"Ugh! How can one draw such fiendish things?!" Isabella made a disgusted face and stepped back. "Execute that heathen."
"How much did he charge for it?" Sylvester, instead of looking disguised, seemed interested.
"One silver!" Gabriel furiously blurted.
Elder Elrog walked closer and looked at the paper before humming. Sylvester also nodded his head, "Amateur… If he had hired a better artist, it'd have sold for three silver. The body proportions are bad, and the face looks like a decomposing corpse. But the pose is quite creative."
"..."
Gabriel couldn't believe his ears. "Sylvester, you… how could you appreciate this?"
"Why not? This is also art, and with the normalization of my printing press, this thing is bound to happen. I can already see an industry forming around such art." Sylvester, after all, was a man who had lived through the era of madness for Playboy magazines. So he could see where things were going. Heck, he believed if he were to develop a camera somehow, some brave folks might start those kinds of magazines too. It was bound to happen with more technology, and restricting it with force meant becoming authoritarian. So why not just tax it?
"Take me to this person. I want to see this artist myself." Sylvester folded the paper. "I don't condone this, and I won't tolerate such creations inside this holy dwelling. If he wishes to do it, he can do it outside—but if he's willing, I might have a better way he can utilize his creativity."
Gabriel didn't ask him too many questions and rushed to pick up the questionable piece of paper before following him.
"Leave this behind…" Elder Elrog suddenly requested. "I… will show it to my friends. It'll be a nice matter to discuss over some ale."
"..."
Gabriel sighed, shook his head, and left with Sylvester. Isabella also followed. They soon arrived on the ground floor, in one of the smaller halls of the Pope's Palace. It was a room for Gabriel to work in.
"That's him!" Gabriel pointed at the scared Clergyman sitting on a chair by the mahogany table. The man was shivering, and his face was pale, likely already believing he was going to die.
Thud!
The man jumped from his chair and immediately prostrated at Sylvester's feet. "Please forgive me, Your Holiness. I couldn't control my heart… I was corrupted by my sinful desire. I beg for forgiveness; this will never happen again… I vow."
"Death!" Sylvester blurted, almost killing the poor man with a heart attack. "... Is what you deserve for this heresy, but I'm not a man without mercy. You have committed a sin, and now goodwill you must also win—through your own actions."
"Anything! I will do whatever you order."
"Then rise and tell me your name." Sylvester walked aside and took a seat. He then saw the man's features—white-skinned, shot-bearded, and spiky red-haired. The man looked as handsome as an ordinary man could be, but his mind sure was crafty.
"I'm Archpriest Johnny, Your Holiness." The Clergyman introduced himself. "I work as a printing operator."
"I know that. Now, tell me, Johnny, what else is going on in that head of yours? I'm quite sure it's not all mindless, unholy thoughts. What other stories do you concoct? Perhaps something fictional, a story of a strong heroic knight who goes around and saves children—fights world-ending monsters, plague-spreading evil wizards?"
Johnny nodded his head. "But… those are simple dreams of every man out there. A dream to be a brave knight and fight for good."
"Yes, and that's why I want you to draw a book with illustrations that utilizes a mix of art and words. Think about the story in various scenes, and as it progresses, you can place speech in simple frames above the character's heads, to give the characters dialogues and expositions. It shall be a form of entertainment for the masses, and with a few tweaks, perhaps we can print them in color too." Sylvester pitched his idea of mass entertainment at last. It was a great thing to distract people from awful things in their lives, keeping them occupied in their free time instead of doing crimes or thinking about rebellion.
Johnny was ready to slave himself to stay alive, so this was a much better deal. "Your Holiness… who will write the story?"
"You will, of course." Sylvester pointed at him. "But remember… You can draw beautiful men and women, but nothing lustful. The book will be seen by men, women, and children alike."
"I'll do it! I'll make the book, Your Holiness. I will draw the first ten pages and show it to you… I will get better at art too… you can trust me." Johnny said with desperation evident in his voice.
"Good, you may leave now." Sylvester dismissed him, even letting him keep the money he earned just for the fact that he was so daring and creative.
Eventually, when it was just Gabriel left in the room, Sylvester got up to leave. "I'll go and pack my luggage. I'll be disguised as an elf in the Beastaria."
"Now that you say it, an elf's disguise will certainly suit your face and long hair. But still, I hope you take all the precautions and be safe. We've all been waiting for six years already, and I don't think people can wait anymore. If you don't become the Pope, I can see the Faith of Solis fading into history." Gabriel expressed his worries. Having read all the books and knowing the history, he knew all the ups and downs of the Church.
In times when commoners suffer, the people either turn to faith or turn away… especially the latter, if they believe their misfortunes are caused by the faith.
Pat!
Sylvester patted Gabriel's shoulder. "Have faith in me, Gab. I want to end this as quickly as possible too. Moreover, one of my goals on this visit is to secure a peace treaty so we can stabilize ourselves afterward."
