I Became The Pope, Now What?

Chapter 407 407. Wolf In Sheep's Clothing

Sylvester also warned Miraj, who slept on his shoulder. He discreetly ate some solarium crystals to recuperate any lost energy to return to his utmost peak strength. His spells sat on his tongue's tip, and his fist prepared itself to react.

Sylvester had already warned Sir Dolorem, and in return, the man had warned Bishop Lazark. So all of them were prepared to make a move. But, unfortunately, there was nowhere to run anyway since they quickly realised the castle's strongest protection was also their confine. The giant, wide moat of lava was the boundary they could not cross, for they could not fly.

'As long as there are no Grand Wizards, I should be fine.' Sylvester calmed himself down to mentally prepare himself.

Slowly but surely, they all slowly came closer to the enormous castle. Finally, the Prima of the Harmund Family gradually changed his pace and came behind them to ensure they had nowhere to escape.

Sylvester talked in morse code with Sir Dolorem as they formulated a plan to escape if needed. They didn't want to lose their lives over some petty politics.

'I saw a large vent near the entrance of the castle,' Sylvester informed Sir Dolorem.

In response, Sir Dolorem also blinked in morse code. 'I noticed a separate entrance for the servants. They likely have different entries and exits. We can use that if need be.'

'Yes, if the need arises. Let's try and kill them all for now. They have tried to lay hands on two men of Archbishop ranks, one Bishop and one Inquisitor General. This alone deems them worthy of facing article 66.'

'Understood, lord bard. We shall try and turn their trap into their own deadly prison.'

Sylvester nodded and continued to walk slowly, trying to earn as much time as possible. If the fight were to happen inside, he could already see the beautiful castle being destroyed soon.

But one more possibility came to his mind, one that he could use to his advantage. 'They likely don't know who I am yet. This means they likely think I'm just some random weak priest. If that's the case, I can use a surprise attack and wound a majority of them in one go.'

He quickly spoke in morse code with Sir Dolorem and asked them to prepare their surprise attacks to reap the best benefits from their disguised looks.

"In there, priests." The Prima voiced from behind.

They soon arrived in front of a giant, ten metres high twin door. The door was made of some black material, and a red volcano was painted on it, likely depicting Mount Eternal. The colours were fading, however, telling the sorry story of what transpired in the castle.

Woosh!

A gust of wind came as the twin doors started to open on their own. As the other side came into view, Sylvester felt mesmerised. As he entered the castle's grand hall, he was immediately struck by the sheer size of the space. The hall was colossal, with soaring arches stretching high overhead and massive stone columns made of black or white marble stones. The floor was also made of polished marble, but black in colour with golden patterns. It reflected the light of the massive chandeliers that hung from the ceiling, casting a warm glow throughout the room.

At the far end of the hall sat a throne adorned with glittering jewels and intricate carvings of mythical beasts, the mount eternal and much more. The throne was set atop a dais of pure white marble, reached by a grand staircase that curved elegantly up from the floor. The walls of the hall were decorated with tapestries depicting epic battles, heroic deeds and the rich history of the Kingdom.

'Is that the Archbishop on the throne?' Sylvester noticed the figure sitting on the intricate majestic seat.

At the base of the throne, below the grand staircase, there stood fifteen men, all either old or in their late forties. They wore fine shining armour with capes and helmets while their swords were unsheathed. Some of them were also wizards, as evident by their staff. They all had different features, some blonde, some redheaded and some even bald. But none of them were fat, and that alone told the story of their strength.

Sylvester only focused on the figure on the throne. 'Why isn't he moving?'

"You called for us, your grace?" Sylvester asked the Archbishop.

There was an eerie silence in the hall. Albeit its majesty, there was nothing majestic about it. On the contrary, it all felt gloomy since Sylvester knew about its history and that the men standing before him were the traitors who brought darkness to the Kingdom.

"He won't be speaking anymore, priest." One of the men in armour spoke. He had black hair, brown eyes and a brown complexion. He stood among the men as if he were their leader.

Sylvester didn't appear too shocked and asked back in calmness. "What do you mean? Who are you?"

The man walked forward, his long sword with a golden hilt and green jade raised forward. "I am the new Duke of Wailing City, Duke Larkaster, the head of United Duchies of Sorrow. If you still can't understand what happened to your 'grace', then you are too stupid to be even alive. Now, which one are you? Stupid? Or smart? Because if you're smart, you might not share the same fate as that old man."

Sylvester falsely flinched, showing some fear. "Y-You killed Archbishop? Why? What do you want?"

"What do we want? This kingdom, of course. Not the Patch, nor the Holy Land. We shall rule these lands on our own. Now, I feel gracious today, just for once, so I will allow you to return to the Holy Land. But, before that, you must also kill your two partner priests." Larkaster replied while keeping a big smug smile on his face. His teeth appeared wide open, his eyes narrowing a little. He truly enjoyed tormenting others. That was clear.

