I Became a Pope With a System Window

"The cathedral's defenses are inadequate."

General Marcus Ironhold's blunt assessment cut through the morning air like a blade. He stood on one of the upper balconies overlooking the Grand Cathedral's main floor, where bloodstains from the coup still marked the marble despite repeated cleaning attempts.

I could see the exact spot where I'd knelt beside Thomas Hartwell's body. Where his mother had wept over a son too young to die for a Pope he'd never met.

Sister Evangeline's words from the night before echoed in my mind, "According to the guards, you were dead." But Marcus questioned my strategic instincts rather than my biology. Different kind of doubt. Maybe more dangerous.

"What's inadequate about them?" I asked.

Marcus spread war maps across the stone balustrade. His scarred hands traced defensive positions with military precision.

"Reinforcements delayed by three days. Patrol rotations expose the eastern approach every fourth hour. Response time from barracks to cathedral? Six minutes. In battle, that's six lifetimes."

He pointed to sketched formations. "Current guard deployment assumes threats come from outside. But the coup originated within these walls."

I studied the maps. Defensive positions looked... wrong. Exposed. My mind started filling in gaps automatically—checking weak points, calculating chokepoints, measuring response lag times.

"Move the eastern patrol to cover the vestry approach," I said without thinking. "Station a reserve squad in the upper galleries. Cut response time in half."

Marcus's eyes narrowed. "Where would you position the reserve squad specifically?"

"Third gallery, northern corner. Clear sightlines to the altar, secondary stairs for rapid deployment, defensible position if overrun." The words flowed like water. "Crossbow teams on the second level. Field of fire covers the main approaches without endangering civilians."

[Military Command Unlocked]

[Leadership Abilities Enhanced: +15% Tactical Insight]

[+20% Morale Boost when Commanding Directly]

[Note: Skills may reflect prior latent identity]

Marcus straightened slowly. His weathered face showed surprise mixed with something sharper. Suspicion.

"Interesting assessment. What about a breach in the northern cloister? Hypothetical enemy force of twenty men, armed, moving fast."

I looked at the maps again. The tactical situation unfolded in my mind like reading a familiar book.

"Seal the connecting passages first. Force them into the main corridor where numbers work against them. Spear wall at the chokepoint, archers in the side alcoves. Leave one escape route monitored but open…let them think they found a weakness."

"Why leave an escape route?"

"Trapped men fight to the death. Desperate men make mistakes." I traced the positions on the map. "Guide their retreat toward the courtyard. Open ground. No cover. Clean up becomes simple."

Marcus stared at me for a long moment. The morning sun cast shadows across his scarred features.

"Divine guidance doesn't teach containment strategy," he said flatly.

My blood went cold. The tactical knowledge felt natural, instinctive. But Marcus was right… where did it come from?

"Perhaps previous papal advisors…"

"Your predecessor banned weapons within cathedral walls. Including mine." Marcus's voice carried decades of frustrated professionalism. "Pope Benedict refused all tactical advice. Said war had no place near God's altar."

The Scythe of Judgement leaned against the nearby wall. Its presence tingled in my thoughts like it was watching. Like it knew secrets I didn't.

[System Prompt: Previous identity relevance growing]

[Suggest mental inquiry into combat familiarity]

I ignored the system alert. Marcus was studying my face like a puzzle missing crucial pieces.

"Tell me about the capital situation," I said, deflecting.

Marcus's expression darkened. He pulled out additional reports, papers marked with official seals and bloodstains.

"Factions within the eastern quarter are arming civilians. Not guild weapons… army grade steel. Someone's funding them." He spread incident reports across the maps. "Two churches burned overnight. Saint Matthias and Sacred Heart. Priests found dead in alleyways, tongues cut out."

"Heretical cults?"

"Maybe. Or political opportunists using religious chaos as cover." Marcus pointed to patrol reports. "My men found scribbling calling for papal abdication. Your abdication, specifically."

The papers showed crude drawings of the papal crown in flames. Text demanded "true faith" and "cleansing of corruption." Standard revolutionary propaganda with religious seasoning.

