I Became The Pope, Now What?

Chapter 398 398. Widowmakers

The memory of all the past visions surfaced in Sylvester's mind. The time he saw the little girl being born. The first time he saw her walk, the first time he saw her get hurt and cry, or the first time she used a magical spell. He knew about the girl named Zye more than probably even her parents.

In a way, he came to care for her mentally and hoped to see her again in his visions, just to ensure she was fine. But, sadly, nothing was fine, and she ended up belonging to Sol's most cursed royal family.

'So… Zye is the last of her bloodline, and she was sold by an Archbishop. Wait, when did this happen? I saw that vision more than a year ago.'

"When was the Royal Family killed?" He inquired.

With a look of doubt and curiosity, the old Archpriest replied. "Three weeks ago. Why do you seem so interested in them, young priest? Did you perhaps know them?"

Sylvester didn't deny nor accept. "I… I was merely curious, your grace. I will return to work now and tend to the weak. I may not be the best, but I know some healing."

'So… The visions were showing me the future, not the present. I saw her being sold a year ago, but it only happened nearly a month ago.'

The realisation made him wonder if he could use the visions to see the future. But then he dismissed such thoughts as visions were too erratic and couldn't be willingly induced.

Sylvester quickly walked out of the room and started caring for the sick. But he knew he could not stay there as his task was to travel around the Sorrow Kingdom and investigate. Just one village, and he had already seen the misery that was left behind after the inhumane war initiated by The Patch.

Paaa!

Bam!

Bam!

All of a sudden, horns and drums started to resound outside the monastery. They became loud and faster with each passing second.

"Move!" Archbishop appeared out of his room all of a sudden. "We're being raided again. These heathens! They never stop and only bring more misery."

The entire hall erupted in cries and murmurs while some blankly sat, having already accepted their fate. Indeed, this was not the first time the raid was happening, and certainly, it wouldn't be the last.

Sylvester followed the old man and reached the entrance of the monastery. Outside, a few dozen of metres away, they could see a small group of men draped in red clothes from head to toe with faces covered. They were all on horses, a total of fifty-nine to be exact. They just watched the monastery in silence.

"Who are they?" Sylvester asked.

The Archbishop sneered and grumpily replied. "They are known as Windowmakers. They are a special unit under the direct command of one of the Grand Wizards of The Patch. They are the scum of the earth, the worst of the worst. First, they kill all the males of any village or town they come across, then take the women they fancy, and pass them around until they get bored or women simply die.

"They are here to do the same, to lay waste to anything that still stands on this land — Even if it's the house of God."

Sylvester glanced at the supposed heathens and automatically started to create a profile on them. He didn't need to sit down and think, as the judgement was clear. Death was the only answer.

"What do they get by doing this? They have already won the war." Sylvester asked.

Archbishop shook his head. "Mindless thirst for blood can make humans commit crimes worse than anything you can imagine, young priest. When put in an absolute position of power, the true nature of man is eventually shown. More often than not, the hidden nature is demonic. Now, we fight them and try to protect the poor behind us. We took an oath, and I intend to uphold it till my last breath."

Woosh!

The Archbishop took out a magical book from his robes and started raising it over his palm magically. Then, it began to shine, and gusts of wind came out of it, making his long beard and hair flutter.

He oozed power and wisdom combined. His strength was enough to move Sylvester a bit as he felt the change in the solarium in his surroundings. He felt amused as to why such a strong man, likely an Archbishop, was thrown into the backwaters.

Thud!

Thud!

"I will take care of these pests!"

But before the Archbishop could do something, a tall, bald man appeared from one of the buildings in the village, which was nearby the monastery. He was as tall as seven feet, strong as a bull, but his eyes appeared enraged and reddened as if they'd burst at any moment.

"Bradley, stand back. I ordered you not to exert yourself!" The Archbishop roared at the man.

"I shall die a righteous death, your grace. Don't take this from me!" The man named Bradley roared back.

