“I stand by my words from that night. I shall gladly become a piece of your throne. Mother Xavia must also not want you to die for her sake either.”
‘This man is too fanatic for his own good. But the question is indeed right. What would I have done if I were in the Pope’s place?’
“Well, the only option out of this is to get stronger, correct? Don’t worry about it. I am on track once again. I also plan to get Lady Aurora to spar with me seriously with heavy hands and magic. I feel I won’t grow if I don’t feel the pain. You too, Sir Dolorem. If you’re so worried about me dying while trying to save you, then make sure you don’t put yourself in a situation where it may happen.”
Sir Dolorem already knew that part, But he also knew his peak power, so he didn’t live in the delusion that one day he could become a peak strength. What his strength allowed him, he was already doing. And once Sylvester goes too high, he will be a burden to him rather than a boon.
“I will, Sylvester. But you already know I can’t keep up with you. None of us can, and we must come to accept that. You were born with a higher talent than others. That’s a fact all must accept. Even Priest Gabriel and Priest Felix.”
Sylvester nodded and looked around. “I think we should head back now. If Lady Melinda has woken up, we shall produce a rough art of the culprit’s face.”
“Agreed.”
As Sir Dolorem picked up his bag, Sylvester walked closer to the stone tomb of the Pope. He had no idea how strong the man was in reality, but if, even after his death, he could keep holding this mountain, then it was likely a lot.
“Rest in peace, good man.”
They headed towards the exit after that. But Sylvester had an interesting theory about the 13th Pope’s death. “Sir Dolorem, what are the chances that the clergymen who came to see him stuck could help him but just chose not to? I reckon they didn’t want a neutral figure on the throne.”
Sir Dolorem instantly agreed, surprisingly. “The chances are very high because the other Guardians could have been called once the people were evacuated, and the whole mountain could have been obliterated. But they chose to leave the Pope to die slowly–painfully, I presume.”
“Isn’t the landscape the same now? We know that the factions exist already, each wishing to ascend.” Sylvester inquired.
“In a way, it’s the same; in others, it’s not. In the era of stagnation, they were actively trying to kill each other. Right now, however, they are just vying to take the spot after the Pope’s natural death. But, you must remember, Pope Axel is not weak–in fact, he’s one of the strongest in history. So nobody wants to truly be in his bad books.”
Sylvester and Sir Dolorem talked all the way until they arrived at the river port again and sneakily left the boat there. The town had started to show signs of activity now, and the castle was full of activity as well.
They jumped onto the castle’s wall and arrived in their room, where Felix was waiting for them, awoken and angry.
“You two! How could you leave me behind?”
“We left you a letter, and you probably already know the place. We went to the Mountain of Tears to see the tomb of the 13th Pope.” Sylvester replied, believing that since Felix was a native of a close-by county, he should know about it.
“You what! Fuck! I wanted to see the dead Pope too, man. Why didn’t you wake me up?”
“We tried, but you shook your arse and went back to sleep after saying, ‘Just five more minutes.’. You know how hard it’s to wake you up at times. So now don’t cry and get ready. I think Lady Melinda has awoken since so many female servants were headed to sickbay.”
Sylvester also took out Miraj from the bag, who slept the entire journey without making any noise.
Bam!
“Lady Melinda has awoken!” a servant came to inform.
The three quickly made their way to the sick bay and found a small crowd of men in expensive armour, likely the vassals of the Count. They were being loud and annoying, talking about how they would do this or that.
“Silence! All of you! What you’re doing is dancing on the head of the sick! Give her some peace of mind.” Sylvester boomed as he arrived in his own golden armour as well, appearing as overwhelming as possible.
,m “Either stay silent or leave this hall.” He ordered as he reached the bed and saw Lady Melinda. The woman was still lying down, but her eyes looked full of life again, though a bit of sadness remained.
He checked her eyes first to see if there was any dilation. “How are you feeling? Lady Melinda? I am Sylvester Maximilian, and I was the one who found you.”
“Thank you for saving me, Archpriest. My husband told me about what happened.” She breathed in a low voice.
“No need to thank me, I do what my job says. I hope you’re ready to talk now so this war can be avoided. Can you tell me anything about the attacker?” He carefully asked her, not wanting to end up traumatising. .
