Chapter 11: [Bonus ] 11. Magna Sanctum

For a child merely three months old, to utter such complex words in rhymes was something that no one could shrug off. Additionally, Sylvester's hymns and magical strength had the Lord Inquisitor sold on the idea that he was the true God's Favoured.

THUD!—The Inquisitor High Lord prostrated in front of him with his helmet touching Sylvester's feet. His voice still echoed throughout the open air and appeared to have a slight tint of shaking.

"B-Blessed child, such wondrous miracles you grace us with. My heart squirms in warmth to see you speak the Lord's words. Yes, my visions didn't lie! I must present you to the Holy Father. You shall be the gift to his 200th birth anniversary!"

He stood up and took Sylvester into his arms. "Sir Dolorem, show Mother Xavia the course to the Great Mother's Office."

"Understood, Lord Inquisitor."

Xavia glanced at Sylvester, troubled by what had occurred just now. He had once again sung the hymn with the halo on his back right in her arms. She, too, felt the warmth radiating from him. But to her, him being a God's Favoured was impossible. 'How can he be the favoured one when his blood is tainted?'

However, she knew one thing; he was entirely safe for now. As long as they believed Sylvester was exceptional, the church would go far and beyond to protect him. So she bowed and followed the Holy Knight, not before giving one last loving glance at her son.

The big fanatic didn't waste a moment and started ascending the castle's stairs. Along the way, each guarding knight on both sides knelt and thumped their spear's end the moment his feet approached their line of sight. The more he climbed, the faster he became, ignoring that he had a cane in one hand.

When he reached the top, loud murmurs and bows from people dressed in fine silk and gold ornaments greeted him. These seemed different from the church's people. But the man ignored them and proceeded to the giant bronze metal door.

The guards who stood in front of it, trying to control the crowd, knelt immediately and opened the door.

By now, Sylvester had proof that he was in the arms of an influential man, and this same man revered him for his bullshit. He was slowly coming to understand what a golden spoon he had created for himself.

"Next is… AH! Third Guardian of Light, Crimson Fire has arrived!" the announcer at the door clamoured at his entrance.

On the other side of the door was a magnificent giant hall that seemed like a Throne Room. Constructed from black and white marble, it was decorated with golden engravings with carvings here and there.

A large window at the end of the hall gave a beautiful backdrop to the throne on the platform. Everything there was illuminated by the sunlight coming from windows strategically placed.

Though, the beauty diminished to some degree when the large crowd gathered on the side aisles and proceeded with their loud murmurs.

For Sylvester, it was like he was in a surreal period drama.

The Inquisitor High Lord paid no heed to those around him and walked towards the man sitting on the throne. The High Lord's eyes under the mask shone in red light as if he was in excitement.

With a thud, he knelt just after climbing the first set of stairs and zealously announced, presenting Sylvester to the front. "Holy Father, I present to you, the God's Favoured."

"What?"

"The Favoured One?"

"Is he the real one?"

The murmurs became apparent and loud the moment he announced. But they slowly died when the man on the throne stood up and walked down the stairs.

Standing more than six feet tall, he was an old man, yet power still flowed through his veins and allowed him to stand as the Supreme Pontiff, the rumoured strongest being in the entire world.

"Jewels, tomes, and written poemsーThe kings and princes present here gifted me things that I have no use for. But you brought not just a gift, but a direct blessing from the Lord." The Pope stopped before the kneeling man and took Sylvester into his arms.

For the first time, Sylvester saw the Pope clearly. The latter looked like an average old man, but the aura around him was majestic and holy. He had a short but full white beard on his face and eyes that were bluer than the sea.

The radiating aura from this old man made Sylvester feel calm and trusting of this man, despite his mind telling him not to. He also wore a mitre[1] on his head, but this one seemed to be made of silver, steel and gold.

For the Pope, it was a similar experience. He was mesmerised by Sylvester's eyes. "Golden? Your hair and eyes resemble the colour of Solis. It seems you were born to be blessed, my child."

"Your Holiness, he also sings the sermon of God as the Bard of the Lord. It's magical to hear and see from one's eyes. God's Favoured, please sing it again and let everyone be the witness."

The Pope shook his head and spoke in a soft, hoarse fatherly voice, "I believe you, Crimson Fire. But the word of the Lord is not something we mortals can force out. When the Lord wishes, the child shall sing. Let us not hinder the ceremony anymore. I shall let the child play on my lap."

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The Pope walked back to his throne and sat down gracefully. He made sure to let Sylvester witness the ongoing event as he held him by the tummy with one hand. Every now and then, he would converse with Sylvester and try to teach him things.

"Announcing! The King of Riveria is here!"

Sylvester stared ahead as a thin old man in green, gold-embroidered silk robes entered. On his head, he had a circular golden crown, which looked like tangled bushes. As soon as this man reached the end of the stairs, he knelt with great effort.

Age must not have been kind to him since the pain was visible on his face. He then put the crown on the first stair. "I-I pay respect to the Holy Father. As always, I pledge a donation of grains."

The Pope simply nodded and raised his palm for a second. Then, a ray of white light suddenly appeared and shrouded the old King's body. It slowly spread all over him and then vanished silently. "This should relieve your pain, my child."

"T-thank you, Holy Father!"

Once the King was gone, the following announcement came. Kings, wealthy merchants and envoys from far away had come to wish the Pope his 200th Birthday.

"The King of Highland has arrived!"

"The Queen of Sorrow Kingdom has arrived!"

"The Grand Duke of the Patch is here!"

"Envoy from the Masan Empire has come to pay respect!"

"The Prince of Gracia Kingdom enters!"

"Princes and princesses from the Sand Continent are here!"

.

.

.

An hour had passed, and Sylvester's eyelids began to flicker from exhaustion. However, his heart was beating faster than ever. He was on the lap of the man for whom the kings and queens of the world would kneel in fear and try to please him with gifts of unimaginable proportions.

Gold, jewels and artefacts were as common as air in the room.

He realised that he was not safe at all. On the contrary, he was in the most dangerous situation a child could ever be in. In anxiety, he looked up at the face of the old man, wondering how powerful the latter was. 'I've brought myself not just into a den of wolves, but I'm sitting on the laps of their king.'

The old Pope felt the gaze and looked down at Sylvester. At first, his gaze was solemn, but then a big grandfatherly smile erupted on his face, revealing his white teeth. He caressed Sylvester's hair and tucked him in fine silk cloth so the latter could sleep. He spoke softly so that no one else could hear him.

"Sleep, little one. Your time to get bored like me right now has not come yet. These pretentious, unfaithful fools and their schemes to please me...They think I see nothing, but I see it all. Bwahaha—fools! RIGHT? Aww…you want to play with Grandpa's beard? But it's too short. Maybe I should grow it more."

He was fawning over Sylvester. Heck, Sylvester felt that the old man might have kissed his forehead if not for the crowd around. And this confused him even more, 'Is he the bad guy or the good guy?'

"..."

Footnotes:

Mitre[1] - The hat worn by bishops and senior abbots.

STONE ME, MY MONKE FRIENDS!

Help me rise through the ranks.

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