"Then I have nothing but prayers to offer, my friend." Gabriel resolutely replied. "May the Holy Light enlighten you and your path."
"Amen." Sylvester nodded and left his friend to work.
…
Two days was a very short time in the grand scheme of things. The people worked, the Bards sang, and the Clergymen prayed. The criminals committed their sins, the corrupt lied through their teeth. The flowers bloomed, and in some places, dark clouds loomed.
Before long, the time came to leave for the dangerous expedition. Sir Dolorem donned his armor and prepared to depart from the Sand City of the Highland Kingdom. The route he had chosen to take to reach the Broken Mangroves was through the Gift River, which would lead him straight to the rendezvous point.
"Please be safe, and give this to Max." Xavia bid Sir Dolorem farewell from the hidden exit of the palace.
Sir Dolorem took the bag with cookies for Sylvester—additionally, some strange pudding with the scent of bananas. "I will, Mother Xavia. I assure you, I will protect His Holiness with my life. Any blade or magic raised against him will have to go through me first."
"He takes too many risks… Please advise him well." Xavia bowed her head in respect. She knew that she and Sylvester owed a lot to Sir Dolorem. Without him, they might not have even survived their initial days in the Holy Land.
Bam!
King Highland was more open with his goodbyes. He slammed his palm over Sir Dolorem's shoulder. "May the Holy Light bless you with the strength to overcome all trials, Sir Dolorem. You are one fine, honorable knight, and with you by Bard's side, I feel at ease."
"Hmph!" Aurora scoffed, still salty that she couldn't go with Sylvester. "He sure needs someone with brains since he has none."
"Ehm… But I remember you were praising him all night at the dinner." Queen Trinity interjected, embarrassing Aurora.
"Well… I can't lie as a Clergywoman." Aurora mumbled. "He is pretty good. There is no denying it. Anyway, all the best, Sir Dolorem. If you find the head of Inquisitors in Beastaria, give him a beating. He hasn't replied to my missives yet."
"Understood, Lady Guardian." With that, Sir Dolorem saluted them with his arms crossed and departed the city on his horse.
He donned a disguise for the time being, using a fake wig on his head and magic to look like a white man instead. He had to maintain that disguise until he arrived at the Broken Mangroves, where nobody entered.
He took a boat from the river port after traveling all the way to Lake Fertile and rowed it himself using magic to go downstream. It was a long journey, but compared to the task before him, it felt like nothing.
'How many years has it been since Sylvester and I went on a mission together… Once more, I shall pray to the Lord, hoping everything goes well.'
…
For Sylvester, going somewhere discreetly was much easier as he could simply stroll through the sky, all the way to the Gift River in Riveria, and row down like commoners.
"May your blades remain the sharpest—may you have a bountiful harvest." The Inquisitor High Lord prayed for Sylvester before he departed. "Your Holiness, we shall hold this fort until your eventful return—No heathen shall enter, no schemer shall succeed, have no such concern."
Sylvester saluted the man, who had an undying mysterious fury. "Thank you, Lord Inquisitor. I will speak to you directly if a situation arises. Until then, May the Holy Light enlighten and unite us."
With that, Sylvester started making Light Tiles to gain altitude until he disappeared into the clouds. After that, he began the quick jog toward the southeast. Behind him were two men—Avanss, under his loose hooded brown robes, hiding his long ears; and Dagorith, in his usual dark ninja robes, covering himself from head to toe.
It took them a single day to arrive near the River City of Riveria, and from there, they took a boat and rowed all the way to the ancient runes of the Temple of Luna in the Broken Mangroves. It was the same place where Sylvester had gone for his first-ever task as Sanctum Inspector years ago.
As they reached it, a single boat was already docked near the ruins. It was very dark in the mangroves, the flesh-eating vines littered the entire area, and the tall trees blocked the sunlight. They planned to leave before nightfall.
"Your Holiness." Sir Dolorem quickly appeared before the new boat.
Sylvester chuckled, seeing his favorite knight. But the attire he wore wasn't something worthy of a knight. A patched, dirty tunic and similarly dirty dark trousers. His face also looked dirty, with some wounds here and there. "You seemed to have mastered the art of disguise."
"I'm supposed to be a slave, Your Holiness."
Sylvester frowned at the repeated use of his title by a man he considered a father figure. "Come on, just call me Sylvester. But, anyhow, I'm going to be your elven master from now on—My name is Master Zhoron, and the man behind me is Master Avanss. The black-robed man is the Grand Wizard of Warsong, Dagorith. He shall be donning similar clothes as you and will act as a slave."
"What will be our slave names?" Sir Dolorem inquired. "And the slave collars."
"I have them." Avanss handed the broken slave collars to the two.
"As for your names." Sylvester looked at them. "Dagorith, you'll be called Friday, and Sir Dolorem, you'll be… Spartacus."
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