In the chapel with its indoor standard, York, already donned in his bishop's robe, sat on the bench, facing the image of Jesus, meditating with his eyes closed. The small church was empty except for him, as time inexorably passed.
When there was some noise outside, York opened his eyes, completing his daily fixed task with a whispered, "Amen."
The inauguration process was cumbersome and bothersome, but once it reached the end, it concluded swiftly. After the preceding crowning and promotion, he had already become a bishop, truly among the church's top echelon, so his current state of mind was somewhat different.
The difference lay in the stark contrast between the two positions; unlike during his priesthood, York felt even more liberated as a bishop.
Because this meant that from now on, he was no longer subject to any restrictions, even compared to the old man, his clerical rank was on par, differing only in jurisdiction and ecclesiastical order.
"It's just a pity that the old man seems to have encountered some issues, even now unable to meet..."
York gazed at Bishop Cecil walking within the holographic scope, sighing inwardly.
He thought back on the entire process and the old man's evidently forced demeanor.
"No wonder he was so urgent."
Now, combining the old man's situation, York finally began to piece things together.
According to previous speculations, one must possess their own strength to undertake the task of repair.
Then, the old man must be like him, not bound to the church of this world but possessing his own power.
"So, it turns out the old man indeed disappeared for a while before suddenly becoming the Pope..."
York's thoughts began to diverge, and the more he thought about it, the more something seemed off.
"Could this be the path to becoming the Pope?"
The more he thought, the more York felt it was a possibility.
He wanted to delve deeper into his thoughts, but Cecil's arrival at the entrance interrupted him.
York turned to face Bishop Cecil approaching, noting his calm demeanor with a single question.
"How is the old man?"
Bishop Cecil, clad in a bishop's robe edged with purple, dignified and steady, holding what seemed to York as a document bag that might enlighten him on all matters or dictate his next move, said softly,
"His Holiness is nearing his limit."
Bishop Cecil sat next to the man he had chosen, responding gently.
"He said it's best you remember him at his best..."
Hearing this, York understood the situation, his eyes revealing complex and indescribable emotions, but he frowned.
"Why so suddenly?"
However, Cecil shook his head, offering no further explanation, as if following the old man's wishes.
"He doesn't want to see me?" York sighed.
Bishop Cecil remained silent, simply handing over the document bag, stating,
"York, everything you want to know is in here."
York looked at the evasive Bishop Cecil, slightly frustrated, and began to open the document bag.
What else could he do?
As he unveiled the contents of the bag, York's expression remained impassive as he reviewed the documents.
He had guessed everything right.
The entire affair seemed too simple, almost mundane.
Everything could be found in these documents.
Why the church in this parallel world had spread so widely, why it was respected by organizations from various countries, boiled down to a simple point.
The church had another mission: to suppress the spatial rifts in various countries, preventing unknown friends or foes, or monsters from invading.
Upon reading this, York shook his head, pondering how the unknown indeed inspires fear, just as with the rift in the fog, all governed by the same principle.
If the fog incident wasn't a coincidence but something he stumbled upon, he couldn't imagine how things would have developed.
After all, those walking giants, colossal monsters like Behemoths, were not mythical beasts that could be easily dealt with by technology alone.
If nuclear weapons were considered... York had only one comment: reality is not a movie, and the best outcome would be mutual destruction. The mere presence of creatures like the Widowmaker spiders, which could proliferate from a human host in seconds, spreading thousands everywhere, could trade many lives and resources.
The ability of the fog to block out the sun showed the priority of that monstrous world over his own.
The danger lay precisely here.
"Now that the fog's rift has appeared, it indicates our world is falling apart."
York sighed inwardly, continuing to read the church's response.
A world in shambles always has a way to be mended.
The method wasn't overly complicated.
Simply put, someone had to enter the rift, find the precise spatial node in that connected world, and destroy it to reinforce the eggshell-like connection between the two worlds, even restoring and hardening the shell.
"So, the old man must have assumed this role before, which explains why there weren't as many supernatural incidents before, and why some people go their entire lives without encountering one, leading them to disbelieve in ghosts because they've never seen one."
This was similar to his previous life on Earth.
Until now, as the old man aged and no longer had the strength, and with no one to handle the remaining rifts, this parallel world began to experience changes, leading to an increase in supernatural incidents.
"It's like a fishing net; the cracks in the eggshell are like holes in the net. Without repairs, continued use will lead to starvation. Only mending can stop this trend..."
York reflected as he read, his mind forming corresponding thoughts. He paused at the next document, considering why no one else could undertake this repair work.
Except for the old man and him, everyone else would become utterly ordinary upon passing through the rift, because their powers were bound to this world.
Without their extraordinary abilities, how could an ordinary person withstand the pressure of the spatial conduit? How could they pierce the membrane inside the eggshell or the protective layer of another world?
"No wonder I was chosen; it was a desperate measure."
York gazed at the church's experimental reports, exhaling softly.
