I Became The Pope, Now What?

"Max, here, like this…"

'This is so embarrassing!' He couldn't bring himself to look into the woman's eyes anymore while she cleaned his pee and poo. His legs and arms were as good as sausages. Or else, if he could, he'd clean himself.

It had been a week since Sylvester started showing his superior intelligence. He called her Mama all the time, opened his mouth wide whenever hungry, and made bubbling noises with his mouth whenever he needed to pee or poo.

The most shocking, however, was that he had started crawling. An average child does this at around six months, but it has only been more than a week for him. Xavia tried to reason with the situation, thinking, 'He was born much chunkier than average babies; maybe he's just extra-strong.'

But somewhere else in her mind, she knew something strange was going on, and her excuse couldn't explain that. True, Sylvester was fatass for his age. He was taken to the neighbour's house yesterday, and they had a 3-month-old baby. Yet, he was bigger and stronger. Today, as well, he was being taken to the neighbour's home.

In the past seven days, he had learned his mother's name. It was Xavia. He now knew what fire was called, what bed was called, what milk, water, poop, pee, nose, eyes, mouth and some other day-to-day things were called. These were the words Xavia used most while doing chores. She had an unhealthy habit of self-talking. Good for him, though.

Using these basic words, he understood the words for pronouns. He, she, it and they were easy to understand. Next were verbs. He was using all his brain to understand the language of this world. But, of course, he still did not know what the written words looked like.

"Sweetie, let's go. Mothers like me will bring their babies to play together. You can make friends there." She picked him up, wrapped a thick blanket around him, and headed out.

He looked at the surrounding area. The weather was dry and freezing, but there was no snow. All the houses looked more like huts, some made of wood and some mud, but all had one thing in common: thatched roofs. The ground was full of fine hard sand, revealing he was in a dry, desert-like climate. It was a classic slum-like area.

'Are we this poor?' he wondered.

Soon, they arrived at a bigger building. He had never been here before. But seeing so many people entering and its layout from inside, it was like a community center.

There were men, women and lots of babies. But the moment Xavia entered, everyone became silent. Sylvester noticed the gazes filled with disgust and some men that were full of lust, and women talked to each other as if badmouthing her.

Yet, he didn't feel Xavia being bothered by it. Instead, she cheerfully went to the midwife who helped her through the birth and handed Sylvester over.

The old woman seemed kind; she checked his body from everywhere. "Sylvester is much better than any baby here. You are really blessed, Xavia. It seems he's going to be a warrior in the future."

Xavia poked his cheek lovingly, "Is he? But mom won't let him leave her side. Don't worry. You can be my little warrior and protect me."

Sylvester smacked her hand away, not enjoying being poked. He hated his cheeks being pulled or poked, so what if he was chunky? It still hurts him. But it only made his mother laugh. So he relented to his fate.

After being checked up, she put him in a big baby playpen. There were others like him, but all were shorter and thinner. He was like a giant among babies. This also made other babies crawl to him to see who this new specimen was.

"Stay away, you all smell," he voiced in gibberish.

However, just as they were about to reach him, many parents came and picked up theirs, then left. This made him confused. 'What is this? Some dumb movie cliche plot?'

Suddenly, he smelled something pungent and stopped playing like a baby, looking around to find the smell's source. However, he could not see where it came from.

Sylvester focused on people. Reading the atmosphere was something he could easily do. From its looks, his mother was being ostracized by these people. Most folks avoided her; only the midwife and a few other women were kind to her.

He tried to think of a reason. Finally, after a few minutes, he saw a pattern. All those hating his mother stood in pairs, a man and a woman. In contrast, Xavia stood alone with two more women. 'Ah, indeed. If this is a mediaeval world, being a single mother isn't good.'

Sylvester made no big claims that he would rule the world, become the king or destroy the heavens. In his previous life, he had seen such tropes in movies, anime and novels. But, while they were fiction, he was living in reality.

All he hoped to have was a decent, calm life, where he could earn a good living, eat tasty food, and then die alone with the memory of his wife intact. So he decided he'd try to at least give this woman a decent life too for bringing him to life.

Soon, being left alone in the playpen, he silently fell asleep in a corner; this was the best thing he could do as a baby.

...

Life was calm. His mother never took him out of the shabby house again. He would spend all his days eating, pooping, peeing and learning as much as he could about the world.

For now, he had discovered that there was a religion in this world, and its sign didn't match anything on Earth. The sign was a circle made of chain locks; in the middle was a triangle, with another triangle in it, a circle, and an eye. It was hung on the wall near the entrance of his home. His mother prayed to it every day before leaving.

The other thing he had found was a book his mother read. He was able to take it and look inside. There were hand-drawn images of all kinds of plants and names below.

'Maybe she's trying to become a medical healer of sorts,' he assumed.

The book greatly helped him learn about the names of plants. Not because he could read it, but because his mother saw him looking at it with complete focus one day. She tried to teach him basic wording with the help of chalk and black slate. The paper must have cost a fortune in this world, he guessed.

With her help, he learnt the basic alphabet of this world. They were identical to English, containing 26 letters. There were five vowels, and the rest were consonants. They just sounded and appeared to differ from English. The best part was that learning the alphabet made everything a cakewalk.

