I Became The Pope, Now What?

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Sir Dolorem wrote down the dots and dashes and soon translated them. "Seven days for war. Raftel Marcella lovers?"

Felix nodded at the last part. "I felt something was going on in his mind. The man seemed hurt by her death. But, he said she was a very devoted woman, so did she cheat on her husband? Sir Dolorem, tell Felix about the bounty thing and that the Archbishop here is missing."

Sir Dolorem nodded and used a light crystal to send the signals back. Then soon, he received a reply. "Ah, so it was their father who fixed this marriage. So then Count Raftel does have a reason to harm her."

They exchanged a few more words and soon decided to keep going, fishing deeper into the lives of the two counts. There was bound to be something. As for Sylvester's side, he revealed that he'd be coming to Count Raftel's territory soon to speak directly.

…

Sylvester returned to his Monastery and took a rest for the night. He had already taken a big risk by going into the forest at night to speak with Sir Dolorem. But, he kept his mind alert to the cold so that if there was even a speck of temperature change, he would run away as it may signify the arrival of Shadow Knight.

But thankfully, it seemed the Shadow Knight was not going to attack him so close to the civilisation. Which would allow him a few rare nights of good sleep.

However, he was in a rush as well because in seven days, the war would begin. He won't be able to do anything once the armies are face to face in the fields.

Eventually, he woke up and headed to see the Archbishop of the county, Archbishop Raymond. The man was also under suspicion because there were a few red flags the last time they talked. He kept himself from telling the whole story, or at least, his hate towards the Count's Prima was not just due to profession.

"Good morning, your grace." Sylvester addressed the man as per the church's rules.

"Join me for breakfast, Lord Bard. I'm sure there are things you wish to talk about." The middle-aged man invited him, exuding positive energy as a whole.

Sylvester followed him to a private eating chamber and took a seat. "I'm afraid this case is much more complex than initially thought, your grace. So I am going to need your help. It has come to my knowledge that Count Jartel has unilaterally given us seven days to find the killer, or else he will wage war. We can not allow this, or else not just mine but your job will be in danger. Saint Wazir and even the Holy Father have told me to avoid a war at all costs."

The Archbishop's eyes nearly fell out of shock. He was an Archbishop, and the only time he met the Pope was when he got his Archbishop's mitre for the first time in the ceremony. After that, he didn't even get to meet Saint Wazir.

But, on another thought, his jealousy also decreased, knowing Sylvester was a Sanctum Inspector, directly under the command of Saint Wazir. At the same time, he was a God's Favoured, hence close to the Pope.

However, that didn't help the fact that he felt pressure on his shoulder. "What do you suggest, Lord Bard? I have tried all ways to stop the Count."

Sylvester rubbed his chin and quickly came up with a scheme. "Archbishop, are there any knights of high standing you know who are also single? How about you become the middleman and get that Knight to send a letter to the Count, showing interest in marrying his daughter? Set up a meeting for five days from now, when the Count has decided to start the war."

The Archbishop sweated suddenly, pitying the Knight who marries that blob of meat and narcissism. "You want me to lie?"

"No, I want you to set up a meeting. Just don't tell the Knight what the woman looks like. I'm sure any Knight would jump at the opportunity to marry a Count's daughter. Though I'm sure the man will reject her after seeing her, that will buy us some time." Sylvester suggested.

It was the definition of throwing someone under a cart for one's own gain. And in this case, they were planning to throw a poor knight under an elephant.

The Archbishop hummed and thought about a perfect scapegoat who was greedy enough to agree to something like this blindly. "Hmm, there is this one Knight from the Duchy of Iceling that I met once. He's so greedy that he once tried to sell his own brother to the Tower of Godless, but the slave market rejected his goods, saying it would bring too many problems. So he was stripped of his military power and is now just a knight in name, drinking and destroying his body."

"Perfect!" Sylvester exclaimed. "We don't need him to marry the daughter of the Count, Archbishop. We just need a distraction."

Sylvester knew that it was perfectly possible that the Archbishop could be very loyal to the Count. So, he didn't try to make it so that he was belittling the daughter of the Count. In addition, he was trying to instil fear of the church so the man would work with him—no questions asked.

"I will get to it then. I shall send a deacon with the letter to the Knight."

"I will await your reply, Archbishop. Until then, I will go to the market and see how people are doing and their thoughts about the murder. What do you think about the people's perception of the faith, however? How loyal are they?" He asked a veiled question.

