I Became The Pope, Now What?



Amidst the happenings in the Riveria, there was a sole man on a journey to uncover a mystery. The origins of the Chief of Anti-Light were shrouded in mystery. Never in the past had there been a man with so much hatred for the faith of Solis, at least not a human. 

Never in the Church's history had there been a man at the level of Supreme Wizard standing against the Church while living right in the backyard. What caused it? What gave birth to such rage? There had to be something, as monsters weren't born, they were made. 

His name was Magnus Constantine, and the world knew him by his Guardian name, Bloodrain. The masses feared him, and friends steered clear. His faith in Solis was unwavering, and that was why he couldn't accept anything but victory in the task at hand. 

He traveled the lands of East Sol to find clues. To find the initial home of the Anti-Light Chief. In his recent journey, he went north of what used to be Sandwall County, where he met Sylvester. 

Towards the freezing slopes of the Pentapeak mountain range, there rested a small and poor county called Mountstart. It held a town that acted as the starting point for anyone venturing into the Pentapeak mountain range through the officially paved road. In the past, the town didn't earn much due to Mountain Barbarians, but now, a gold rush had taken hold in the mountains, so the travelers were numerous. 

Without changing his attire, for he was too proud of it, he arrived at the small winter town of Mountstart. The Blind Guardian made his way into the biggest tavern to make his presence known and reveal to the people that there was money to be made if they cooperated with him. 

All the music from the Bards' guitars and pianos stopped, the dancing paused, and the voices of all men and women in the tavern died down. 

Bloodrain's heavy footsteps left dents on the wooden floor, and his imposing figure even intimidated the strongest and the drunkest of men in the vicinity. But he strode to the bar and placed a rolled sheet of paper on it. 

"Have you seen him?" 

The bartender, an old man with a balding head, looked at the piece of paper while shivering. "I… I… I've seen this poster… before." 

"The man?" Bloodrain asked clearly. "Look closely. Anyone who gives me a clue about him shall receive one thousand Gold Graces." 

Mouths gulped, and some went dry. A thousand Gold Graces was an amount none of the folks there had seen in their entire lives. 

"Who is it?" A few daring ones came forward to take a glance. 

But the moment they looked at the face, they gasped and stepped back. Like hell, they would go against the Anti-Light. They were everywhere, and people knew it. 

Bloodrain noticed the hesitations. "Ten thousand Gold Graces, if anyone provides me information about this man." 

That was an unimaginable amount of money. But it was something that could make people take all kinds of risks. 

Bam!

"Get lost!"

A drunkard suddenly threw his glass mug at Bloodrain, spilling the alcohol on the holy man and shattering the glass. 

"Your kind is not welcome here… You… Beasts…!" 

Bloodrain looked back and stood up, eventually walking to stand before the drunkard. The man was frail, in tattered clothes, and looked utterly aged. 

"His Holiness, Lord Bard defeated the Mountain Barbarians. He blessed this land with wealth. How does that make us beasts?" Bloodrain asked, holding himself back from ending the man before him. 

"Errr…" The old man grumbled. "A good deed doesn't justify decades and centuries of neglect, murder, and rapes done by your kind. We used to think the nobles were the worst breed, but you people proved us wrong—All of us here have heard about the Rape of Blackrock!" 

The crowd began to murmur among themselves. 

"Old Rocky! Those are just myths and legends made to tarnish the name of Solis!" The bartender bellowed, scolding the drunkard. "Apologize to the Lord Guardian." 

Phu!

However, the drunkard named Rocky spat on Bloodrain's boots. "Not unless the Holy Land apologizes! And it's not a myth! My grand aunt's family lived there… Where are they now? None of you will have an answer. Look back; someone from your ancestors must have been lost too—Open your e—" 

Bam!

Bloodrain, finally enraged, grabbed Rocky's head with his gauntlet-clad hand. He raised the drunk man into the air, close to his visor with bleeding eye sockets. "You curse me, I shall accept. But I will not tolerate your vile words for my Lord—nor any disrespect!" 

"Go ahead!" Rocky sneered. "Kill me… that's what you pests do! Rather than opening your eyes, you'd kill any voice of rightful dissent… But I…  DO NOT… Fear you…!" 

Bloodrain remained motionless for a few seconds before gently lowering the man and leaving the tavern. The people all around him knelt and apologized, scared their entire county was going to be destroyed that day. 

However, Bloodrain silently left on the snowy road, disappearing into the distance. He moved further north, almost to the edge of the mountains. There, he looked at the broken walls and the remnants of what used to be a thriving village. 

"Blackrock village…" Bloodrain softly muttered and knelt where the village hall once stood, the spot where he once stood two centuries ago as an Inquisitor General—when he still had eyes and witnessed the fiendish madness of the Inquisition. 

He dug his claws into the snow and touched the earth underneath. He picked up a handful of mud. "Still red… their blood still lingers." 

The man with weeping eyes of blood, Bloodrain, looked around, and his ears felt the echoes of the many screams, pleadings of women, the wails of children… and laughs of Inquisitors, as vivid as the day it happened. 

He rose and walked toward another spot of land. It was entirely plain, and all the buildings surrounding it were now rubble. 

Woosh!

Bloodrain swung his sword gently and removed all the snow, revealing the scorched ground as if an explosion had erupted there.

"That night… that Archwizard… But they look nothing alike… He had blonde hair and… golden eyes! He was killed by the commander…"

Bloodrain sat down with a tense look under the visor. 

He looked at his palm. "With these hands, I laid his body to rest on the pyre—A mere Archwizard, might of a Supreme, how did he acquire?" 

Clank!

Finally, wanting to take a calming breath, Bloodrain removed his visor. His closed eyelids contained nothing within, and the blood continued to ooze out, staining his entire face with crimson. But it was far from his concern as he remembered his greatest disgrace. 

