"Your Holiness, the Oath of Investiture awaits."
Matthias's words cut through my confusion.
"Immediately. The crown sits heavy on unblessèd authority." Matthias opened the tome. "Without the Oath, you remain a pretender wearing stolen regalia."
The Scythe pulsed in my grip. Through the System interface, text scrolled across my vision:
Great. Divine rejection sounded unpleasant.
I looked at the system interface. The words meant nothing to me.
"By light eternal and judgment divine, I stand as shepherd to the faithful and declare that I, Leonardo Morningstar, accept the burden of Saint Peter's throne…"
The Scythe grew warm.
Matthias's eyebrows rose. My pronunciation was apparently better than expected.
"To serve the faithful unto death, to guard the flock from wolves, to stand as shield between darkness and light…"
The words felt alien on my tongue but carried weight that seemed to bend the air around us. Each syllable resonated through the cathedral stones.
The Scythe began glowing. Soft at first, then brighter. Golden radiance reflected off marble columns and stained glass windows. Sister Evangeline gasped from her position near the altar.
General Marcus stepped closer, hand on his sword hilt. His scarred face showed wariness rather than reverence.
"I pledge my soul to Solarius the Eternal, my strength to His people, my wisdom to His will…"
My voice strengthened with each verse. The System was doing more than translating—it was channeling something through my words. Energy flowed from some deep well I couldn't name.
The air thickened. Matthias's guards stepped back involuntarily, their faces pale. Even the cardinal looked unsettled now.
"Until the final darkness falls, until the last prayer is spoken, until Aethermoor finds peace or perishes in shadow…"
"Until the final darkness falls, until the last prayer is spoken, until Aethermoor finds peace or perishes in shadow."
Golden light bathed the entire cathedral. The Scythe's hum became melodic, not mechanical but organic, like distant choir voices. Power flowed through me, alien yet familiar.
"I am Pope. I am servant. I am judgment and mercy united. By Solarius's grace, let it be so."
Thunder rolled through clear skies. The cathedral's great bell tolled once, though no one had rung it. Light poured from every stained glass window, painting the walls in brilliant colors.
Then silence.
The glow faded slowly. The Scythe returned to its normal appearance, but warmth lingered in my hands. Whatever had just happened, it felt real. Permanent.
[Oath Complete: Papal Authority Confirmed]
[Divine Favor: Interested → Committed]
[New Abilities Unlocked: Blessing, Consecration, Divine Sight]
[Faith Points +500]
Matthias stared at me with something approaching fear. His earlier calculating confidence had evaporated.
"That was… unexpected," he said quietly.
"Unexpected how?"
"The light. The resonance. Pope Benedict's investiture was impressive, but this…" He closed the tome with careful hands. "The cathedral itself responded to your words."
Before I could ask what that meant, running footsteps echoed from the side entrance. A young priest burst in, robes disheveled and stained with blood.
"Your Holiness! Cardinal Matthias!" He gasped for breath. "The survivors from the coup… they're dying. Brother Thomas begs for papal blessing. Sister Catherine won't last the hour."
My stomach dropped. People were dying. People who'd apparently fought for my position—or the position I now held.
"How many?" I asked.
"Twelve wounded. Three… three gone already." The priest's voice cracked. "They died protecting the Pope from assassination."
Assassination. The word hit like cold water.
"Where are they?"
"The chapel infirmary. Brother Thomas has done what he can, but…" The priest shook his head. "They need divine intervention."
I looked at Matthias. His expression was unreadable, but he was watching me carefully. Another test. Could the new Pope actually heal, or was I just good at reading ancient texts?
[Emergency Quest Activated]
[First Miracle Required]
[Dying faithful require immediate intervention]
[Success: +200 Faith Points, +150 Influence Points]
[Failure: Loss of credibility, possible divine rejection]
[Channel Faith Points for Healing Light? Cost: 25 Faith Points per person]
I had five hundred Faith Points from the Oath. Enough for twenty people if the cost stayed constant. But using power I didn't understand on people whose lives depended on success?
