Chapter 588 587. No More God's Favored
Sylvester's convoy was getting closer to the Holy Land. They passed by the massive rubble of what used to be Green City, once the bustling and beautiful capital of the Gracia Kingdom, now desolate, overgrown with grass. All the villages and towns nearby were in the same condition.
As they approached the intersection, Sylvester noticed the restaurant he had opened. The Bard's building was still standing, but it looked like an abandoned ruin, with the paint and wood having suffered from the elements. But he had plans to reopen everything, as the staff still worked for him as personal cooks, waiting to return to their jobs soon.
The convoy soon turned left toward the grand tunnel enamored with light crystals that led straight into the Holy Land. As their presence was already noticed, the gates of the Holy Land were kept open, and all the soldiers that were guarding it knelt silently at each side of the road.
The Holy Land was nearly empty, except for the Guild Peninsula. The Holy Army that had accompanied the Pope had been wiped out by the cannon strike. The Clergymen were almost all on Sylvester's side, leaving the Holy Land almost desolate.
They made their way directly to the Pope's Palace. The soldiers that came along surrounded the building and stood guard right away. Sylvester allowed Aurora's carriage to go to Sick Bay to place Sir Dolorem in care while he personally headed into the Palace.
However, right at the foot of the palace stairs, Saint Wazir was waiting, his face tired, body thin, as if he had aged decades in a few years. He seemed delighted and immediately knelt.
"Welcome back to the Holy Land, Your Holiness." Saint Wazir greeted Sylvester. "I rejoice in your victory; the Holy Land and the faith can finally take the right path once more and continue to flourish. I seek your forgiveness and hope to continue serving under your lea—"
Sylvester ignored him and walked past, shocking the man and frightening him too. Saint Wazir may not be as bad as the others, but he was undoubtedly ill-suited for his position. His days as a Sanctum Council member were numbered.
Walking inside, Sylvester ignored all the greetings and strode toward the Pope's office. He was in a rush to ensure nobody could steal anything from there. He figured that since the Pope had sought him with the purpose of dying, he must have left behind some final words or something similar.
"Stand guard. I'll go inside alone," Sylvester instructed Aurora and the Inquisitor High Lord.
He entered and closed the door behind him, locking it. He glanced around at the modest office. The lack of any expensive decorations was distinct. A normal table, a bookcase near the walls, and a few portraits of the previous popes and legendary battles hanging on the wall.
Sylvester searched the table first, opening its drawers to check, looking for any hidden compartments as well. Any keyholes, any suspicious use of space. But the table had no hidden secrets in the end.
Not wanting to waste time, Sylvester closed his eyes to map everything around him using Solarium. Sensing where the invisible particles traveled, touched, and crossed over, he looked for any space in the walls or hidden compartments.
After looking around a bit, he finally noticed something strange about one of the paintings on the wall. It was the painting of Grandpa Monk, and the nose of the bear beside the old monk was too detailed as if it wasn't a part of the painting.
Sylvester quickly went toward it and pressed the nose.
Clack!
A sound came from behind him, and he noticed a black box appeared out of nowhere on the table. He had no idea what sort of magic it was. The box was small and thin, seemingly made to contain a book.
It didn't have a place to insert a key, so Sylvester placed his palm on it to use magic and force it open. However, with just a touch, the box clicked open.
'He left it for me?'
He opened the box and, as expected, took out a black diary. It seemed old and heavily used, possibly in the Pope's possession for centuries. He wasted no time and opened it to read; surprisingly, the first word on it was his name.
[Sylvester Maximilian, if you're reading this, it means I've departed from this realm. This is not a journal or an attempt to ask you for forgiveness, for I know my actions must have caused you great pain. I wrote this knowing the challenges you will face as the Pope, the youngest one at that.
You may have many allies right now and command respect. However, there will inevitably be some foolish old men who will try to belittle you for your youth—be ruthless to them. There will also come kind ones asking for your blessing—be benign to them. Be the one to control who hates you and who loves you, but above all, be cautious of those closest to you—often, betrayal comes from places you least expect.
I hope you'll be able to break this unending cycle of misery. Defeat 'them,' and forever imprint your name in eternal history.
The following pages of this diary contain all the information about methods I used to subdue nobles and kingdoms, who my spies are, where they are, and how I keep them under my thumb—May this little diary be your guide, some aid to you it may provide—for centuries to come, may you walk this realm with utmost pride.]
Sylvester sighed, appreciating it but finding it difficult to completely forgive him, no matter what. He turned the pages and glanced at the contents. In no time, he accepted it as a goldmine, naming various secrets of nobles, names, locations of spies, and what keeps them loyal.
