Chapter 591 590. I Became The Pope

Chapter 591 590. I Became The Pope

The air of celebration filled the Holy Court hall; eyes stayed plastered on the rituals taking place. They were tedious and time-wasting, but Sylvester followed them to the teeth, so no old foolish Clergyman could later raise their finger at his legitimacy.

The massive drums, trumpets, and violins rang throughout the Holy Land as a sign of the rituals being conducted. Apparently, he was to take a Holy Bath before everyone else, naturally, not without his underwear. It had something to do with being purified, inside and outside—yes, he had to drink Holy Water too, thankfully not the one he bathed in.

He placed his robes aside and sat down on a massive steel plate, which rested on the floor beside the Pope's throne. As he sat down, the Priests poured Holy Water on his body, figuratively cleansing him from the outside.

Once done, he dried himself and donned his clothes again. After that, he drank the Holy Water and purified himself from within. But when Sylvester thought it was the end of the rituals, he realized this was merely the beginning. The purification was also for the sake of conducting the following rituals.

"Your Holiness, please raise your left hand." Cardinal Priest of the Magna Sanctum requested, and tied a golden piece of cloth on his wrist. "Normally, we tie two of them, but due to the unique circumstance of having only one arm, we shall use only one."

Sylvester allowed them to make the decisions and followed their words while keeping his senses on alert, just in case someone decided to attack him. The various chants echoed in the hall as a small fire was set before him, on an open iron container. Understandably, the rituals involved fire, given that Solis was the god they revered.

"Your Holiness, please extend your hand over the fire." Said the Cardinal Priest.

Sylvester, uncaring, placed his hand straight into the fire with a plain expression, as if it didn't hurt him at all. He looked at the Cardinal Priest, waiting for further instructions, but the man's jaw was agape.

"Fire doesn't hurt me as much." Sylvester clarified. "What's next?"

"I will pour the elements that signify the virtues of the perfect Pope onto your hands. Please don't let the fire extinguish."

Sylvester nodded and watched as the man took a small spoon and poured water over his hand.

"Water—signifies peace, so the realm may prosper. The essence of the forest, so one would be wise. Light of the Solarium, so there would be power..."

Slowly, the man poured everything he had, from various magic crystals to strange items from the unknown—moonstones to pieces of stars, from the ash of a volcano to the snow of the north.

"Please extinguish the fire now, Your Holiness."

Sylvester did so, quenching the fire by taking away all the air around it. It extinguished under his palm, and he stood up.

"Please take your seat on the throne. We shall proceed with the crowning." Cardinal Priest politely said.

With a glance behind him, Sylvester gazed at the massive golden throne. It was made of gold, as well as various precious stones that were placed in key locations on it. The throne itself was so high that a few gold steps were made to reach the seat; meanwhile, behind the throne was a massive wall with decorative pieces. Inside the vast hall, it shined like a glimmer of light that would lead the realm to a better future.

'All the madness for this little seat.' Sylvester muttered after seeing the cushioned seat.

At last, he sat down on it and looked at the hall before him. From his raised seat, everyone looked small, their faces forced to look up toward him, always in reverence and respect. 'The scent of worship is such; any man would go corrupt.'

The rituals continued for hours, and the afternoon came closer. Even Sylvester started to lose his patience as the Cardinal Priest just kept on doing strange things. But at last, the time came, and the crowd stood up on their feet. The Cardinal Priest carefully held the Pope's mitre in his hands and climbed the stairs to reach him.

"For ages, the keeper of order across the realm." Cardinal Priest spoke while approaching Sylvester. "Not the throne, not the mitre, but the one who sits on it and wears it—Pope is merely a title, but honesty, pride, wrath, and justice are what's truly vital. The one before came and passed. The time has come anew—from hardships to the brighter era, may you bring us through—By the grace of Solis, and the blessings of light, I pronounce the eightieth Pope—Sylvester Maximilian, long may he reign!"

"Long live Pope Sylvester!"

"Long may he reign!"

"Long live Pope Sylvester!"

The chants echoed in the massive hall, with Aurora, Gabriel, and the others shouting the loudest.

Cardinal Priest gently lowered the mitre on Sylvester's head and retired without showing his back to Sylvester. He walked backward down the stairs and, at the bottom, bowed his head in reverence and saluted.

Sylvester felt the mitre on his head, feeling heavier than he expected. He looked at the faces below him, Aurora, Gabriel, and the rest. Their excited and cheering faces motivated him to do better now that his words had immense power.

Deciding to address the clergymen, he raised his palm toward the assembled crowd and silenced them. To start his first day as the Pope, he decided to do it with a hymn, as his journey to Popehood also began with it.

He cleared his throat and opened his mouth, the magnificent shining halo formed behind his head. A halo that shimmered in harmony with the golden throne; the bright light radiated on the gold and sent glimmers all around.

?In the sacred name of the Lord, I rise to the throne,

Upon His divine path, his guidance alone I've known.

Battled foes in realms, both seen and yet unknown,

From humble acolyte to mighty Pope, I've grown.?

?In an age where hope did falter and wane,

In yearning for dawn's first light to break the chain,

By shadow's pawn, our souls were nearly slain,

Yet triumphant we rise—We've won in His name!?

?In sacred charge, we rise for those oppressed and frightened.

To realms of joy and hope, our destiny is ever tightened.

As beacons for the morrow, by the sacred oath, we're heightened,

By His divine embrace, in luminous truth, we are enlightened.?

?May his ligh—?

