Chapter 205
Chapter 205
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 205
Chapter Title: Roman Holiday (2)
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Pope Leo IV, the head of the Catholic Church worldwide, the Archbishop of Rome, and the sovereign of Vatican City.
At first glance, this man resembled a kindly grandfather from the countryside, but beneath his warm smile lurked a razor-sharp intellect.
He was rumored to be a political demon, yet when negotiating gains and losses with the President of Korea, he never yielded an inch.
"Cardinal. Come here a moment."
The obelisk standing tall in the center of the square, visible from the dome of St. Peter's Basilica.
For over forty years, ever since his ordination as a priest, the Pope had memorized the inscription on that obelisk.
*Christ conquers, reigns, and rules. Christ protects His people from all evil.*
"It seems... impossible, doesn't it? For that secular nation to revive Catholicism on a grand scale."
Pope Leo IV, who always prayed for the faith to spread across the world.
He mulled over his recent meeting with the Korean President, just concluded, and posed the question to the cardinal.
"Isn't the scale too small? Don't you think?"
"It feels like a chicken rib, Your Holiness," the cardinal replied.
Chicken rib.
A term from an ancient Eastern text, perfectly fitting the current situation.
Did they really need to go all the way to Korea and appear to support a specific political faction there?
"The intake doesn't justify the effort."
Finding the answer to his own question required little deliberation.
Gazing at the spot where the President had stood moments ago, the Pope made his decision.
"If there's no meat to be had, there's no reason to pay the price. We'll put off any Korea schedule for the time being."
"Yes, Your Holiness. I shall obey your will."
After dismissing the cardinal from the room, the Pope let out a heavy sigh, his mind evidently troubled.
He filled a large glass decanter with red wine exposed to the air, poured himself a glass, and drank it while muttering to himself.
"Europe, North America, Asia—they're all in steady decline."
The wooden drawer slid open with a creak.
Weekly, monthly, yearly reports on believers from cathedrals around the world.
The complex formulas and flashy charts pointed to one undeniable truth.
The Catholic Church had long been in an endless downward spiral.
"Aside from a few South American countries, the Lord's lambs keep straying from paradise's fold. Alas, what are we to do?"
"Um... Your Holiness."
A timid knock, followed by the cardinal peeking in from outside the door.
Was it bad news? He approached the Pope cautiously and pulled a letter from his robes.
"What is it, Cardinal? And what's this?"
"It's a letter just sent from the Korean side, Your Holiness. They insist you read it and respond."
"Hmm. I clearly said I wanted no chicken ribs..."
The Korean market, where the rewards scarcely matched the investment. Normally, the Pope would have told the cardinal to handle such a letter himself.
Yet, he extended his hand as if to read it anyway.
"They can't offer much in service to God. Hm...?"
He unfolded the stationery without much thought.
There, in raw, blunt language, was something utterly bizarre—content he had never even considered before.
"This—this is...!"
An opportunity to showcase Vatican influence across the globe...
Nestled within the clumsily scrawled Latin corridor was a scheme that immediately captivated the Pope's eyes.
"Cardinal! You said this letter came from the Korean President's side? Who proposed this idea? The Foreign Minister? Or the Blue House National Security Director?"
"No... neither, Your Holiness."
Foreign Minister. Blue House National Security Director.
Positions essential for drawing such bold lines and turning wild imaginings into reality.
But common sense doesn't always apply. The cardinal's answer lay entirely outside the Pope's expectations.
"It's just a Korean businessman, Your Holiness. Remember? The one who helped excommunicate that heretic not long ago."
"Heretic? That 'Garden of the Lord'? Then...!"
The Pope recalled the Garden of the Lord incident.
The man who had led the unprecedented, creative punishment of a self-proclaimed prophet heretic.
And especially, the name that had surfaced in major global incidents recently.
"Ammunition Group Chairman Han Seo-jun. They say he drew up the entire blueprint."
* * * *
Agreement with the President.
The deal for NIS intelligence on North Korea—especially transaction records with Iran—was sealed. Positively.
The old fox even handed me the Pope's visit matter outright, saying,
'Chairman Han, you take charge. In my eyes, you're far sharper than most government diplomacy or security lines.'
Damn fox.
He'd seen through the gist at a glance and dumped the headache of Vatican negotiations on me, looking relieved.