"It can't be him… A mere village chief…" 

…

Far far away from Bloodrain's dilemma, in the Kingdom of Highland, Sylvester made his way down toward Sand City, the capital of the Kingdom, where Xavia and Sir Dolorem remained safe and hidden. 

"This is exciting!" King Highland exclaimed as he walked beside Sylvester, hundreds of meters in the air on Light Tiles. The man had left his army under the care of his commanders for a short while and had decided to accompany Sylvester to Highland. 

  "I can't wait to fly someday," Sylvester said, sharing the joy of looking at the scenery from such height. 

"Oh?" King Highland's brows rose. "Is this a declaration of attaining Supreme Wizardhood soon?" 

"I wish I could," Sylvester replied. "The road before me is still long and arduous, and I'm still learning. But I know a new trick, and if I succeed, perhaps I'll be able to fly without attaining the rank." 

"In that case, I haven't chosen the wrong Godfather for my son. That brat, Trinity spoils him too much. I must ensure he doesn't turn out like those spoiled lecherous lords." King Highland clenched his fist. 

Sylvester chuckled. The scene reminded him of his own past life. The bickerings with Diana were annoying, but at the same time endearing, watching her get angry over small things, even when they were both spies with bigger things to deal with. 

After all, who argues about wet towels on the bed when you've got a General to assassinate? But they did it, and he enjoyed it, so he never fixed his mistakes. 

Soon, as they began to descend over Sand City, Sylvester felt a wave of nostalgia wash over him. He looked further south from the sky, toward the horizon. There rested the Deserte Village, where his story had begun twenty-five years ago. 

From day one, the only person who had been by his side was Xavia, and at that moment, he felt a deep sense of longing to quickly see her and embrace her. So many times, they had both come close to death, but finally, the end goal seemed within their grasp. 

"AIM!" 

Just as the two approached the roof gardens of the Royal Castle, the soldiers became alert and aimed their bows and spears at the two. 

"It's your King, you runts!" King Highland boomed. "Five laps of the Castle terrace, now!" 

"Fuck!" The curses reverberated from among the soldiers. 

Sylvester was amused by how King Highland treated the soldiers, and yet he only smelled love, adoration, and respect oozing from them. It seemed like King Highland was indeed a father figure to all. 

Thud!

At last, they landed. The knights quickly knelt to welcome them, and some tried to steal glances at Sylvester, the mysterious man they had never seen before. However, some surely recognized him as they offered a Church salute instead. 

"Riveria is now an ally. The campaign was a success. Go and spread the word, boys." King Highland commanded the men. "And where is your Queen?" 

"You're back!" Prima of Highland, Gladius arrived swiftly. "Her Majesty is in the Throne Room, Your Majesty. She's addressing the court in your absence. A matter regarding the farmers has arisen. There was a lack of rain in the inland regions, and the farmers sought tax relief." 

"What about Bright Mother Xavia?" Sylvester asked.

Gladius easily recognized Sylvester and respectfully lowered his head. "She is at the Monastery within the castle, Your Holiness. She spends most of her time there."

'Praying for me; I know her too well.' Sylvester smiled and headed to see her right away. "I'll see you later, Your Majesty." 

"Join us in the dining hall. We shall have a feast!" 

Initially, Sylvester acted calm, but once he was out of sight, he ran faster than any eye could see. On his shoulder, Miraj excitedly howled like a wolf for some reason. 

"Yes! Let's goooooo… Big Mum! Awoooo…!" 

Sylvester smiled and wanted to say the same thing as the fluffy ancient cat. But he focused on the path and quickly arrived at the gates of the Monastery. He didn't waste a single extra second and pushed the beautifully carved doors open. 

Woosh!

His speed was so great that the door generated a powerful gust of wind, sweeping over the entire Monastery hall, dowsing all the candles that were there, and drowning the hall into darkness. That caused Sylvester's form to appear like a dark shadow standing in front of a radiant source of light—his features weren't visible.

Sylvester remained smiling, as he had already gotten a glimpse of a woman praying before the sigil of Solis. 

♫Thousands of miles I have traveled.

Hundreds of mysteries I have unraveled. 

I fought and swiftly won whenever I battled. 

But the sense of yearning kept me rattled.♫

♫Alas, I did what I had to and ran back. 

Years passed, but I never lost track.

Marvelous skills I have tried to hone.

Surrounded by many, but I still felt alone.♫

There was no halo, no theatrics. Sylvester spoke from his heart. He noticed the soft sniffles from ahead, and no longer was he able to leave the room in the shade. 

Snap!

His fingers made a sound, and all the candles sprung back to the fire, stronger than before, warmer than ever, and brighter than forever. 

"Sylvester! S-Sylvester… My… Sylvester…" Gasping for breath, Xavia, with teary eyes and a worn-out face, ran toward him.

He wasted no time and did the same, but faster. The distance between them instantly inched to an end, and the boy finally found the warm embrace of his mother. Clenched tight into each other's arms, Xavia's eyes left his shoulder drenched. Sylvester, albeit his best attempts, couldn't help but shed a few drops as well. 

She caressed his golden hair, his back, and then his face. She looked at his eyes, at his nose, and at his arms—This was indeed Sylvester. This was not a dream. He had grown up into a magnificent man—her Sylvester, her handsome son. 

Sylvester wiped the tears from Xavia's eyes and smiled to cheer her up. But in the end, a soft peck of assurance on her forehead did the job, making her smile and chuckle. 

"I missed you, Max," Xavia repeated, embracing him again. 

Sylvester agreed, feeling the same.

"Forgive me, mum. It took me a long time—But finally, I'm back home… My home." 

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