I Became The Pope, Now What?

Sylvester had no way of knowing what was happening hundreds of kilometres away from him. Sir Dolorem's battle was something the latter needed to overcome himself this time. But one thing was certain. When the words reach the right ears--heads will fly.

"We have come together with our heads held low to pay respect to the dead. This war was meaningless, but they did their duty as soldiers. Every man, woman, and animal is born with a purpose in their life.

"They give their entire life to fulfil that purpose. But some leave us fast, and some later. But the end does come for all. But no matter when it arrives, we can pray for the dead that their souls reach the embrace of the lord and they get the heavenly reward.

"Amen!"

Sylvester finished speaking the prayer as everyone joined to oversee the cremation of the dead soldiers. There were, in total, more than eight thousand dead in this conflict, mostly due to the involvement of the Duke's men, who were stronger overall.

It was a prime example of senseless chaos. But, as all knew, it was a conspiracy. Nobody could bring themselves to curse at the Duke. But, still, Count Jartel was the scapegoat for many as they blamed him for harbouring the prime culprit, Sir Walder.

Speaking of Count Jartel, the man appeared devastated. His eyes were red, his face pale and his mind blank. He didn't utter a single word and remained standing and saw his entire county burn away.

"Keep a watch on him, Chonky. He's mentally disturbed--a bit too much." Sylvester asked his dear friend.

Slowly, the pyres were burnt one by one. They couldn't afford to make one for each, so they made huge pyres, each holding five hundred bodies. Even then, there were 16 small mountains of dead bodies and wood.

'Rest in peace.' Sylvester muttered.

Nobody left the grounds and saw through the end until the last speck of fire vanquished and took away the souls of men. It was a dark night for certain--as on these lands, death had freely lifted its curtain.

"Let's get inside. Did the cooks prepare the meals?"

Sylvester heard Duke Zephyr. The man was trying to organise things in the chaos, not for any ulterior motives this time. They were all a part of the same kingdom, after all.

Sylvester walked back into the castle and went to see Thea Grimton, the granddaughter of the Duke. Thankfully, the Solarium crystals had gradually healed her body from the inside. But still, the Solarium could only heal and keep one alive, not provide the necessary minerals one may need.

"Only feed her porridge made with rice, chopped vegetables and boiled chunks of chicken. Don't feed her anything too hard to digest." He ordered the slave-servant who was lucky enough to survive.

"Yes, my lord."

"And make sure she does not get too cold or warm."

Duke Grimton sat beside the girl and heard Sylvester giving orders. He didn't object or try to act like a know-it-all, as he knew the other party knew more than him. But, he was still amazed by Sylvester, a mere seventeen-year-old boy with a mind to best adults.

"Lord Bard, where will you be going after this?" Duke Grimton asked.

"Holy Land. I will have to write the report and hand it to Saint Wazir. It is up to them if they still wish to put me on the murder case. But forget about me; you should prepare yourself for the worst, your grace. All northern duchies will see a sharp decline in traders from the west. If you don't manage it, there will be riots due to lowering the people's standard of living and wealth."

Duke Grimton took a cold breath realising that. He had not thought about the long-term consequences at the moment. But this panicked him. "Do you have any suggestions, Lord Bard? There are no other markets to sell our produce."

"Expand, that's all I can sway. Send your planners around the kingdom and other kingdoms. See what the other kingdoms lack and can't produce, but you can. Find the demand and try to fill it. You can even invest in a few trade ships and send them to the coast of Beastaria... mainly to sell to the Beastkins. As you know, Beastkins are quick to accept the faith of Solis."

Duke Grimton nodded and thought about it in silence.

"Umh... M-Mister fatty bear?"

Just then, the girl woke up from her long slumber. The Duke frantically crawled close to her and helped her into his lap. "Yes... your grandpa is here. Don't worry, Thea. You're okay."

"B-Bad man! He... lock me."

Sylvester got up and left the duo to talk in the room. He looked around for Duke Zephyr, as the man was possibly the strongest faction left in the two duchies.

But, instead of finding the Duke, he found Count Jartel standing alone near his family portrait on the wall, looking at it as silent tears dripped from his eyes. He was still in his bloodied battle armour.

'I can't really help this one.'

He still walked to his side and looked at the portrait. He didn't say anything as the smell was too strong. The smell of hate, rage, sadness, anxiety, and so much more--all aimed at himself. The man was thoroughly broken, and it was understandable. Just a few days back, his daughter got married. It was an atmosphere of joy--and here he was now.