He wondered if the saints in this parallel world had also once undertaken these mending tasks.
Could there be other saints in other worlds, seeking these so-called spatial nodes?
Or had they perished in other worlds? Or perhaps they didn't want to return...
York's thoughts expanded but didn't stop him from flipping through the documents.
Here, he learned why every country has a bishop and one of the key responsibilities of a bishop.
To guard. Bishops truly guard their territories, not just figuratively but also against these cracks, akin to rifts in an eggshell.
Moreover, bishops must constantly monitor when a rift might erupt, meeting the conditions for traversal between two worlds.
"Like the fog incident? The rift in the fog incident, after time and changes, allowed the monsters to penetrate and invade Earth. If it weren't for the amplified magic effect, perhaps..."
Understanding this, York grasped the overall situation.
He pursed his lips, continuing to flip through the documents.
Compared to the previous documents, this was a map.
It marked the locations of rifts in 233 countries and regions, densely packed, with some countries harboring multiple spatial rifts.
This indicated the immense power of the church in this parallel world.
Additionally, the map included remarks.
Such as already
resolved, currently stable, imminent eruption needing resolution, etc.
"As for the resolved rifts..." York saw the old man's name and silently counted, his lips twitching imperceptibly.
"The United States, one; Australia, one; Sweden, one... Only four resolved? Seems difficult."
York squinted at the map, the unresolved rifts densely packed, noting many marked as ready to erupt, and quietly stored the map away.
He had a rough idea of what he needed to do and why the council of bishops had compromised.
Thinking this, York began to gather the documents, the rest no longer necessary for viewing.
He knew his diocese would likely be among those countries with imminent rift eruptions.
"It seems you've been monitoring me." Fastening the document bag, York sighed.
"We've always collected information on your actions, presenting the results to the council of bishops." Bishop Cecil answered calmly, his tone growing heavier.
"So they could understand your uniqueness, York. With His Holiness aging, our world is now in danger."
York was silent for a moment, not as hesitant as Bishop Cecil might have thought, but rather feeling an indistinct excitement.
Because in the fog incident, he had already anticipated all these developments.
"...York, you're not Gabriel's successor."
Bishop Cecil's voice continued: "But the successor of His Holiness Gregory, by divine will..."
This statement abruptly interrupted York's train of thought. He looked at Bishop Cecil, cutting him off with a resigned tone.
"Bishop Cecil, you should know my character."
With that, Bishop Cecil ceased speaking, finally saying,
"I understand."
He looked at York, his eyes full of regret.
"Of course."
York pretended not to see Bishop Cecil's gaze, knowing that a high position also meant losing much freedom and fun.
"But this doesn't mean I'll ignore these matters."
With that, York recalled everything on the map.
"It seems my diocese can only be in those countries with imminent rift eruptions..."
Hearing this, Bishop Cecil looked at York, relieved.
"You can take your time to think. We will make concessions for you."
York raised his eyebrows slightly, catching the implication of Cecil's words: wherever he chose to go, the current bishop in charge would be relocated.
"Alright, let me think about it."
York held the document bag and didn't return it to Bishop Cecil, standing up to face him.
"Tomorrow, I'll give you an answer. But before that, can I see the old man?"
Bishop Cecil just stared at him, frowning.
"I'll just stand outside and look, just one glance." York stated calmly.
"This might be my last look."
Hearing this, Bishop Cecil understood the meaning. He looked at the determined man and sighed.
"It's possible."
---
In the spacious luxurious room.
York sat by the bed, gazing at the old man on the bed, seemingly unconscious, unaware of the outside world.
"How long has he been in this state?"
To York, the old man's body seemed like a wilting flower, on the brink of collapse.
"Since he returned from Monaco."
Bishop Cecil behind him answered, "Because of His Holiness, the erupting rift in Monaco was sealed, but the consequence was the deterioration of His Holiness's body."
"He really is..." York stared at the old man, shaking his head.
He wasn't sure what to do in the current situation.
Unless he possessed those legendary items that could extend life or had healing powers.
Unfortunately, he had neither.
By now, he understood that those things mentioned in books might be possessed by the outside world; otherwise, with the church's vast influence, they would have been found long ago.
This world was simpler and poorer than he imagined, compared to his previous life, only having more demons, evil spirits, vampires like stray dogs, and the church.
"Could we have some alone time? Bishop Cecil, I have some words for the old man."
Hearing this calm request, Bishop Cecil looked at the man by the bed and the plant-like old man, sadness deepening in his eyes.
He gestured to the guarding clergy, then slowly left with them.
Hearing the door click, York silently gazed at the old man, speaking after a long silence.
"Old man, it seems you still don't know my choice...
I'm telling you now, my choice is to accept your arrangement, to seal those rifts, to mend this world...
I'll be departing tomorrow..."
head.
___________________
(Support with power stones, comments or reviews)
If you guys enjoy this story, In support me on Patreon and get access to +200 advance Chapters
Read Ahead
Patreon.com/INNIT