I Became The Pope, Now What?

Sylvester rode his horse with Sir Dolorem and Bishop Lazark at his side. He arrived before the army of thirty thousand soldiers, all looking healthier with their clean armour and shining blades.

Their eyes were filled with the hope of a better future and victory over The Patch. They had no idea how they would do it, but whatever the rumours and the posters told them, they believed it.

Sylvester raised his longsword in the air and addressed the crowd. "Prepare to march to the east! We go beyond the Barrier mountain range — We shall enter the enemy lands and take what is ours. As we speak, the Grand Duke is busy fighting a war with the Highland Kingdom, so this is the best time for us to strike. Remember — we either win today or die trying. So raise your blades and chant the name of the Lord, for we have cried enough, and no more tears we can afford!"

Thump!

Thump!

The marching drums started to resound simultaneously, and in neat rows of five, all the soldiers began to walk on the well-paved Holy Road that started at the Holy Land and ended at the Wailing city.

Sylvester spent little time on his own horse. Instead, he entered Archbishop Nelson's carriage as he had much to discuss with the dying old man. The Archbishop was still bedridden as the poison had done too much damage to his body. But still, the man had wished to come along as he wanted to see the brave people of the Sorrow Kingdom finally stand up for themselves.

"Your Grace, we shall be arriving in The Patch in ten days at best," Sylvester spoke with the old man resting on the bed. It was a special carriage made for him and had a bigger size for that reason.

Count Bradley was also there, having incorporated his military into the army of peasants. Thankfully to Count's army, the peasants could hold order within the ranks and knew how to act to specific commands.

"Old man, don't die so soon. At least see the Sorrow Kingdom becoming free again first." Bradley said while cutting an apple for the Archbishop.

Cough!

"You brat! Do you think I will be dying anytime soon? You are mistaken, for I only wish to die after seeing the end of this battle and listening to Lord Bard's hymn once." Archbishop said from his bed. His body was the most affected, after all, not his voice.

Sylvester chuckled and reassured him. "I shall pray to the lord that all your dreams come true."

"What's so special about that bard of yours? When has singing helped someone? Can his singing feed the hungry?" Count Bradley questioned in a doubtful voice. "It's just the theatrics of the church to lure the masses."

Sylvester smiled upon hearing that. Count was not wrong about enticing the masses, but he was wrong in thinking the church was involved in it.

Bam!

Archbishop Nelson somehow used all his power in his body and utilised magic to make a small container of tea fall on Count's head from the shelf. "You ungrateful boy. Lord Bard isn't just a bard but also an inventor. He brought about a medical revolution and showed new ways of making the soil fertile. His legends are so many that it's impossible to know them all unless you are prepared to travel and seek each one.

"His eminence transcends our mortal limitations. He converses with Solis, and the Almighty's commands direct him to lead us towards a brighter future. Moreover, Lord Bard is a brilliant military strategist, having recently been appointed Grand Field Marshal of Gracia - the highest military rank within any kingdom."

Count Bradley scratched his head in annoyance. "You know who you remind of right now, old man?"

"Who?"

Bradley smirked. "Those flowery women who lust for their knight in shining armour and remain prepared to spread their legs at a moment's notice."

Cough!

"May the Holy Light enlighten us." The Archbishop started praying instantly. "Give this filthy-mouthed man some guidance."

Sylvester silently listened to the two men bickering and finally asked when he could. "Why are you spending so much on the Sorrow Kingdom, Count? You're not even from this Kingdom."

Bradley sighed and lowered his head. "I am merely redeeming myself here, priest."

"What do you mean?" Sylvester asked further as he finally smelled the opportunity to learn more about the strange strong man.

Bradley glanced at the Archbishop for a second as if asking for advice. Then, after getting a faint nod, Bradley started to rub his face with a piece of cloth.

