I Became The Pope, Now What?

After the pitiful half-an-inch growth of the spear, Sylvester remained unwavering in his determination to master the art of metal manipulation. What began with lifting a small fragment of metal slowly evolved into hoisting a massive piece comparable in size to a horse. With the passage of time, Sylvester's proficiency in the craft only grew, and it appeared as though he would achieve mastery before the arrival of winter's peak.

During his time in the Viscounty, he had to attend to numerous other obligations, which required a lot of letter exchanges. So he called for a team of special Running Men who would be responsible for all his letters.

One of his regular correspondents was King Conrad of Riveria, who was struggling to quell a slave uprising. Sylvester made sure to leverage every situation to his advantage while subtly working to further his own ends. He harbored no remorse for double-crossing the king, as the latter had previously used him to conspire against and kill Duke Daemon of Ironstone Duchy.

It was just business and politics, as usual. He just happened to be somewhat better than most.

Additionally, he exchanged a significant amount of correspondence with Lord Einarr, who was toiling to rebuild the Sorrow Kingdom one step at a time. Despite all that, Sylvester still had to devise a plan to move forward, as his objective of making the Sorrow Kingdom his base had been foiled by the Pope's order.

Boom!

"Marvelous as always, Lord Bard. Impeccable technique, and must I say, you have already gone beyond my capacity of lifting metal." Viscount Gordan clapped and cheered from the sidelines while sitting under the shade of an umbrella that Sylvester had made for the man.

Sylvester, having spent countless hours training in the blistering sun, had developed a deep tan. He had become something of a local celebrity, attracting both the admiration of women and the envy of men. Nevertheless, the men knew better than to resent Sylvester for his physical prowess; they were also well aware of his lifelong vow of celibacy.

Sylvester took a long breath and came to the Viscount to sit down under the shade for rest and rehydrate his body. The old Viscountess has made fine lemonade for them — a drum full of it.

"Where are Sir Dolorem and Bishop Lazark?" Sylvester asked the noble Lord.

"Sir Dolorem, on my humble request, accepted to train my knights to be a little more competent. As for Bishop Lazark, I believe he only leaves his room for breakfast, lunch, and dinner." Viscount answered. "Truly a strange crowd you have gathered around, your grace."

Sylvester chuckled. "Don't mind the Bishop. He does not like to be under direct sunlight for a long duration. But I must agree, I do have some unique personalities around me. You should visit me in the Holy Land sometime. I will show you the place and introduce you to some good, interesting folks."

The Viscount let out a sigh and glanced at his feeble legs. "Alas, traversing such a great distance is a formidable undertaking. I am but a burden to my people if I am unable to oversee the management of our mines."

Sylvester refrained from speaking further on the matter, knowing that he could not aid the man's damaged legs. The wounds had gone unhealed for too long, leaving the limbs beyond repair with nerve damage. However, Sylvester was aware that Healer Hendrix had the necessary skills to at least alleviate the man's suffering. Despite this knowledge, Sylvester was hesitant to suggest the Viscount seek Hendrix's assistance, as they were not particularly close yet.

"Your Grace, I invite you to accompany me to the mines tomorrow," the Viscount proposed. "Immersing yourself in an environment abundant in iron and other metal elements will aid in your mastery of the spear. You must first fully comprehend the element before mastering the weapon."

Sylvester agreed as he had not been able to increase the spear's length despite rigorous training. There was a more profound mystery to its use, which he was determined to uncover.

Just as they were about to end the training, Sylvester broached the subject. It was regarding the request Miraj had made to him, which he had accepted since Miraj rarely asks for anything other than bananas.

"My Lord, if I may be so bold, could you entrust your two sons to my care? I shall endeavor to reform them, for the love, word, and wrath of the Lord can work wonders. Perhaps there is still hope for your legacy." Sylvester offered bluntly.

The Viscount was in the midst of turning his wheelchair when he abruptly halted. He didn't look back, but his shoulders quivered uncontrollably.

