"Sylvester…The Pope is missing!"
It felt as though the earth vanished from under his feet. Sylvester lost his focus entirely and woke up in Prince Jinn's chamber. But he wasted no time reestablishing the communication and speaking again. "How? When did this happen? Is he alive?"
"We don't know…Something happened to him after he returned from Beastaria to deal with Niel's supporters. We haven't seen him since the day he made the announcement to excommunicate fifty thousand Clergymen and hang them for heresy." Sir Dolorem answered.
Sylvester thought about what could have happened, but there was no way to understand how a Supreme Wizard could be defeated without causing a kingdom-destroying level of damage to the environment.
"Who among the Sanctum Council remains?" He asked.
"All of them." Sir Dolorem replied. "The Sanctum Council said they will remain in their place to prevent Beastaria from gaining an advantage. At the same time, they said that Niel must obtain the support of all the Cardinals of the Holy Land to become the Pope first officially."
"But he won't care!" Sylvester argued. "He'll kill them anyway."
"He won't—Saint Scepter won't allow it. But the presence of Saint Scepter also raises questions, Lord Bard. He's supposed to be the Pope's shield, so why is he here while the Pope is missing? I also smell something wrong there—this attack on the inquisitors is uncalled for…Ugh!"
"Saint Scepter?!" Sylvester exclaimed all of a sudden. "Wait…Sir Dolorem, why did I just forget about him? I didn't even name him when counting the powerhouses of the church…I can't even remember his real name."
"So you noticed?" Sir Dolorem responded, pausing briefly to contemplate. "Not just me, but I asked the same questions to my Inquisitor squad. When asked to name members of the Sanctum Council, each one of them forgot to mention Saint Scepter until I reminded them. I experimented with the Bright Mothers as well, and the results were the same—everyone seemed to forget Saint Scepter unless they heard or read the name or saw him."
There was a long silence on Sylvester's side. The matter was highly suspicious as he couldn't remember much about the man despite being so close to the Pope and regularly visiting the Pope's Palace and the Sanctum Council chamber.
"You think he's with the First Guardian?" He asked.
"It's possible, but I'm not entirely certain. For now, I'm only trying to reach safety and regroup. They had sent most of the Inquisitors to Beastaria for war, leaving us without the means to counter the Holy Army for now." Sir Dolorem continued, gasping heavily as the time went on. "Lord Bard…You need to make your move before it's too late."
Sylvester resolutely answered. "Tomorrow, Sir Dolorem—Masan falls. I've completed all the planning. The Empire has been divided into four Kingdoms. Once I'm done here, I'll make my way to the Holy Land, as we only have one year.
"The Chief of Anti-Light visited me here before. He gave me a year to either become the Pope, or watch him raze the Holy Land to the ground."
Sylvester's revelation both excited and worried Sir Dolorem. After all, if the Chief of Anti-Light had given Sylvester time, it meant the man wanted Sylvester to become the Pope. The man saw something good in him.
"But how? The war in Beastaria has ravaged the economy, and the enemy is too strong with the Holy Army. We can't fight a two-front war and hope to win, Lord Bard."
At last, Sylvester decided to cease talking and proceed with his work. "Sir Dolorem, for now, your only task is to ensure the safety of yourself. Take Mum, Healer Hendrix, and his family from the Bard's, head to the Highland Kingdom, and settle in the castle. Spread the word to Einarr, Princess Isabella, and Viscount Kaecilius about my return—tell them to stay ready.
"As for the Thousand Year War, don't worry about it. I will arrange for a temporary truce, so we can focus on my goal."
"How?" Sir Dolorem questioned, finding it unbelievable to stop the war while being thousands of kilometers away. A war that only one Pope was able to stop before.
Sylvester chuckled as he answered. "Old man, did you forget whose blood courses through my veins?"
"..."
A prolonged silence ensued, marking the end of their discussion.
"In that case, Lord Bard…May the holy light enlighten us!"
Sylvester opened his eyes and took a few long breaths to calm his raging heart. The disappearance of the Pope, the ascent of Niel, and the enigma surrounding the Saint Scepter didn't feel like one single mess, but rather a melting pot of intertwined troubles.
Bam!
"Maxy?" Miraj noticed Sylvester's rapid breathing and pressed his plump ears against Sylvester's chest. "Your heart is going boom boom…what happened?"
"A lot, Chonky. The Pope is missing, a new guy is trying to be the Pope, and the Pope's best friend is inexplicably forgotten by everyone. Let's go; we need to end this fast." Sylvester placed Miraj on his shoulder and walked out.
He first went to his room and started to prepare for the final battle. Without wasting any time, he threw all his clothes away and stood in front of the mirror naked. With a small knife, he began to draw Elder Runes all over his body, from his neck to his chest, legs to his feet.
Intricate patterns, circles, triangles, and unknown letters of a long-forgotten language. Runes to protect from poison, fire, water, cold, cutting, and so much more. Being at the edge of becoming an official Grand Wizard, he could already feel the Ranking Up coming very soon.
Once he was finished with his body, he painted runes on the inner side of his armor, granting himself double protection. He still utilized the armor of Imperial Knights, as it allowed him entry everywhere.
Finally, he also gave Miraj a lot of explosive crystals to provide him with backup. "Six years, Chonky—all for this day. We have to kill the Shadow of Masan today. If they manage to escape, it'll be the end for us."
"Aye, aye!" Miraj, with his furrowed fluffy brows, saluted with one paw. "I'll eat anyone that stands in your way today."
Knock! Knock!
"Your Supremeness! We've killed eight Grand Wizards among those who remained. They refused to bow down to your holy light, or heed the words of General Manzax." Soulbreaker's voice emanated from behind the door.
Sylvester swiftly donned his armor, wore his helmet, and emerged with his spear in hand. "And what of the remaining eight?"
