Chapter Two: I’m Not Sure This Pope Is Real
The capital city of Nalanda.
This place is historically known as the largest agricultural trade center, earning the nickname “The Emerald City” worldwide. The Silgaria Republic, relying on agricultural industry as its primary economic source, doesn’t simply depend on planting and breeding—no, they form cooperatives to integrate scattered family farms into a whole industry chain, achieving large-scale division of labor and production. Unlike the original world’s concept, here, farmers are synonymous with wealth.
Unlike the little village where I used to stay, Nalanda, being one of the four great royal cities for humans, is bustling beyond words. Magnificent buildings packed closely together, countless winding streets conspire to confuse, and most pedestrians are dressed in bright colors.
As the archdiocese of the Holy Church in Silgaya, Vucel naturally sits in the most prosperous part of Nalanda. It’s noon now, and the War Chariot creeps quietly through the noisy market square, stopping in front of a grand building reminiscent of the Baroque style.
St. Mariya Cathedral, established six hundred years ago, is one of the oldest churches in human history.
“Wake up, we’ve arrived.”
“Wake up.”
Feeling a slight shake in my sleep, I reluctantly open my eyes to see Carlos’s scruffy face becoming clearer.
Furrowing my brows, I impatiently shove him away.
Long journeys are the most exhausting, and after sleeping on the War Chariot for ages, my biological clock is utterly messed up. I hadn’t slept much last night and only managed to doze off in the early morning, so being woken up now is naturally irritating.
“Where is this?”
After a few seconds to get my mind back together, I stretch and yawn, asking.
“St. Mariya Cathedral, we’re here.”
“…Oh.”
For some reason, a sudden anxiety washes over me.
Carlos had told me a lot on this journey, including how much the Holy Church despises the Abyss. It’s like a vendetta, especially in recent years, as monsters from the Abyss have been appearing more frequently. With the Church’s intelligence network, they usually detect signs in advance, evacuate citizens, devise strategies, and prepare thoroughly to minimize losses—just like when I showed up. But some Abyss creatures appear without warning, entirely unpredictable. In those cases, if they aren’t stopped in time, the monsters become incredibly powerful after consuming numerous lives.
That power is overwhelming, terrifically chaotic. Without three or more Pope Knights to keep them in check, humanity stands no chance of a counterattack.
Carlos told me the last time this happened was two years ago in the Valen Empire, the most devastating Battle of the Abyss in history. A monster called Gluttony, with a colossal, obscuring black tornado, destroyed three major cities in just a few days, annihilating tens of thousands of citizens. Countless Church Knights and Archbishops were powerless in the face of such disaster.
At that time, five Pope Knights risked their lives, aided by a Cardinal, to halt the beast; they only succeeded in killing it outside Winter City at the cost of two heroes’ lives. If not, there would only be three of the four royal cities left today.
But here I am, an Abyss monster, standing in one of the Holy Church’s archdioceses.
If this is truly a trap, will they tie me up and burn me on a cross or something…? I think nervously.
“Hey, what are you spacing out for? Get off the chariot.”
Seeing me just sitting in the War Chariot, Carlos starts urging me to move.
“Carlos, I want to run away. Can I?”
“…No. And please call me Carlos properly. Thanks.”
Carlos yanks me out of the War Chariot.
“Don’t worry, it’ll be fine with me around. Let’s go.”
I look at the massive building before me, radiating holy and inviolable power, feeling a bit overwhelmed, but I slowly follow Carlos.
“Honorable Mr. Carlos, it’s a pleasure to see you.”
As we ascend the steps, two clerics in black robes immediately rush over, seemingly having been waiting at the door for a while. Their robes closely resemble the attire of that old robe-wearing man, sending a shiver down my spine as I recall the fear instilled by the Golden Bell.
One cleric, spotting me trailing behind Carlos, opens his mouth to inquire about my identity, but upon locking eyes with me, his face turns beet red.
“This… this beautiful… pu—”
He trembles as he struggles to stifle laughter, eventually breaking into a grin.
I frown, a bit displeased.
Is he looking down on me?
What’s so funny? Is this an appropriate time to laugh during such a formal greeting? Is this the quality of the Holy Church’s clerics?
“Uh, cough, Mr. Carlos, this… beautiful young lady, cough cough…”
The other cleric, realizing the situation is awkward, steps forward to defuse it, but can’t resist the urge to laugh, trailing off mid-sentence.
