I Became The Pope, Now What? - Chapter 339 339. Felix Sandwall

Chapter 339 339. Felix Sandwall

Thanks to Baron Strongarm, Sylvester didn’t have to prepare to enter the mountains. The man was clearly born to do this, as he listed all the items they had to bring along, from clothes to food and magical tools that could help them.

In no time, they left the Iceling castle and went up north. Sadly, they could not take the shortest route through the White River. Instead, they had to hike from the mountains to reach Grand Fort Borzol.

“If I remember correctly, aren’t the mountain tribes the people who became heretics after the violent policies of the twenty-first Pope, Atrox the mad?” Sylvester recalled. “So these mountain tribes used to be preachers of Solis once?”

“They still are, but in a different way,” Baron revealed. “I learnt about everything when I lived with them. After they became heretics and entered the Pentapeak mountain range to escape Pope Atrox, they started praying to the five highest peaks of the Pentapeak mountain range itself.

“There are Primis, Sekis, the tallest one called Dimos, Quaris and Pentis. They call them mothers, and you’d be shocked to learn that they still pray to Solis… But only on a few specific occasions. They know that magic and life exist because of Solarium that comes from Solis in the sky.

“To the tribes, the sun is the progenitor of life, and so, all tribesmen and their wives who expect a child soon pray to Solis until the day the child is born. After that, they only pray to the five mothers their entire life.”

Sylvester was amazed by that information. “I thought they were heathens. But, sadly, they have lived for far too long away from the mainland and the main culture. With their own culture, they might be impossible to deal with.”

“Indeed, Lord Bard. They have their own culture now, which can be borderline evil in our eyes. They believe in vile sacrifices. Especially the Borzol faction, which believes in child sacrifice. You will never find an orphan in their village as all are sacrificed as a tribute to the mountains.” Baron Strongarm further added.

Sir Dolorem sighed and prayed to Solis. “May the holy light enlighten their lost minds.”

Woosh!

“Stop!” Sylvester suddenly warned everyone and crouched down.

They were in a valley at the moment, covered with waist-high snow, and the trees around them were also restricting their view. So it was hard to see if someone was nearby aiming at them. So Sylvester relied on his nose to try to sense any extra source of the scent.

‘Rage… Just pure rage…’ Sylvester smelled the extreme spiciness in his mouth. He was well aware of what it was, as he had seen it from many wild animals defending their territory.

“Be alert. Someone is nearby.”

Sylvester held his spear carefully, and the other two unsheathed their swords. They backed up to each other and made sure to keep an eye on everything all around them. Sir Dolorem, of course, didn’t need an eye as he could sense things much better.

“Lord Bard, there is something right in front of you, hiding behind the trees.” Sir Dolorem informed him.

Sylvester raised his right hand and sent a strong gust of magical wind, washing away all the snow and getting a clear view.

“Wraaaaa!”

But just as he did that, someone humanoid and giant jumped out from behind the trees and pounced on Sylvester.

Clank!

Sylvester held his spear in front of himself and stopped the attack. Though he saw who it was now, a man with lots of snow-covered fur and eyes ferociously red.

“Priest Elyon! Wake up! It’s I, Sylvester.” He shouted at the man.

“Wraaa!”

Sylvester did not know how strong Elyon was physically. But he struggled slightly with the claws. “Elyon! Remember your daughter! Remember Amy! You vowed to her soul to be happy. So step out of your rage. You’re safe.”

Miraj, just then, jumped from Sylvester’s shoulder and landed on Elyon’s. Then, the little furry cat whispered something in Elyon’s ears, though it only sounded like a faint meowing.

Almost instantly, the shining red eyes of Elyon calmed down, and his ferocious expressions changed. He looked at Sylvester under his claws and retreated.

“Forgive me, Lord Bard… I was…”

“It’s alright.” Sylvester quickly took off his fur cloak and put it on Elyon. “Rest here now. I have something to eat as well.”

He took some dried meat from his bag and gave it to him. “What happened to you? Why didn’t you return to the castle?”

Elyon was quickly handed some food and hot water. In a few minutes, he calmed down and stopped shivering. “I was… I saw Archpriest Felix being taken away, so I decided to remain in the mountains. I then went where they kept him, inside the fort. But they had hounds all around, and they caught me. So I had to run for three days to get them off the trail. But I got lost after that.”

‘Why are these people so loyal to me?’ Sylvester was more amazed that Elyon went to such lengths when he wasn’t even ordered to do so. Why would a man forget the basic instinct of protecting oneself?

One thing was clear. He had struck gold with a follower like Elyon. “Thank you, my friend. We came here to save you and Felix. Just tell us where they are keeping him. Rest we will handle.”

Quickly, Elyon finished eating and energised himself. “I will lead the way, Lord Bard.”

“You may, but you must remain at the back. We are not going there to fight.” Sylvester trusted him enough since Elyon was a tiger beastkin, a natural hunter. Being covert was in his blood.