Sylvester abruptly stopped singing, for he found himself lacking words. His lips shivered, and his eyes stuck to the end of the massive hallway, at the large gates. They were open, and one lone man walked in, wearing magnificent white, blood and dirt-laden armor, with his white cloak looking the same. He held his longsword in hand, using it to stay standing while walking in, faltering in each step.

His thin face had emotionally red eyes and dark circles underneath. The lips were dry and wounded, and a white stubble beard covered his chin.

"Sir Dolorem!" Aurora shouted and rushed over to help the man.

"N-no!" Sir Dolorem stopped her. His voice seemed pained and hoarse.

All eyes focused on the old knight who emerged from the coma. Wounded beyond repair, yet the man stood and walked, his gaze focused on the throne ahead, his lips curved into a proud smile.

"Y-Your... Holiness..." Sir Dolorem saluted Sylvester, approaching the base of the stairs to the throne. "My heart... rejoices to... to see you... there."

Sylvester's expression showed no change. His eyes stared at Sir Dolorem's form. The smile on the man's face hid the pain and much more. The scents of calm, peace, happiness, hope, and worship were so strong that they overpowered all others.

"Old man..." Sylvester stood up and came down from his throne.

Thud!

Sir Dolorem suddenly knelt down on one knee, almost falling, but he held himself steady with the sword and proudly looked at Sylvester. With great effort, he finally crossed his arms on his chest, "L-Long live... Pope... Sylvester..."

Sylvester knelt down before Sir Dolorem. Seeing the condition the man was in, his heart was heavy, since he saw something that none other could. "You should have rested in the sick bay, old man... You're now officially retired."

Sir Dolorem smiled and touched Sylvester's shoulder. "Y-You're... the supreme ruler now... Don't be worried for m—"

He stopped speaking as intense coughing ensued. Sir Dolorem covered his mouth as blood came out, along with some pieces of his insides. He looked at it and dismissed it, cleaning his hand on his own robes.

Sylvester's eyes flashed with a tearful haze, "It was meaningless..."

Sir Dolorem glanced at the throne above. "You-uh... said once... the holy throne w-will be made of bone-s..."

As if knowing what was happening, Sylvester's eyes silently shed a few drops of tears, since he couldn't wail in that attire. He shifted forward and hugged Sir Dolorem in his arms. The man reciprocated, but weakly.

"I remember... But it does not have to be a reality."

Sir Dolorem eased onto Sylvester's shoulder, his breath faltering, almost feeling non-existent as he whispered back. "I shall gladly b-become a... piece of it..."

Sylvester used healing magic, as much as he knew, while embracing him. "You should see me create a new world... This isn't your time to go."

"I was gone... on that pile of d-dead. I returned for this m-moment. Miracles r-rarely happen... I've... l-lived one." Sir Dolorem replied into his ears. "D-don't be sad, son... be proud... be kind... be strong... be happy."

Sylvester's eyes met with Aurora's, who was standing behind them, and he shook his head. The signs were there, he had known this was coming, but nothing could have prepared him. Nothing lasts forever... a sad reality but a hard one to accept.

"Thank you for being like a father to me." Sylvester rushed to speak, feeling the loosening arms on his back. "Thank you for teaching me magic—Thank you for being someone I could trust blindly... You are a good man; you kept me from becoming them."

"D-Despite all your... secrets... You were never t-them..." Sir Dolorem's arms fell from Sylvester's back, and his body lost strength to remain upright. But Sylvester held him and sat back down. Sir Dolorem's head fell on his chest.

As Sylvester cradled him, his entire life flashed before his eyes, and in almost all of his happiest memories, Sir Dolorem was there. He was the man who gladly took risks without caring for his own life—someone who was ready to die, so Sylvester could escape that cave that time—a selfless man, too kind in heart, afflicted, and yet strong.

"I-I'm old..." Sir Dolorem gasped, sweat forming on his face. "It was... an honor... to serve you."

Sylvester's body rocked back and forth, and his reddened eyes teared up, no matter how much he held them back. "Amidst the realm full of beasts, I was blessed to meet such a priest... The honor is mine, old man... the debt is endless."

"M-My eyes..." Sir Dolorem almost lost his voice, his eyelids slipping. "Growing dim... Y-Your Holiness... one last hymn..."

With burning redness in his eyes, Sylvester felt Sir Dolorem's heart giving up. So gathering a deep breath, he tried to sing for the old man, ending their shared journey just as it had begun—with a hymn.

?Lost, confused, in a world of the dark and evil,

Thank you for saving this one from the upheaval.

Loyalty, justice, and kindness at your teaching's core,

You showed me the path and guided me to faith's shore.?

Sylvester's halo brightly shined and warmed Sir Dolorem's dying body. The man's lips remained curved in a smile, simmering himself in the voice. His heartbeat fainted ever so slowly; his body twitched with his heart giving in.

?May Solis lead you to the warmest realm above.

May your wife and son greet you with embraces of love.

Delayed, but this son shall join you too once someday.

Until then, watch my faith, duty, and justice on display.?

The battles were tough, and the roads were rough. But now, when the fruits of labor had grown, the price was too high, and it was too hard to say goodbye.

As his breath dissolved into nothingness, Sir Dolorem's heart stopped beating, and his body lifelessly rested in Sylvester's arms. Sylvester controlled himself to the utmost, but his eyes didn't listen to him. They poured out tears as if silent prayers.

Sylvester lowered his face, grieving until it rested on Sir Dolorem's head. The halo continued to burn, and his last words came out as faint whispers.

?Despite all hardships, how do I find some relief?

Where is happiness? Again, I'm left to cope with grief.

What's the meaning when I've lost despite high hope?

Should I cry or rejoice that now—I became the Pope??