“She’s the Pope’s honored guest. Don’t be disrespectful.”
Carlos says this with a blank expression, maintaining his gaze forward as if he sees nothing at all.
“Y-Yes, please come with us. The Pope has been waiting for you.”
With barely managed words, the clerics quickly turn away, leading us into the church’s grand hall.
The interior of the church is extravagantly decorated, exquisite craftsmanship that has survived centuries speaks of its heavy history. On the elegant walls, a few large murals exude unrivaled artistic flair, and the golden cross towering on the ceiling is bathed in the pure sunlight streaming through the ribbed window.
It feels as if I’m standing in a painting, but I can’t even appreciate it, my attention diverted to the chuckling clerics ahead.
“Carlos, what are they laughing about?”
“Hm? Oh, they probably find you cute.”
Carlos responds casually, his half-hearted explanation doing nothing to quell my suspicions.
Did I get something dirty on me?
I quickly look down to check; my delicate lace dress is spotless and tidy—nothing seems out of place.
…Crazy people.
The clerics lead us up to the third floor, finally stopping in front of an ornate wooden door, gently knocking.
“Your Holiness, Mr. Carlos has arrived.”
Then they step aside quietly to wait. Moments later, a lazy voice comes from within.
“…Oh, let him in.”
“Mr. Carlos, the Pope is inside. Please, go in.”
Carlos pushes the door open without ceremony, I take a deep breath, and step inside with tiny, nervous steps.
As the door shuts, warm sunlight spills into the room, and I squint my eyes to look, and my gaze lands on an opulent, luxurious bed.
The size seems enough for ten people, and yet, sitting on it is a disheveled young figure with wild hair.
“Yo, Pope, long time no see.”
Carlos casually greets.
Huh? The Pope?
I look around in confusion; apart from the figure on the bed, there’s no sign of the Pope.
“Ah—Carlos, don’t bring that nonsense here, there are no outsiders.”
The figure scratches his messy blonde hair, yawns widely, and digs at his ear with his pinky.
????????
Is this person really the Pope?!
What kind of joke is this? Shouldn’t a Pope be that sage-looking old man with a slow, composed mannerism, exuding an aura of holiness?
This is not what I expected!
I can’t help but scrutinize the figure. Blonde hair, blue eyes, sharp and strong cheekbones, handsome to the point of femininity—he seems even younger than Carlos.
Right now, he looks as if he just woke up and is still in pajamas!
This guy is the Pope of this world? What are the Holy Church people thinking?
…Hard to accept.
“Sit down, why are you just standing there?”
The man on the bed waves his hand dismissively, showing no intention of getting up, as if signaling us to be casual.
But there’s nothing in this room except for a big bed; there’s not a single chair! Where am I supposed to sit? On the bed? The great Pope, the literal ruler of humanity, showing up dressed like this?
“Uh, never mind, we’ll just stand.”
Carlos quickly replies, probably sensing the awkwardness.
“Oh, suit yourself. So, what did you come to see me for… again?”
The blonde guy blinks lazily, looking at Carlos.
“…Could you act like a person for once?”
Carlos seems dumbfounded.
“Ha, just kidding, just kidding. I just woke up, my head’s a bit foggy… um, who are you…?”
It seems now he finally notices me, lazily lifting his eyelids to take a slow look.
I’m about to speak.
“Pfft, hahahaha!!” The guy who might be the Pope suddenly bursts into laughter, clutching his stomach and pounding on the bed, turning to Carlos and saying, “Carlos, what’s this? Did you bring her to wake me up with laughter? Hahahaha!”
He starts rolling on the bed, showing no signs of stopping.
Carlos just shrugs.
“Stop laughing, let’s talk business.”
“Hahaha! No way! You can’t just expect me not to laugh at her face like that; it’s beyond rude! Hilarious, really, haha—”
That face?
I immediately wipe my hand across my face. My palm comes away dark and smeared. Confused, I swipe again, now both hands are covered in black.
I hold my hands to my nose, smelling…
…Ink?
In an instant, it clicks.
My chest starts rising and falling violently; I feel like I might bite my teeth in half as I glare furiously at the utterly innocent Carlos.
Anger.
Anger, anger, anger, anger!!!
“Carlos—!” I pounce at him like an indignant little cat, raising my tiny hand to smear his face.
“Wait, let me explain!”