"They surrender and await your blessing."
Sylvester made a simple, faint halo appear behind his helmeted head. "Lead the way—the sunrise is upon us."
…
In the holy year 5125 of Solis, on the fifteenth day of the sixth month, Masan summoned its full court to assemble in the colossal hall with ceilings as high as the glory the Empire once held.
Magistrates from all regions across the Empire gathered, accompanied by both minor and major administrators who came as onlookers. The guards received extra income for the day, so they'd do their best. Meanwhile, even the commoners were allowed to attend and watch the gathering in small numbers.
Jesters were called for entertainment and music, and the slaves filled wine glasses of all the nobles, from the Emperor to the lowest-ranking administrator.
Loud murmurs filled the massive Emperor's court, as the ruler sat on his golden throne, with his wife beside him on a smaller throne. On the platform below, the Crown Prince sat on a seat, yet the Princess's seat remained empty.
Thud!
The herald bellowed to make the announcement once the gates opened. "Hear! Hear! The traitors of Masan, the four self-proclaimed Kings of Masan—have arrived—as prisoners!"
Bam!
Bam!
All the knights that stood inside the court began to slam the butts of their spears on the floor, producing a resounding metallic thud audible to all. The murmurs of the people quickly died down, and only the thumps, as if they were the beatings of everyone's hearts, remained.
Four men were then marched into court, all four wearing nothing but jute sacks on their bodies. Their bodies were covered with scars that still bled, and their heads remained low in defeat.
"Move!"
The knights showed no mercy, pushing the four forward with jabs from their spears. The four stumbled, rose, and continued all the way until they reached the beginning of the stairs that led to the Emperor's seat.
"SWINES!" Emperor Zenith leaped up from his throne. His eyes were bloodshot and lifeless, and his face was so thin, all his bones were protruding like tumors. His body had grown so thin and frail that even to call him alive was an overstatement—clearly, recent days had been harsh, with his madness ever so increasing.
"Kill them! These thieves! These traitors…kill them all…burn them in fire!" Zenith rambled uncontrollably as he descended the stairs slowly to reach the first platform. "T-These…four…You ruined my Empire…my bloodline!"
Cough~!
The Emperor began to cough profusely, each echoing cough accompanied by splatters of blood. It sprayed all over his own clothes and stained the steps. The sight did little to inspire confidence, especially among the administrators and the commoners.
"What are their names?!" Zenith demanded to know.
Bowing his head, Manzax, the Supreme General of Masan, stepped forward from behind the four prisoners and detailed. "Your Imperial Majesty, the one on the left is Keilib from Lakeview City. The one behind him is Okaris from Riverlap City. The one on the right is Archbishop Hathem of Shieldwatch City, and the last one is Elmond of Lowhide City—they all claim to have spent their own money to support the regions they call themselves kings of."
Ting!
Ting!
Heads turned towards an abrupt sound that came from the right side of the court, below the Emperor's stairs. The jesters sat there with their elaborate musical instruments—which they suddenly began playing for no reason.
[A/N: Play ♫Antonio Vivaldi - Concerto No.4♫]
"Hah! Kings!" Zenith ignored the sound; his focus fixated on his rage as he kicked his foot against the marble steps. "How dare you use my gold!"
"WE DID NOT!" Keilib roared. "It was our money, from our own treasury! When YOU, Your Majesty, were unable to provide money to the soldiers and administrators, we used our own gold to avoid riots that could have killed millions—much like the one in Southern City here!"
The commoners among the crowd reacted strongly to that, voicing their opinions.
"Silence!" Zenith shouted, though his voice faltered. "Kill them! Put their heads on pikes at the entrances of Marashia! Let the world know this Emperor still rules—with might!"
"Haha…!"
Zenith looked down and noticed Kailib chuckling. He glanced and found the other three laughing as well. "Fine! Skin them right here! Bring a few cannibals from the desert—I shall see them eaten alive from my throne! How dare you laugh at your Emperor! I have the divine will to rule—I am the only law—"
Cough~!
"S-Stop! Stop this…music…cough~!...STOP IT!"
However, the intensity of the music only increased. As if the jesters had gone wild, closing their eyes and swaying their heads while playing the instruments.
CLACK!
Keilib and the three other Kings abruptly stood up, their strong restraints rendered useless.
"Guards!"
The Emperor panicked and tried to rush back for safety, only to fall on his hips. But to his shock, the four men didn't run at him with a knife.
Instead, the four men sat down on their knees again, keeping their bodies upright. They crossed their arms on their chests in a salute and looked at the Emperor's throne with pure worship in their hearts.
"May the Holy Bard enlighten us!"
"What?!" Emperor Zenith swung his head back while the music deafened him. Right there, beside his Empress, on the throne rightfully his, sat another man—a bright crimson halo illuminating the smiling face, sending shivers down his spine.
"N-No…Impossible, you are dead…No, no, no…This ca~"
The figure on the throne raised his right hand, and the music stopped for a split second, letting him roar like a golden-maned lion.
"EXECUTE!"
The music resumed, the cries echoed, and the expressions turned to horror.
In the court, every single knight that stood with their sharp spears moved like a wave of flood—aiming at the nobles, painting the delicate marble with blood.
The crimson halo shined ever so brightly on the golden throne while the Bard smiled at the view. Bloodbath took over everything, showing the Emperor the greatest play along with the music.
Meanwhile, the Empress beside the beard remained idle in her heavy gown with black fur. Her short black hair covered some of her sharp eyes. But the scents never lied; they clearly showed her anger rise.
The Bard smiled and gazed at her face until she looked at him.
"How do you like the music and my plan—My Empress… Shadow of Masan?"
Thank you for reading. GT votes are much appreciated.