"What am I to do now, Lord Bard?" the Count asked in defeat.

Sylvester could somewhat feel him, as he, too, once lost all that he loved. He knew first-hand that no matter what he said, it would never get easy. The memories will always resurface and make you cry.

"I cannot tell you not to grieve, Count. I can only say that it was not your fault. Even the likes of Duke Grimton did not realise the conspiracy under their noses. But, sadly, what happened was the fault of everyone--we were too unprepared."

"Hmm..."

Sylvester patted the man's shoulder and left him standing. Chonky was still there as a guard, however. His duty was to watch over the big man.

Eventually, it got late at night, and finally, the Cardinal Suprima of the Duchies arrived. Cardinal John and Cardinal Karl. They came to represent the church's side, as they knew it was a mess of great proportions.

But, first, the dinner was served in the main hall. It was a simple meal of bread and meat stew. It was made in enormous quantities as there were many soldiers nearby.

Sylvester was asked to sit between the two Cardinals so they could ask him questions.

"Lord Bard, when did you realise something was wrong with the situation?" Cardinal Karl asked, representing the Duchy of Zon.

Sylvester was honestly annoyed and tired, but he answered. "When I discovered that the murders of noble women with their breasts cut was not an isolated case of this region. A similar case occurred in the Duchy of Ironstone, down south. That alone meant that the murder and the increasing hostilities between the two counts were not connected.

"But the true culprit was smart. Sir Walder played his game slow and steady to eventually win the race."

Cardinal John looked around. "Where is that buffoon Count Jartel? A spy lived under his command for so long, and he never knew? That's impossible!"

Sylvester felt like punching the Cardinal. A man lost his entire family, and they were playing a blame game to save their own necks.

"Likely mourning... somewhere," Sylvester answered and focused on his meal.

...

In the backyard of Count Jartel's castle, there was a fire tree famous for its red leaves. The Count planted it himself when he was merely ten, and as he grew old, he saw the tree grow. Then, he got married, and his children also grew up with it. The tree saw his life, and so did he.

But, ever since his wife died, the tree started to wither for some reason. Sir Walder said it was a divine message that the tree was in sorrow. Only now, he realised that the bastard likely poisoned it to strain him mentally.

Thud!

"What am I to do now?"

In the middle of the cold winter night, under the dark sky, Count Jartel arrived near the tree and knelt before it. His face was drained of all emotions and life. His eyes were devoid of any light. Still, in armour, he looked at his hands in rage.

Bam!

Bam!

He slapped himself repeatedly until his cheeks and ears bled, and he broke down in loud wails. He punched the ground and cursed at Sir Walder--and god.

"What am I to do now?"

He asked again and again, for nothing remained. All died, his legacy was destroyed, and his people suffered because of him. He saw it in the eyes of all. They blamed him for this mess.

"They are not wrong." He shouted.

Tired and in anguish, he felt out of breath. So he slowly started to take off his armour.

Clank!

His metal breastplate fell apart to the front, and he took a long breath. Then he took off the remaining minor parts and, finally, took off the inner chainmail, leaving only a thin layer of a cotton tunic.

Yet, he was still out of breath. As if being stared at by death.

He looked at the sky and found no twin moons. "Even you won't shine?"

Shhh!

He took his long dagger in hand and unsheathed it. It was long, sharp and shining. But, in the night, even its shine was a waste.

"Meow!"

Suddenly, he felt something strike his hands and make the dagger fall. He looked left and right in shock. But there was nobody, so he picked it up again and stared at it.

"I'm sorry--Marcella--I hope we meet again."

Alone, he closed his eyes and placed the dagger's tip in line with where his heart was. Tears still fell out of the corner of his eyes, but his mouth showed a faint smile.

"It's very hard to ignore--It's hard to breathe anymore."

He felt no pain as he split apart his veins. There was no fear; only the sound of cutting flesh reached his ears.

Ugh!

"Meow!"

He suddenly felt a jolt near his hands as if someone tried to take the blade out. But he persisted, smiling. "O' Solis, don't stop me--I care not if your arms don't accept me."

"Ugh! Forgive me...!"

The final grunt came again as he felt his mouth flood with blood. His eyes went hazy slowly, but the smile remained. From his body, the blood drained, but he did not fall and persisted on his knees--Alone, anguished, and in pain...his body began to freeze.

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