He placed the diary in his pocket and looked around again. Almost involuntarily, a deep sigh left his mouth, knowing he was going to be sitting there for the foreseeable future. "What do you think, Chonky? Should we expand this place? I can't imagine spending centuries here."
Miraj bobbed his head, standing on Sylvester's shoulder, "I need my own little table and chair, Maxy. If you're new Popo, then I'll be your Child of Solis."
"You mean Shield of Solis." Sylvester corrected him, and in a way, felt it was true. Miraj was indeed his little guardian and deserved the position. "Perhaps I won't appoint anyone as Saint Scepter again… it left a bad taste."
With a conflicted mind, Sylvester turned to head out, but then heard Lord Inquisitor and Aurora talking with each other outside. He didn't interrupt them and listened while standing by the closed door.
"His Holiness has great schemes. It's a waste to forcibly quench your dreams. Since you were little, I've seen you dream of having a big family. Know that I, or His Holiness, won't stop you from making it a reality." Lord Inquisitor said, sounding gentle, albeit his voice was just too heavy and menacing.
Aurora let out an embarrassed chuckle, "Hehe, father, that was just my naivety talking. I took the oath of chastity, and I won't break it in this life—I've admired you, and I wish to be the Inquisitor High Lord like you one day."
"I've nearly given up on the faith many times before—almost. But I always remembered that my duty is to Sylvester foremost." The Inquisitor High Lord said, still seeming doubtful about the faith. But trying to be a good father, he patted Aurora's shoulder, "My daughter, it's better to live your own destiny imperfectly, than to live an imitation of somebody else's life flawlessly—there is no honor in suffering as I did."
"Ehm…" Sylvester opened the door, clearing his throat. "Lord Inquisitor, please issue the orders to prepare for the coronation ceremony. I will don the Pope's mitre tomorrow morning at the first light of the sun… and I have a few announcements to make. Too many powerhouses died; we must ensure talented individuals have more children and produce more talented people."
With a playful wink at Aurora, Sylvester walked out of the Pope's Palace. He headed to the School of Dawn, wanting to see if the place was running smoothly. But to his delight, he found the tenth Guardian of Light, Geralt Brightson, the headmaster of the school. He had refused to take any sides in the conflict to ensure the school was able to run smoothly. The children didn't feel the heat of the internal power struggle.
With the headmaster's permission, he freely walked the school's hallways. But again, who could stop him at that point?
Walking down the school corridors he remembered so well; he noticed many classrooms filled with students, some as young as eight years old and just starting their education, and some with older students about to graduate.
However, he found one classroom which appeared completely empty. Looking at the name on the door, he knew why.
"Classroom for God's Favored Ones," he muttered.
"This was your classroom?" Aurora asked, being the only one to follow him as his guard, since Lord Inquisitor left to prepare for coronation.
Sylvester nodded and entered the room. It was full of dust. The windows were covered with curtains, keeping everything under darkness. It felt eerie, as Sylvester remembered their numbers reducing each month. The classroom that felt full at the start, slowly felt too empty—death was more common there than laughter.
He went ahead and took a seat at a desk. Aurora sat beside him, seeing he was deep in thought.
"Aurora, how was your experience as a student here?" He asked.
She rubbed her chin, remembering, "Hmm… It was fun. I made so many friends. The teachers were friendly, and the food was also amazing."
"My memories of this place are quite the opposite—this was hell; we were enemies of one another. The teachers tried to push us to be more ruthless." Sylvester said, wondering how maddening it must have been to real children who probably dreamt of brilliance, love, and warmth at the Church, but suddenly found themselves in the worst hell imaginable. "God's Favored class wasn't a study room. It was a battlefield for the mind, magic, and might."
Aurora knew that. She had heard stories about the time Sylvester was in the school. "But it was necessary… It made you this strong."
Sylvester couldn't refute her nor agree with her. "Hopefully, by the time I'm done being the Pope, this world or the faith won't need God's Favored anymore—in a world without war."
Aurora struggled to imagine such a perfect world, "How will you accomplish that? Beastaria still clings to its heathen ways."
"By love, by blood—by any means necessary." Sylvester's face didn't hold any expression at that moment, "The seeds of victory are spreading in Beastaria as we speak—Call it trickery, but their loss shall be our victory."
"Are we going to enslave them? Crusade? Convert them?" Aurora asked with interest, unable to see Beastaria accepting the faith of Solis.
Sylvester got up to head out. "No, their pride will be their undoing. In a few months, you'll see them kneeling before me, pleading for help, and I will—but with my own purpose to fulfill."
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