The letter I sent on the spot to the Vatican side.
By now... it must have reached the cardinal, sparking utter chaos.
"This isn't for cardinals to debate. Once my sketched design is complete as planned, tell the Vatican to just bring the paint."
Inside a luxury hotel in central Rome.
In the middle of a suite room rented out entirely, a pool table stood ready.
I chalked the tip of my cue with blue chalk, aimed at the cluster of balls in the center, and spoke.
"This plan will be tougher than it seems anyway."
Crack! The white cue ball rolled, striking with a crisp sound, scattering the fifteen balls like petals.
A pocket billiards setup tangled as complexly as the Middle East situation. Watching from beside me, Kim Won-cheol handed me a drink and chimed in.
"Whoa, how do you pocket anything in this mess? One touch and the whole thing explodes—like that oily, sandy neighborhood over there."
"Exactly. The original layout is a disaster, but... if we overlay this move here."
Thud!
I grabbed the white cue ball from the table and hurled it forcefully at the clustered balls. The solid fortress crumbled like a sandcastle swept by waves, collapsing in all directions.
And the Middle East would be the same.
Iran, the common enemy. The free ball crafted by the NIS would surely dismantle the fortress between America, Israel, and Saudi Arabia.
"Heh heh heh. With the NIS data promised by the President, we crack the board?"
"The clustered balls scattered who-knows-where, causing pandemonium. Alright, now it's time to grab the cue and strike boldly."
Tap. Without much force, one ball glided effortlessly off the cue ball, swimming through the cloth.
The three colored balls, swirling in their square frames after colliding with each other, vanished into the pockets all at once, as if by prior agreement.
"Nice shot. Amazing. So now, all that's left is for those three warring teammates to reconcile?"
"Correct. And when they do, the awkward handshake among the three nations. That's when we'll need a final symbol of unity. Namely..."
The last ball remaining on the table: the black 8-ball.
I picked up the round ball and shifted my gaze outside the window. To the view encompassing St. Peter's Square.
"The Pope."
"Heh heh heh. That God-fearing old man will make a big splash in his twilight years."
"Symbolic figures gathering in a symbolic place. Alright, let's begin. First up..."
I leaned my cue against the wall and turned to the side table.
On the table, a stack of documents just delivered by a few men in black suits.
The bundle stamped with the compass emblem and "National Intelligence Service" seemed to whisper to me.
"To get those three proud friends on the same side, we start by creating a common enemy."
* * * *
Crack!
A park near Washington D.C.
In broad daylight, a Jewish man kicked over a park bench. The Israeli special envoy, formerly of Mossad, couldn't contain his surging rage despite the stares around him.
"Yang Wenli! That venomous serpent's bastard son!"
"Envoy... please calm down."
"Calm down? How, in this state? My country, my people—it's not impossible for them to turn to dust any moment!"
The envoy slumped before the fountain.
Tears or tap water? Droplets scattered bit by bit on the granite floor.
"How... how could America do this to us? How...!"
His fists trembled as he turned to look back.
There stood the State Department building, arrogant as ever, from where he'd been all but chased out.
Its master, Yang Wenli, had treated him with the very same attitude.
'Whether Israel exists or not makes no difference to America's national interests. That's my judgment.'
'What... what did you say...!'
Yang Wenli, the Secretary of State openly signaling withdrawal not just from Israel but the entire Middle East.
Ignoring diplomatic protocol entirely, he ate a steak dripping blood and promptly issued an eviction notice.
'I'm sick of America playing mediator among fanatic zealots and racking our brains. Please leave.'
Blood.
The crimson blood dripping from the meat onto the white porcelain plate... to the envoy, it seemed more than just calf's blood.
The Israeli people, abandoned by America, would soon spill enough blood to fill that tiny plate and overflow.
"If things stay like this, Israel is finished forever."
"Envoy..."
The envoy, resolve hardened.
He wiped his face with his sleeve, let out a short sigh, and spoke.
"Contact the Prime Minister. We activate Plan B."
"......!"
Plan B.
In case America truly abandons Israel, the desperate measure they'd have no choice but to take.
A claw extended before withering away—a move that would instantly push Middle East tensions to the critical point.
Even knowing it might be a straight path to despair.
"Saudi southern rebels. Our regular forces join them in battle. We strike first to secure Israel's safety!"