'I knew it! The scent of sadness and hope spiked astronomically. He's been holding himself from asking for my help. Now he's weeping because I offered it?' Sylvester saw the reaction coming from a mile away.

The Viscount maintained a stoic facade, despite the cracking in his voice. "If... If you can fix them, my bloodline will be indebted to you forever."

"I can merely try, for I can not rewrite their minds. I'm only a human, after all." Sylvester responded.

The Viscount proceeded to leave. "That hope… is enough. You may do as you please with them, your grace."

Soon, it was only Sylvester and Miraj.

"What is the plan, Maxy?" the ball of fluff asked.

Sylvester shrugged and also headed to the castle. "They are weak-minded men, so the usual will work. We first destroy their pride, personality, sense of security and break their minds apart. Then, once they are blank slates, we rewrite them — the good old MK-Ultra style."

"Makultra? Is it something tasty?" Miraj inquired while perched on Sylvester's head.

Sylvester chuckled. "No, but it sure is painful — I can personally vouch."

…

That evening, deep within the castle dungeons, where no one ever ventured, two torches flickered. The dim light illuminated only a portion of the ground, leaving the surrounding area shrouded in darkness.

The rats made squeaking noises all around the vicinity, along with some strange and menacing sounds of insects. It was unnerving to be there.

"Father! Forgive us!"

"Please don't do this!"

Two voices resounded, screaming and growling. They alternated from curses to pleadings. Their shouts remained constant the entire night. Sadly for the two, it was eternal night in the dungeons as the torches ran out of their fuel and soon extinguished, leaving the two men in complete darkness.

They were not loved or liked by any, so none felt their disappearance. On the contrary, the knights and staff rejoiced.

…

The next day dawned swiftly, and Sylvester readied himself for the excursion into the mines with the Viscount. Sir Dolorem and Bishop Lazark, aware of the dangers that Sylvester might encounter, decided to accompany him.

Though they knew they were weaker than Sylvester, but as long as they could watch the Lord's Bard's back, they were content with their roles.

Viscount Gordan, along with his entourage of knights, led Sylvester and his group towards the mountain stronghold, which had been constructed within a cavity in the mountain and was fortified by a wall.

"This is the entrance to all my mines," the Viscount proclaimed, gesturing towards the stronghold.

Sylvester took note of the numerous armed men guarding the entrance, stationed at strategic points with bows and arrows at various heights. The rest of the stronghold was occupied by miners, who were clothed in tattered and dusty clothes and covered in grime and sweat., going about doing their work with their darkened faces from the dust and tan.

The crowd was vast, and Sylvester estimated that there were at least five thousand men working on the surface alone. He could only imagine how many more were inside the mines and how deep the mines even went.

"Come, your grace. I will take you inside one of them." Viscount suggested.

Following that, four tall and muscular men appeared with a small, roofless palanquin on their shoulders. Then the Viscount sat down in it, and the four men began to carry him on the path ahead.

Sylvester, along with Sir Dolorem and Bishop Lazark, followed behind while the Viscount talked about his work with much pride, explaining the little details about each location.

"At first, we encountered difficulty in reaching the depths of the mine," the Viscount revealed, "But then I decided to utilize air magic crystals to create a pleasant air circulation within the mines. Now, we can easily reach depths of up to five miles."

Sylvester observed a steady stream of muscular men emerging from the mine, each bearing a laden basket on their backs. Their expressions were stoic, and their gaze remained fixed on the path ahead. "How many miners are there?" he inquired.

"Six thousand," Viscount replied, his hand absently stroking his chin. "And four thousand transporters, who bring the iron ore to the surface for processing."

Sylvester frowned. "How long does it take to mine, transport, and process the ore?"

"If it's from the deepest part of the mine, it takes half a day to bring it out, then a day for processing, as we work in batches. So, all in all, it takes around three days," Viscount replied, his tone proud. "This is the finest mine in all of South Sol."

But Sylvester held a different opinion.

'Good God,' he muttered to himself. 'No wheelbarrows or tracks for transportation? This mine is more inefficient and inconsistent than Felix's love life.'

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