Marcus spoke up. "Your Holiness, if you're not ready…"
"I'm ready."
Was I? No. But these people had bled for the papal throne. The least I could do was try to save them.
"Lead the way."
The chapel infirmary occupied a wing I hadn't seen yet. Stone corridors gave way to rooms lined with simple cots. The smell hit me first—blood, medicine, human suffering.
Twelve people lay in various states of injury. Some conscious, others barely breathing. Brother Thomas, an elderly man with gentle eyes, knelt beside a young woman whose breathing was shallow and labored.
"Your Holiness." He stood quickly. "Sister Catherine. Sword took her in the chest. I've stopped the bleeding, but…"
I approached the cot. Sister Catherine couldn't have been older than twenty-five. Blonde hair stuck to her forehead with sweat. Her eyes tracked to mine, struggling to focus.
"Holy Father," she whispered.
"I'm here."
What was I supposed to do? The System had unlocked abilities, but it hadn't provided an instruction manual.
I placed my hands on her chest, over the bandaged wound. Closed my eyes. Tried to feel for whatever power had flowed through me during the Oath.
Nothing.
I opened my eyes. Catherine was still dying. Everyone watched me expectantly.
Come on. I accepted the responsibility. Now follow through.
I thought about faith. About Sarah Chen's silver cross. About choosing to believe the universe meant something, even when evidence suggested otherwise.
[Healing Light Activated]
[Faith Points: 500 → 475]
[Channeling divine energy…]
Warmth flowed through my hands. Golden light, softer than during the Oath but undeniably real. Catherine's breathing steadied. Color returned to her cheeks. The tension in her face eased.
"Thank you," she breathed, then fell into peaceful sleep.
Brother Thomas checked her pulse, his eyes wide. "The wound is closing. This is… this is genuine divine healing."
I moved to the next cot. A middle-aged guard with a head injury. Then a young priest with a shattered arm. One by one, golden light flowed from my hands. The Faith Points drained steadily, but the healing was real. Dramatic. Undeniable.
[Miracle Complete]
[Faith Points +200, Influence Points +150]
[Title Gained: The Healing Pope]
[Warning: Reputation for miracles will increase expectations]
The last patient was a grizzled sergeant with gray hair and multiple wounds. He watched me approach with sharp eyes.
"Your Holiness," he said as I placed hands on his injuries. "Something you should know about the attack."
"What?"
"They knew the Pope's schedule.
The healing finished. His wounds closed, but his words lingered.
"Someone inside?"
I looked at Matthias, who had followed us to the infirmary. His face showed appropriate concern, but something cold flickered in his eyes.
"Concerning accusations," he said smoothly. "Though grief often breeds conspiracy theories."
"Grief?" The sergeant's voice hardened. "I saw the attack, Cardinal. Those weren't random zealots. They moved like professionals. Knew exactly where to strike."
"And you believe this proves internal betrayal?"
The infirmary went quiet. Everyone stared at me, waiting for my response.
I thought about the blood on my robes. The gaps in my memory. The convenient way I'd awakened wearing the papal crown after a violent coup.
Matthias's calculating expression. His quick acceptance of my legitimacy. His eagerness to move past questions about my predecessor's death.
"Thank you for the information," I said finally. "We'll investigate these claims thoroughly."
"Of course," Matthias agreed. But his smile didn't reach his eyes. "Though we mustn't let unfounded suspicions divide us during such crucial times."
The sergeant nodded, but his gaze lingered on the cardinal. "As you say, Your Holiness. Just… watch who you trust."
As we left the infirmary, one question burned in my mind: if my predecessor had been murdered by someone within the church hierarchy, and I'd awakened wearing his crown with his blood on my robes, what exactly had I become Pope of?
And more importantly—was the person who'd arranged his death standing right beside me?