So, they made their way towards the Grand Fort Borzol. It was quite a distance away from their location, and it took them three days to even reach it. The colossal fortress was made of dark brown mud bricks and a lot of wood. It had many gable roofs and high watchtowers scattered all around.

Thankfully, it was sitting in the middle of high mountains, at the lap of the holy mountain Pentis. So Sylvester and the rest could easily blend with the surroundings and keep an eye on everything from a good distance.

Sylvester then took out a strange, pipe-like thing from his bag. He extended it longer and looked through it. “It’s sprawling with barbarians, and it’s heavily guarded. People patrol its border every fifteen minutes, and the watchtower is equipped with long ropes to travel from one tower to another.”

“W-What are you using, Lord Bard?” Baron Strongarm asked in amazement.<novelnext></novelnext>

“This? I’ve named it a monocular, just something I made in my free time. Go ahead, look through it.”

Baron Strongarm took it and copied Sylvester. He put one eye on the thinner side and looked at the fortress in the distance. And in no time, his awe was vocalised. “This is… I can see the people so clearly! Holy Solis, what magic did you use, Lord Bard?”

Elyon also took it and looked through it. “This is amazing, Lord Bard. One can use this for so many things, especially in spying.”

Elyon then passed it to Sir Dolorem, but then they realised that Sir Dolorem was blind.

“…”

“Haha, I can’t use it.” Sir Dolorem passed it back to Sylvester. “But I would like to know what it is.”

“It’s nothing much, just some specially made glasses placed in the right places. It’s not too hard to make. Forget it for now. Let’s focus on the task at hand. We should wait until the night before trying to enter the fort. We don’t even know where they are keeping him yet.” Sylvester steered the discussion back and looked at the fortress.

“I know, it’s at the backside of the castle, in the open fields. I don’t know what kind of prison exists there, but they did take him there before I was found out.” Elyon revealed.

‘If that’s the case, then they are probably keeping him in the open, torturing him with the cold.’

Alarmed, Sylvester looked at the sky with a frown. “Still three hours before night. Let’s pray that Felix is fine.”

‘I hope I’m not too late, my brother.’

…

At that same time, somewhere in a deep dark location, a man sat in the corner, naked and cold. He rolled himself into a ball, putting his head between his knees and closing the knees by wrapping his arms around them.

His eyes remained closed, but they still moved violently, for the mind never stops–mind never forgets–and at the worst of times, reminds of the days gone.

Years ago, when he was just a child, merely five years old. His father took him to the burning hot desert south of Sandwall castle to train.

“Felix, my boy, I expect greatness from you. Cross this desert on foot and return home. You have a week! If you survive this test, you may live in my castle. If you fail, you shall live on the streets like those maggot orphans and learn. Here, nobody will help you; nobody will save you.”

With that, the Count of Sandwall threw the little boy from the horse, leaving him with nothing but a bag of food, water, and a sword.

Alone, scared, and weak. He tried his best. The food was only enough for two days, which he reckoned to be one of his father’s other sick tactics to make him ‘stronger’.

He cried. He fought to survive. Desert wolves chased him for days. Some he killed painstakingly. He ate snakes–drank his own piss–He was in the open desert, yet it seemed like a dark, endless abyss.

He broke his hand, falling from a boulder. In a week, his body and mind grew years older. It was pure misery, as the home seemed impossible to reach. For some calm, only Solis and his mother could preach. Both he loved with heart, the latter more than the last.

But a week later, soldiers came and took him home, no words spoken. He reckoned he failed, but he cared not, for he just wished to hug his mother. But when he returned, there was no warmth of his mother’s embrace. Instead, there were just her ashes in her place.

Worrying for her little son, she had a fever for a week and died merely two days prior. They didn’t even bring him to see her for the last time. Her body was burnt away, and her ashes were all he had.

The little five-year-old boy lost the one person he loved the most.

He cried–He cried for days. Each tear brought hatred for the man who tormented him. Hatred for the last name he inherited. He cursed god, asking what he did for such fate to be merited.

It was just him and her memories. He sat alone in his room with the vessel of his mum’s ashes and cried. None entered to help. None even pried. His pain, she was all with whom he could ever confide.

“I… Forgive me, mum. You said not to hate him… but I can’t keep that promise. I want to kill him–I want to make him scream–I want him to beg me for mercy…”

Tears fell in the tiny, dark, cold space as the memory ran its course.

“Felix!”

He looked up. “Mum? Is that you?”

“Felix! Wake up! It’s Sylvester!”

“Max?!” Felix forced himself to jump up at the small metal cage door on the ceiling, the only point of entry to the deep dark pit.

Finally, the shining moonlight fell on his pale face, and the dark eyes appeared grey. It was bloodied enough to even make Sylvester silent in shock–He forgot how to even talk.

[A/N: See Felix here.]

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