A minute later, Bradley finished and showed his face again. Now, everything seemed different and horrifying to some degree. His eyes seemed sunken in with deep black circles around them. There were black spots on his face, his lips were utterly dry, and age lines were more abundant on him than the old dying Archbishop.

"I'm dying," Bradley revealed. "I got a lung disease… I got it while beating a farm slave… to death… Just because he took a minute of rest."

Sylvester straightened up in his seat as the carriage ran down the bumpy road. The sunlight coming inside from the white-curtained window gave quite a pitiful view of the Count. The man's eyes were full of sorrow and regret.

'I've never experienced such a strong mix of sadness and hate scents.'

Sylvester said what he knew, for he, too, was like Bradley once, full of regret and rage. "It never goes away. The regret and the thought of 'what-if?' will always remain with you, no matter what. You can just try to be a decent person. The rest is in Lord's hand."

Bradley nodded at his statement and looked at his wrinkled palm while continuing. "I've been a monster all my life. I've killed people, tortured people, sold them, bought them, and whatnot.

"My wife died during childbirth, leaving behind a son. I was too strict with him and soon watched him pass away from illness. My mother died when I was a kid, and my father… I watched him kill himself after failing in his plot against the King — I got nothing in my life, priest."

"So that's why you are helping people now? To change yourself?" Sylvester inquired while being a good listener.

Bradley, seven feet tall, mighty strong man. He never looked as vulnerable as he did at that moment. He lifted his face and looked Sylvester in the eyes. "I'm afraid… Or was afraid of what will come next after I die — Hell? Then I met the Archbishop, who suggested I just start helping people for no reason."

"Hah, I remember it." Archbishop Nelson butted in. "You were scared of me because you didn't believe in Solis. Honestly, even I'm sometimes doubtful about it. Anyone would be after seeing so much madness around us."

Bradley laughed at that instant. "Hah, you were too smart for a brute like me, old man. But I guess I should be thankful to you the most. For the first time in my life, I have a reason to exist, for however long it may be."

"And for the first time, you have clarity on your future," Sylvester added. "But what about your land and wealth?"

Bradley shrugged. "I never cared for it. My wealth is useless. I have no heir. I have sent a message to King Highland. After my demise, the land shall return to the crown. But, what I wonder these days is… Will anyone come to my last rites to mourn? Will there even be someone to light my pyre on fire?"

"I will come," Sylvester promised. "I'm just a lowly priest with too much time on my hand."

"Hah! Of course, lowly pries—"

Thud!

Just as Archbishop Nelson was about to say something, the carriage suddenly halted, shaking them all.

Ting!

Swords out, Sylvester and Count Bradley jumped out of the carriage and rushed to the front where Sir Dolorem and Bishop Lazark were. The entire marching army had come to a halt, as evident by the different sounds of the drums.

"What happened?" Sylvester questioned aloud.

Sir Dolorem faced Sylvester in seriousness. His blindfolds were entirely removed. "Ten men and women have blocked our path, priest. We are going to speak with them."

"Let's go." Sylvester wasted no time and walked beyond the first column of the marching army.

He looked ahead at the road in the middle of the desert landscape. There, ten people of varying heights could be seen standing with their arms folded over their chests. They all wore similar clothes; long-black leather coats, boots and gloves. Their faces were clear to be seen, despite there being hoods on their backs.

Sylvester patiently walked a few steps forward and loudly questioned. "Who are you? Why do you stop the army?"

Pat!

The short man in the middle of the ten walked forward and slammed his right fist over his chest in a salute. He then bowed his head a little and spoke with complete respect.

"We mean no harm and hold no malice towards you. In fact, we wish to join your noble cause and fight against the Grand Duke alongside."

Sylvester didn't buy it, as he smelled ulterior motives in the form of lies. So he confronted the ten straightforwardly. "Tell me who you are first, then I might allow you to join our fight."

The short man looked towards his allies on the left and the right before answering while smiling gently.

"We live in the shadows, away from sight — We are the men and women of the Anti-Light!"

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