5 – New Beginnings (retroactively added chapter)

A week after Jonny’s “assassination,” Archibald found himself banging his head on his desk in frustration.

“I don’t think that’s helping,” said a voice from the door.

“Shut up, Harry.”

“If you’re worried about Jonny, don’t be. Helen is amazing. There’s no better place he could be.”

“No, it’s not that,” said Archibald, forehead resting on the desk. “Well, I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t worried, but it’s just… I don’t know. Did I do the right thing? Was sending him away really the best choice?”

“I really can’t say.”

“Would you have done that for Clarissa? If someone was after her, and you couldn’t stop them from coming after her, and you weren’t sure you could keep her safe, would you send her away too?”

“I think I would make the same choices you did, but I still don’t know if those are the right ones.”

Archibald sighed, and slowly raised his head. Harry—Harrison Ellis—was currently his personal guard, but he was also the closest thing Archibald had to a true brother. They had trained under the same teacher, and now Harrison served as his personal guard, a position of great status that was a reward for his magical achievements. He was also one of only three people that Archibald trusted unquestionably.

“What I don’t understand…” Archibald started. “Is how the hell Raymond is so spotless.”

“I don’t get it either.”

“Not a single piece of evidence of wrongdoing. Hell, even I skip official procedures sometimes, but Raymond somehow files everything perfectly every time. I know he was behind this. I know he’s involved in questionable businesses. But how is there not a single shred of evidence?!”

“It’s–”

“I should just capture him.”

“I don’t–”

“Or maybe his wife. Or his son…”

“You wouldn’t do that.”

“You’re right… But I could still interrogate him directly. I could get the warden involved. I know he has ways of making people talk.”

“And when the king and church find out and send the royal guard and the inquisitors to arrest you?”

“I’ll have a confession, and my actions will be justified.”

“And if you don’t?”

“I will.”

“But what if you don’t? You’ll be stripped of your title and likely imprisoned. You’ll lose everything.”

Archibald leaned forward, banging his head on the desk again.

“Why can’t he just slip up? Just one mistake. One crime so I can have him arrested and open a proper investigation.”

“He will,” said Harrison. “Eventually. Nobody can be perfect for that long. You just have to be ready.”

“Oh, I will,” said Archibald. “The second he does anything wrong, I will make sure he never sees the light of day again. And then I’ll bring Jonny back and he’ll be able to inherit and everything will be right again!”

“That’s the spirit.”

“Frederick Schmidt!”

Frederick did his best to school his expression and keep his gait steady as he walked onto the stage. The pope himself was waiting at the podium. Frederick had only ever seen the man from afar, and could hardly contain his excitement and nervousness.

Pope Metrus, first of his name, was one of the two greatest living humans. This was not only Frederick’s opinion, but the opinion of nearly the entire world. Before he was Pope Metrus, he was Peter, and while his position in the church was that of a mere priest, he was already known throughout the country as much more.

In the Demon War, he served alongside the Hero himself, earning a number of epithets, but in the end, the most widespread and well-known was simply “the Healer.” At age 30, he was already a sixth layer healing mage, and fought on the front lines of nearly every major battle. When the war ended and he returned to his life in priesthood, he rapidly rose through the ranks, and at the age of 37, just after the previous pope died, he was elected unanimously as the successor.

Now, he was the world’s only eighth layer healing mage, capable of veritable miracles. It was said he could even bring back the dead, so long as he reached them in time. He had accomplished many great deeds in his life, both as a healer and as a pope, and now he had personally come down to officiate a ceremony because of Frederick.

Pope Metrus was an old man by now, but Frederick was somewhat shocked when he approached the podium and saw exactly how old. The portraits always made him appear hale and hearty, and the statue in the square showed his youthful form, where his shoulders were as broad as the Hero’s. Frederick had known that the portraits were often exaggerated, and that the statues weren’t accurate, but even so, the pope looked too different.

He had the same green eyes, the same bushy white beard, and the same robes, but he was so frail. His hands and arms were thin, and Frederick could tell that beneath the robes, his body was nothing like the statue. Beneath his beard, his cheeks were slightly sunken, and there were dark shadows under his eyes. He still appeared kind and intelligent, but also glassy-eyed and exhausted. Frederick had heard that being in a position of so much power was stressful, but he never imagined that the pope would be suffering so much from it.

The difference between his expectations and the man before him almost made him forget his purpose of coming to the stage. He stopped in front of the pope, standing upright for just a moment too long before remembering he was supposed to kneel.

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“Frederick Schmidt,” said the pope again, his voice deep and sonorous in contrast to his appearance. “Why have you come before us on this blessed day?”

“I seek to devote my life to the path of the righteous warrior, Father.”

“Do you come to the Lord of your own free will?”

“Yes, Father.”

“Do you come to seek glory or wealth?”

“No, Father. I renounce my claim on worldly possessions, save those which are necessary to carry out my purpose.”

“Do you come to seek to earn eternal life through service?”

“No, Father. I know that no amount of works can earn salvation, but I wish to protect the people of the Lord from the forces of the Devil.”

“Do you come to seek the fervor of bloodshed and elation of slaughter?”

“No, Father. I believe all life is created by the Lord and its loss should never be rejoiced. I vow to draw my blade only when I have no other choice.”