"What do you recommend?"

"Martial law. Immediate crackdown. Round up suspected heretics and dissidents. Show strength before weakness invites more violence."

I studied the reports. Innocent people would suffer under martial law. But unchecked violence might destroy the city.

"Double the patrols. Targeted investigations into the armed factions. Open cathedral sanctuaries for those seeking protection." I met his eyes. "But no mass arrests without evidence."

"That's a risk, Your Holiness."

"So is turning the capital into a military prison."

Marcus nodded slowly. Not agreement… professional acknowledgment. He gathered the reports with efficient movements.

"Your tactical instincts are sound. Your political judgment shows mercy balanced with strength." He paused, studying my face again. "But your knowledge troubles me."

"Why?"

"Because you think like a war priest. Like someone who's led men into blood and fire before."

The observation hit like a physical blow. War priest. Military command flowing through my thoughts like muscle memory.

Sister Evangeline's words echoed again, "You were clinically dead when they brought you into the cathedral."

Dead. But now I possessed tactical knowledge that felt familiar as breathing.

Marcus stepped closer. His blue eyes held the calculating assessment of a veteran who'd survived by reading people correctly.

"Your tactical knowledge is... unexpected, Your Holiness. Almost as if you've commanded troops in battle."

I forced a smile. "Divine inspiration works in mysterious ways."

"Does it?" Marcus's voice carried polite skepticism. "Because inspiration suggests new knowledge. You speak like someone remembering old lessons."

[System Alert: General Marcus Ironhold]

[Suspicion: Rising | Loyalty: Stable]

[Warning: Military support crucial for survival]

The system tracked relationships like chess pieces. But human connections resisted simple mathematics.

"I appreciate your concerns, General. But questioning papal authority…"

"I'm questioning nothing. Observing everything." Marcus gathered his maps. "Pope Benedict feared conflict. Avoided military decisions. Trusted in prayer over preparation."

He rolled up the tactical assessments with practiced efficiency.

"You, on the other hand, analyze battle scenarios like a professional soldier. Plan defensive strategies like someone who's watched good men die from poor leadership."

The morning sun shifted, casting longer shadows across the balcony. Below us, the cathedral's main floor showed evidence of recent tragedy—cleaned blood, replaced stones, hastily repaired damage.

"The coup wasn't random violence," Marcus continued. "It was surgical. Professional. Someone knew our protocols, our response times, our blind spots."

"Inside knowledge."

"Extensive inside knowledge. Either we have traitors among the clergy, or..." He left the sentence hanging.

"Or what?"

"Or the new Pope knows things about cathedral defenses he shouldn't know."

The accusation hung between us like smoke. Not spoken directly, but clear enough.

I looked at the war maps spread across the stone. Tactical positions made sense in ways they shouldn't. Military doctrine felt familiar despite no conscious memory of learning it.

"General, are you suggesting…"

"I'm suggesting that dead men don't usually demonstrate advanced tactical training." Marcus shouldered his equipment. "But here we stand, discussing strategy with someone who was reportedly a corpse twelve hours ago."

He walked toward the stairs leading back to the main cathedral. But he paused at the threshold, looking back with the penetrating gaze of a man who'd survived too many battles to ignore warning signs.

"Your Holiness? The tactical knowledge you displayed today... it's not theoretical. It carries the weight of experience. Hard experience."

I said nothing. What could I say?

Marcus descended the stairs, his footsteps echoing off stone walls. I remained on the balcony, staring at the maps he'd left behind.

Defensive positions. Troop movements. Strategic assessments that felt like reading my own handwriting in a language I didn't remember learning.

[System Alert: Military Command abilities active]

[Previous identity integration: 34% complete]

[Warning: Rapid skill acquisition may attract unwanted attention]

I stared at the war maps laid out before me. Tactical knowledge flowed through my thoughts like water through familiar channels. Knowledge that belonged to someone else.

Someone who might have been dead before I woke up wearing the papal crown.

"If I was dead..." I muttered to the empty balcony. "Then who the hell came back?"