burst into laughter. "Indeed, we shall require an abundance of blessings. However, thanks to you, we have our affairs under control. The Riveria-Gracia issue is resolved, Highland is producing food, and the Sorrow Kingdom is restored. Now, our only concern is our borders with Masan, as they may become ambitious while supporting us in the war. Come, we cannot remain idle while the realm is in turmoil."
Sylvester followed the Pope and descended the stairs to the ground floor, where the Pope's office was situated. As anticipated, it was in disarray, with high-ranking clergymen, from Archbishops to Cardinals, rushing to the Palace seeking answers and guidance. Confusion was rampant as there was no defined protocol for dealing with dragons.
It was so loud in the corridors and hallways that Sylvester could not even hear his own voice. But he stayed beside the Pope, who was becoming furious with each passing moment, as evidenced by the scents Sylvester detected.
'All of these old clergymen… I don't see any of the warrior ones. All of these are so-called administrative workers who supposedly hold power over those who work in the field — spineless bunch."' Sylvester noticed.
"SILENCE!" The Pope bellowed. "I saw the Dragons, and they didn't come to attack us. But in response, the Holy Land shall commence its war preparations. Return to your workstations and await instructions! You served Solis in peace; now it's time to fight in plight! Any deserters shall be deemed heathens and executed — Move!"
The words could not be more swift and imposing. All knew if they still caused trouble, they'd have to worry about the Pope's fury before ever facing the Dragons. So they slowly began to leave the Pope's Palace.
"Gunther!" The Pope called for his assistant, who was nearby overseeing the departure of all the clergymen. "Summon the Sanctum Council to the chamber."
Afterward, the Pope strode toward the council meeting room. "Follow me, Young Bard. You should get accustomed to sitting on the Council from now on."
Sylvester was thinking of going home and seeing Xavia, as he knew she was likely frightened by the dragons. But he couldn't forsake his duty and trailed the Pope into the windowless room, constructed of white stone from the walls to the tables and chairs.
"Sit beside me and learn. The Sanctum Council, although serving the realm under my guidance, can be challenging to deal with in some circumstances, particularly if you are not strong enough. In the past, before I took over, a majority of the Popes were mere Grand Wizards. That meant they were on the same power level as their Council. This sometimes resulted in the Council attempting to impose their will on some Popes, and in many instances, they succeeded. But remember, Young Bard, absolute power is always respected, and weakness is always trampled!"
'Why does this feel like training for assuming his position instead of simple council work?' Sylvester wondered, pondering whether the Pope was skeptical about his own survival in the impending war.
"Understood, Your Holiness." He replied.
Knock Knock!
Soon enough, council members arrived one after the other, filling up the seats. The final arrival was Lord Inquisitor, who was preparing for the bloodling eradication expedition. However, their plans were about to change.
"I trust you have all seen the dragons," began the Pope. "War is imminent, and the bugle has been sounded. Saint Seer, be vigilant for any whispers. Infiltrate even the most remote locations. Saint Wazir, declare a continental emergency, and all military forces are now under my command. Furthermore, send out the red letters to all the nobles and inform them of what's to come."
The Pope then turned to Saint Medico. "Prepare for mass casualties. This time ensure the dead are burned, not buried in a ditch. We cannot risk more Bloodlings. And Saint Keymaster, it's time to be wiser with our expenditures. Redirect funds to weapon production.
"At last, Inquisitor High Lord, you are to take command of both the Holy Army and the Inquisitors. Bring them all to eradicate the Bloodlings and let it serve as their initial training for what's to come. Remember, my fellow believers! The moment we lose the war is the moment we lose our faith! Therefore, to protect it, be prepared for anything you can imagine—even if it means making sacrifices."
It was clear that the Pope was referring to the fact that they could all die in the war. So they had to come to terms with that stark reality.
However, one man in the room remained silent, neither speaking nor being spoken to. This mysterious man was Saint Scepter, the right-hand man of the Pope and the only Shield of Solis. His face was concealed under a shining white mask and robes, yet his eyes showed his sharp intellect.
"Saint Scepter," the Pope finally addressed him. "As the second most powerful man in the Holy Land, I need you to gather all the Grand Wizards available in Sol—from east to west!"
Saint Scepter bowed his head. "Understood, Your Holiness."
After giving instructions to the others, the Pope turned to Sylvester. His voice and expressions had an uneasy sense of tension and restlessness. Nevertheless, he spoke quickly and gave orders quickly. "I am appointing Archbishop Sylvester as the Saint Light, the overseer of Common Affairs. His expertise in handling crises will be invaluable. Above all, he will help us manage the commoners to prevent riots.
"However, Archbishop Sylvester, I have an assignment for you first. As we know, our only threat in our backyard is now from the West. So, I need you to head to the Duchy of Normani earlier than planned. Ensure the borders are secure and make any necessary changes, but make sure that Sandwall County never falls. For if it does, Masan will stop at nothing!"
Sylvester stood up and saluted. "I understand, Your Holiness. I will leave immediately."
'And there strikes the legendary luck of Sylvester Maximilian.' Sylvester mumbled to himself while receiving orders. 'At least it's Felix's homeland.'
"Tomorrow evening, I shall convene a Grand Council. Inform all Cardinals that I require a report about their respective departments. If they cannot provide it, they will be demoted to Acolyte!" ordered the Pope. "Dismissed!
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