Sylvester used all his acting skills to sit down and crawl towards the 'Duke'. His eyes became watery, and his nose runny. He made himself look like a man pleading for his life. So as he crawled, he cried to the Duke.

"Please, don't make me do this, your highness. My oath will be broken then... I can't harm my brothers.'

Sylvester inched closer to the man, one step at a time, all the while crawling. His face remained contorted, as if in a lot of pain and misery.

"Haha, it's always a delight to see you all almighty holy men plead for life." Duke Larkaster mockingly stated and waited for Sylvester to reach him. "Fine, I will let them go if you come here and lick my boot once."

Cough~

"STOP! Don't lower your...self...to their level! You are a preacher of Solis!"

Shocking everyone, Archbishop from the throne shouted as his body moved a few inches, announcing to all that he was still alive. His voice, however, was feeble and hoarse.

"Rise, priest... Don't do it. It's better to die here..."

Sylvester continued to crawl towards the Duke. "I-I don't want to die... I want to live... Forgive me, your grace."

"Hah... See this, Nelson? Not everyone is like you. Some do hold a sane mind. Duke Harmund, go and silence him. I do not wish for this moment to be spoiled by his rambling. Now come here, dog, lick my foot."

Sylvester did so, keeping the act of a scared lowly man going on. In a minute, he reached the Duke on all fours and stopped.

"Wait!" The Duke ordered. "Let me make it better."

Ptui!

"Now lick it." Duke spat on his boot and ordered again. "Clean it as if it was polished yesterday. I want the gold to shine enough that you can see yourself on it."

Sylvester nodded and lowered himself slowly. All eyes focused on him. The hand of Sir Dolorem stayed clutched to his sword's hilt while Bishop Lazark stayed prepared to launch as many undead as he could summon.

On the side, Duke Harmund went and knocked Archbishop Nelson to sleep again. "Go to sleep, old man."

With that, all eyes returned to focus on Sylvester. But something was off as he had stopped lowering his face to the boot. Instead, he looked up with his bloodshot eyes, right into the eyes of Duke Larkaster.

Woosh!

A blinding light glowed all of a sudden, and a halo appeared behind Sylvester's head. His voice echoed with it, loud, strong and menacing to those who had sinned, and warming to those hurt.

♫Listen, for here speaks the Son of Solis, the Bard.

You dare tarnish his name; you angered the lord.

So prepare for the light to incinerate you now.

Enough, no more blasphemy shall I allow.♫

Woosh!

"Aaargh!"

The Duke suddenly screamed in agony and took a few steps back.

"Y-You! Argh!"

Sylvester was too fast, and before the Duke had even known, a sword had suddenly plunged into him. Sylvester had thrust the blade from below, piercing the Duke's groin and entering his guts, puncturing everything apart.

His strength was enough to ignore the strong armour, so he also twisted the blade a little to ensure maximum pain and damage was inflicted.

Sylvester then stood up while still chanting the hymn. He stretched his arms and cracked his neck. His face was fully serious, annoyed to the peak. He still sang the hymn as his attack had not stopped yet.

♫This is where the battle for justice merely begins.

The time has come to pay for your sins

For that, I shall cut away your proud wings.

So rejoice, for you die in the presence of my hymns.♫

Boom!

The entire ground started to shake, and cracks began to appear. It was like an earthquake. But soon, it became evident it wasn't natural, for light magic hotter than the lava started to bloom out of the cracks.

Thud!

Duke Larkaster stumbled back, trying to maintain balance. But he only fell to his knees, which in return pierced the stuck sword further in, puncturing his lungs and heart as well. His death was imminent, and the rest could only feel their knees weakening.

♫Witness my wrath! Witness my Fury!

Now, I am the Judge, and I am the Jury!♫

Boom!

The very foundations of the earth trembled and quaked as if seized by a primal fury. With a sound akin to thunder, the ground shattered into thousands of pieces, the pillars that once stood so tall and proud crumbled into dust, and the beautiful ceiling that adorned the art and chandeliers fell down in a shower of debris. The destruction brought upon the structure was just the beginning, for the screams of those caught in the chaos had already begun to fill the air.

The very ground beneath their feet seemed to writhe and contort as if seeking to devour those who dared to stand upon it. The cracks that appeared without warning swallowed the weak, dragging them down into the unknown depths below. And as some were swallowed whole, others were consumed by the raging light that burst forth from the same cracks, scorching flesh and bones alike, amputating limbs and leaving nothing but devastation in its wake.

All the while, the halo shined, the loud and proud hymns continued -- the song of death never stopped.

♫Lives of so many that you made so hard.

This is their reply, in the worst regard.

I am lord's shield, the innocent's guard.

I am Sylvester Maximilain, Lord's Bard!♫

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