"You have not done enough yet to reach the heavens, Bradley. Serve for as long as you can with that abled body. I'm old, so let this be my final stand." Archbishop argued and stood his ground.

Sylvester, however, had other plans. He looked at Sir Dolorem not far away. "Priest Charles, please take care of them."

"Understood."please visit

Sir Dolorem replied with a low nod and a response before starting to walk towards the raiders. Sir Dolorem took out a thin piece of cloth from his pocket and tied it around his eyes. Then, he started drawing a long horizontal line on the dirt road with his sword.

After finishing, he stood near the middle of the line and planted the sword on the ground before himself. "To harm the innocents is against the basic laws of humanity and the teachings of Solis. Therefore, by the law of light, anyone who dares cross, dies."

Silence ensued after that, and the dusty air zoomed past around. It was nearly night, and the sun had almost set. But, the little hue of the light created enough grandeur to show the courageous might of the knight.

"Hah, a mere priest wishes to stand against us?" One of the raiders mockingly joked as they all brought their horses closer and brandished their swords like barbarians.

Sir Dolorem didn't move and waited the entire time. Then, slowly, the raiders crept closer and eventually crossed the line in the dirt and started circling Sir Dolorem.

"Death looms over you now, my fanatic friend." A raider said.

Woosh!

It was a big mistake as the head rolled down, and the lifeless torso fell back, blood spraying the entire time. After that, it was just gore, and there was no running for anyone anymore.

"Do not insult the faith, heathens!"

Woosh!

Sir Dolorem moved fast with precision. He swiftly dodged every strike or the horse's kick and stabbed at the right parts every time. He moved like waves, turning and twisting his body with ease as if he were dancing.

Before any strike could land on him, he'd always react and move within the nick of time. It was magical as if he could see the future.

That was precisely what Sylvester thought. 'I-Is he using the eyes?'

Thud!

One after another, bodies started falling from the horses, some headless, some armless and some without legs. It was magnificent, but Sir Dolorem held back and didn't use magic to defeat the raiders.

Crunch!

At last, Sir Dolorem stopped after stomping on a man's skull, crushing it with ease, spraying all the brain matter around, and drenching the land in heathen blood.

Sir Dolorem sheathed his sword after that and took off the blindfold. "The will of Solis punishes the sinners. For evil can never forever be winners."

Archbishop Nelson, who saw the dance of death, was in amazement and joy seeing the raiders die like that.

"Perhaps we can find some good work for you three. It's Church's loss they sent you here as a punishment." Archbishop exclaimed with joy.

Sylvester was only interested in the seven-feet-tall bald man, however. "Your Grace, if I'm not wrong, is this Count Bradley? The infamous Bradley The Brute?"

Archbishop stopped and looked at Sylvester. "What if he is?"

"He killed poor refugees, used them as cheap labour until they died. I saw many slaves who ran from him and sold themselves to anyone in the north. What made the infamous Brute turn into something like this?" Sylvester questioned openly.

The Archbishop glanced at the big man and answered. "Priest Johnathan, oftentimes, the god has his own mysterious ways of teaching us mortals. But ultimately, no matter how cruel or kind you are, you are subjected to the Lord's will. You and I were lucky, for we were embraced by the Solis early, but some are late."

Count Bradley looked at Sylvester nonchalantly as if the man had no emotions. Then, finally, he addressed with a light bow of the head. "Priest, thank you for arriving here to help these poor, sickened brothers and sisters. I chose the wrong path for years, but I intend to make it right now. I hope we can save as many of them as possible."

Sylvester bowed his head too, but his mind was in a predicament as the emotions he smelled told him a different story.

'T-This man… He has lost his will to live. I feel the strange emptiness in my mouth, as if there is no air, no smell, nothing in the air. It's just dryness all around — Just like with Augustus.'

"Saint Paul! Saint Paul! Come back, please! Look what's happening! They all stopped breathing!"

Suddenly, a man came out of the monastery, running and shouting.

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