Instantly, he was hit with a strong aroma of excitement, worship and happiness. It seemed the man was really proud of his work. "They are utterly loyal, Lord Bard. They sing hymns daily, participate in mass gatherings in the church every few days, and donate to the Monastery.

"They even call me old man because I care for them so much. I helped a lot of them to start a business by giving them interest-free loans to begin. It was a success, and now there are so many shops in the county."

'So he's also behind the prosperity? Then why is he against the Count's Prima?'

"What does Sir Walder do, your grace? He's holding all the rights over the finances, right?" He questioned.

Just like before, the Archbishop scowled. "He… That hateful man. He is greedy and cares not about the faith. He even tried to tax the money I gave the commoners to start their businesses. He's always trying to take money from the Monastery's coffers, even when there is a law to not touch the gold belonging to the faith."

"Can you show me the registries?" He asked frankly.

Sylvester smelled the anxiety in an instant. And now the Archbishop was at a point where he'd be creating suspicion if he denied. He had no choice but to agree with the Sanctum Inspector. "Sure, Lord Bard. But it's filled with numbers, so be mindful not to be overwhelmed."

"I will."

He followed the man to the cellar of the Monastery and into the vault. The gold was stored there, along with the important documents. The cellar was specially treated to always be dry and ventilated, it seemed.

"This is the whole register that records all the income and spending of the monastery." The Archbishop showed him a big book with hundreds of parchments. Even the ink was fading on a few pages.

Sylvester opened a random page near the last page and looked at the numbers. It showed basic details about the expenditure and income.

"The accountant must be somewhere busy, so you will have to wait for him to come," the Archbishop said, a lie clearly.

Sylvester started to read the last pages and see if the sheets were even tallying as the total amount at the end of the page must match everything else. He noticed all kinds of expenses, from food rations to candles and various rituals, from free food services for the poor to loan agreements to the people.

However, he slowly started noticing a pattern with a particular field named 'Donations from the Count.'

'Hmm, the miscellaneous expenses are too high. Why are the donations not correctly showcased? Where's all the money going?' He wondered. Because as far as he knew, the money given by the Count must be accounted for as to where it was spent.

But the same was not the case with the money received from the Holy Land. On the contrary, that money was clearly used for the good of the people and for running the Monastery.

Page after page, he kept adding the discrepancies, and by the last line, he had a number in the head. The amount of money the Archbishop had embezzled was so high that even he felt jealous. 'My god, three million in two years. This money is enough to buy me many important crystals and resources.'

He feigned ignorance and closed the book. 'The taste of tangerines is really clear from him. Why so anxious? Corruption is the lowest level of crime, after all.'

But, he could not accuse the Archbishop without more proof. For that, he needed to go out and meet a few people who got loans from the church.

"That's a very well-kept record, Archbishop. I'm impressed. I'm sure I will do something similar when I become an Archbishop one day."

The man smiled nervously and tried to act calm. "Haha, you speak too highly of me, Lord Bard. I'm sure you will outshine us when you take over a county."

They two walked out to the ground floor together. Sylvester kept reading the man to catch any slip of the tongue. But it was hard since Archbishops are like senior politicians.

Clank!

Ha!

Thud!

"What's happening?" Sylvester frowned hearing the sound of clashing swords and punches.

They rushed quickly and ran out of the Monastery. And a big group of men appeared, in armour, wizard's robes and a convoy of carriages.

The Archbishop quickly took control of the situation. "What's happening here?"

In reaction, a priest came running, breathing heavily. "Y-Your grace! They say they are a crusader group! They are headed north to wipe out a bloodling infestation and wish to stay here for the night!"

Sylvester narrowed his gaze at the armoured men, some with expensive shining ones and some with dirty ones. They appeared like a group of misfits just put together without much thought behind it. There was no clear voice of authority as everyone just did their own thing and walked around.

'No wonder crusades are crap.'

"Hey, you! Blonde boy, come here and bring my luggage inside! I wish to rest inside before heading out again.'

Sylvester narrowly glanced at the man who was trying to order him around. He appeared to be a noble, with black hair, a stubble beard and blue eyes. He was tall and broad, wearing shining armour with gold engravings here and there. The rank plate revealed he was a Golden Knight, clearly.

"Are you deaf? I am Prince Harpus Degracia, so you better behave or expect to be thrown to some backwater village."

"..."

Sylvester rubbed his chin, wondering if this was perhaps the most courageous man or the dumbest.

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