Actually, all the vocabulary was the same as in English. He just needed to change the English letters to this new language and speak accordingly. Initially, he felt shocked by how convenient it was, but then put this matter at the back of his mind. He had been a sperm, and he even died multiple times. If anything, this was the least shocking thing.

The most shocking discovery for him, though, was a single letter. Usually, when teaching ABC on Earth, you would say a related thing to that letter, such as apple, monkey or whale. The rule was not to give an example of an item that does not exist.

So, when Xavia said W for Wizard and M for Magic, it left him in shock and confusion. There was no way for him to clear his confusion, however. So, he only tried to gradually speak to his mother, not to shock her too much and still be considered a genius.

Soon, a month went by. He was much more confident that he could speak and read this world's language now.

"Mama, hungry," He called Xavia.

She giddily came to let him drink milk. In her mind, it was a fact that he was a natural genius. All she had to do now was save money and send him to a good school. Yes, he was abnormal, but she didn't care at all.

But Sylvester refused to drink her milk.

"What happened, Max?" she asked.

"Honey," he said, avoiding her gaze.

Xavia burst into laughter, "Haha... you goofy boy, I only allowed you to taste it yesterday; now you are addicted."

Yet, she loved him far too much not to give it. She dipped her finger in the honey jar and let him lick it. Sylvester didn't have teeth yet. All he could do was lick.

'Ugh... this damn itch in my jaws,' he was growing crazy with the urge to nibble on things. Wood? Fingers? Spoons? He had chewed them all.

Initially, he used to feel ashamed to act like a baby with Xavia, but slowly he let himself go. She was a good person, never mistreated him or harmed him, despite their poor living conditions. He had seen Xavia not eat on some nights, but she always fed him. Her cheerful personality warmed his heart as well.

'She's a wonderful mother,' he felt, albeit never knowing what a mother is supposed to be like.

After eating, he felt tired and fell asleep. Xavia tucked him in the bed and went to wash the dishes while preparing for the morning chores.

BANG! BANG!

He was fast asleep when his eyes jolted open from the sound. He was alone in the bed; Xavia was still washing dishes; he guessed that not much time had passed.

The room was mostly dark, and only the fireplace was the source of light. Xavia cleaned her hands, walked to the door, and asked, "Who is there?"

"It's me, Deserte," said the voice outside.

Xavia opened the door. "What happened, Chief? Is there a medical emergency?... Ah!"

The situation alarmed Sylvester. He worked hard to sit up on the bed and look. His mother was thrown back, and an oversized 6 feet tall man with grey hair and a bloated belly entered.

"Yes, it is a medical emergency, and only your body can help me." The man walked towards Xavia slowly.

Dread took over her heart. "W-what... Are you drunk…? Please go back! Y-you're the village chief. This doesn't suit you."

The tall old man threw away his coat. "You wh*re, I allowed you to live in my village. When nobody took you in, I did. This is the price you pay with your body."

"P-please, I'm a healer. I help the villagers. I work here like anybody else." She pleaded for him to stop.

"NO... Argh..." She was pinned down on the floor by him.

Xavia struggled to push him away, but he was too heavy and tall. Brashly, he clenched her flesh on the chest. "And how many people do you heal in a month? One? Two? You still make a living by working in the fields!

"Nobody will treat a wh*re like you right, but I can. So become my concubine, and you shall have all the food, clothing and money you want. And you can better take care of that garbage until he's old enough to be left with the church!"

As he was saying this, Chief Deserte suddenly turned to look towards the bed. There sat the baby, staring at him as if looking into his soul. Big golden eyes wide open, not even blinking. There was fury in them; he could feel it. This scene made his blood turn cold and his scalp tingle in sweat.

"W-what are you looking at?" He shouted.

Sylvester kept looking. He was helpless against this man, but the fury in his heart burned larger than a forest fire. God gave him one mouth, and a good one at that. Thus, he shouted in their language at the top of his lungs, louder than humanly possible. "BAD! EVIL MAN! BAD MAN…!"

Like an alarm clock, he screamed aloud. It was nighttime, and the village was primarily silent, so a child's shrill scream caught a lot of attention. Then, the dogs started barking, and many doors opened.

The increasing sound of activities scared Deserte. He stood up quickly and pointed his finger at Sylvester. "What kind of beast have you spawned? How can he speak so early? H-He... he's possessed!"

Accusing Sylvester, the man quickly ran away from the house. Silence fell after that. Xavia got up and closed the door, her face appearing tearful, but she made no sound. Instead, she silently walked to Sylvester and hugged him, falling asleep.

But their night of horrors was only starting.

In the middle of the night, when the mother and son were fast asleep, a loud noise resounded outside their home. Alerted, Xavia woke up in a panic.

Bam!—She noticed an axe breaking down the door and yelped in fright. "No!"

"Burn the demon!"

"Let the lord bring justice!"

"Come out, Xavia! Let us kill the evil. Don't you dare hide him! The possessed boy must be purged, or we'll face the wrath of the Holy Inquisitors!" The voices outside screeched, making her tightly press Max against her bosom.

But sadly, tonight, nothing good or warm was going to blossom.