She nodded and started telling whatever she remembered. “I was going to meet other ladies when the attack happened. First, the reinsman of my carriage was shot with an arrow. Then, a single man appeared on horseback, wearing fine plated armour. His face was covered with a visor as well.
“He dragged me out, hogtied me and took me to the hut in the fields, where he… he cut me and…”
Sylvester interrupted. “No need to tell the moment of pain, my lady. Did you see his face? Can you describe him? Anything about him that may help us catch him.”
She gulped and started to speak. “He was tall… as tall and broad as the other priest behind you. His armour was entirely silver, with a red scarf around the next. I was able to take off his visor for a while when I fought him. He had deep-red hair, a white face, black eyes and a cut mark on the upper part of the nose. His horse was also black.”
“A cut mark on the nose?” Sylvester hummed as this was a significant clue. “Can you tell me the details of the face so I may create a rough sketch of the man?”
She silently nodded, a bit unsure if she could really help that much. Still, Sylvester tried his best and tried to draw the man’s face on a blank parchment. Of course, he was not a professional, but he hoped it would help.
Eyes, nose, lips, stubble beard, and hair were quickly made, then the shape of the face. It took nearly an hour to draw it out and get a decent-looking sketch of a man.
“Have any of you seen a man like this?” He asked the nobles in the room and passed the sketch to see it clearly.
As expected, there were no answers among them. So Sylvester decided to go to the Jartel county and ask the Count there.
“I will return to inform you about the findings. Until then, please hold restraint and do not start anything. As for Lady Melinda, I believe she will be healed in time. Just don’t let any mad healer come near her–they often do more harm than good.”
“Archpriest!” Lady Melinda called him as he was leaving.
Then, with visible frustration, she asked in a low voice. “I… Can I still bear a child?”
“Melinda! You don’t have to…” Count Raftel wrapped his arm around her back to support her.
‘How would I know? But, it should be possible.’
“As long as you’re fertile, you can have as many babies as you want. But, I’m afraid you can’t feed them yourself anymore… you will need a nanny to help you.”
She clenched her hand and nodded in silence. Her concern was understandable to Sylvester. This was a world of old thinking, after all. Marriages in this era were done more for furthering the bloodline than for love. So if a noble woman can’t bear a child, that’d mean she’s useless to the male as the marriage defeats the whole purpose.
He walked close to her and handed her his own locket with faith insignia. “May you find calm and warmth in the name of the lord? I will be back later.”
Sylvester walked out of the castle and went straight to the front lines. His golden armour and blonde hair had become the word of the talk by now, so he didn’t need any escort. He entered the Jartel county immediately and headed to meet the Count in his war tent in the field.
“How is Lady Melinda?” Count Jartel asked, appearing concerned.
“She lives, but her mind and body scars will last forever. Anyhow, I have drawn a rough sketch of the man who attacked her. You need to check and tell me if you’ve seen him.” He laid down the parchment on the table for all to see.
“That’s Sir Kenworth from Green City!” Sir Milton, the third brother of the Count, blurted instantly.
“This bastard!” Count Jartel growled in anger. “This fucker was trying to woo Marcella too… how I accused her of indecency. Is this man behind harming Lady Melinda as well? But why would a knight from the capital do such a thing?”
“Are we sure it was him in the case of Lady Marcella?” Sir Walder, the Count’s Prima, rolled, arriving in his wheelchair. “Sir Kenworth had left a week before the murder of Lady Marcella–inside this castle. A knight from outside can’t just enter the castle that easily, my lords.”
Sylvester narrowly stared at the cripple, for he finally smelled something suspicious. There was anxiety in him, as well as excitement. ‘This is as if… he’s nervous about his plans but happy that it’s going accordingly?’
Sylvester was always very suspicious about this man because he had his shadows falling on so many places but never enough to raise any strong suspicion. Even right now, despite what he said, it was not a lie.
‘What game are you playing, cripple?’
“So war it is!” Count Jartel barked.
Bam!
At that point, Lady Aurora lost her patience and slammed her fist on the table. “Go ahead, make war without a proper, proven reason and see how I finish you all with one swing of my blade.”
“…”
“My lords… War is postponed!” Count Jartel blurted almost instantly. It was that easy to persuade him. “First comes my daughter’s marriage.”
For that, none were that hopeful.
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