In A Fantasy World I Can Absorbs Abilities

Pope Allegro III had been losing sleep lately.

Even when he closed his eyes out of exhaustion, he couldn't fall into a deep slumber. And when he finally did, disturbing nightmares would wrap around him like a suffocating blanket.

He woke every dawn, soaked in sweat, kicking off his bedding in a panic.

Clutching his chest, he gasped for air as his heart pounded like mad.

He couldn't explain the source of his anxiety, but the unease clung to his chest like a leech.

A creeping sense of doom wrapped tightly around his body.

"Something isn't right."

Since his coronation as Pope, Allegro III had ruled the Holy Kingdom with unwavering confidence and conviction.

As the divine representative of Light, he believed it was his sacred duty to restore order to the world and bring all beneath his heel.

But nothing was going as planned.

Michael.

The mere thought of the so-called hero's name made him nauseous.

Ever since that insolent youth ruined his carefully laid strategies, nothing had gone right.

He had tried everything to eliminate the heretic—covert propaganda, assassins, inciting wars, even funding enemy forces.

Yet Michael, as if immortal, had survived every attempt and now stood as the crown prince of a kingdom.

The more Allegro III tried to crush him, the wider Michael's influence spread.

And lately, strange occurrences were piling up.

Meticulously crafted plans were unraveling one by one.

A secret inquisition to purge heretics had been leaked to the public, and since then, the Holy Kingdom's envoys were being treated with cold indifference across the continent.

Rumors abounded that religious devotion among foreign citizens was plummeting.

The influence of Light was fading—

Like a tower built on sand, it was beginning to collapse.

Every night, the Pope knelt before the holy statue and whispered prayers, trying to soothe himself.

"This is merely a trial. A test given to me by the Divine. In the end, I shall prevail."

Yet the more he invoked the name of the Light, the more hollow it felt.

The anxiety refused to leave his chest.

It had reached the point where, despite his longstanding disdain for them, he began summoning astrologers and prophets to divine his fate.

But the only prophecies he received were grim:

— "Countless black shadows shall swallow the Holy See."

— "Beyond the mountains, the flames of a new era rise. If they are not extinguished…"

Infuriated, Allegro III had the doomsayers executed in divine judgment.

But still, the anxiety remained.

Three particular concerns gnawed away at his mind.

The first was the continued disappearance of merchant and treasure ships.

As an island nation isolated by sea, the Holy Kingdom relied heavily on trade for its wealth.

Yet, as if orchestrated, ships were being plundered one after another.

Fortunately, they found clues indicating the culprits were pirates, and had dispatched the Sacred Sea Knights to suppress them.

The second worry stemmed from the first—

There had been no word at all from the Sacred Sea Knights.

"Why on earth is it taking this long to sink a few pirate ships? Ridiculous..."

The commander, Antonio, was one of his most trusted men and the final line of defense for the capital.

His absence left the Pope even more uneasy.

The third concern was the silence of Bishop Agrippa, the so-called Bishop of Silence.

He had sent regular monthly reports without fail, until now.

"That stubborn old man... What's gotten into him? Maybe he's holed up praying again. Always bragging about his devotion."

Just thinking of Agrippa made Allegro III scowl and twist his beard in irritation.

Still, compared to the other issues, this one worried him less.

They'd never gotten along, and it wasn't unusual for Agrippa to vanish into solitary prayer.

What truly troubled him now was Julius, the direct descendant of Light.

"I hope Julius is doing well. I sent him away for his safety, but… the silence worries me."

Pacing the luxurious office, Allegro III was consumed by thought.

"As long as I hear from them before the end of the month… And just a bit more time—soon, the Light shall return. I never imagined such a glory would come in my reign."

Overwhelmed with emotion, he fell to his knees in the center of the room and began to pray.

"O, radiant Light,

you who have illuminated the world since the beginning of time,

Though chaos and darkness now cover the earth, and the wicked walk freely in the streets,

Now is the time for Your providence and justice to descend once more.

Cleanse those who blaspheme and defile Your name,

Purge the greedy and corrupt who stain the world—

With Your sacred flame, burn away their sins and bring forth Your judgment—KYAAAAAA!"

Suddenly, as he prayed fervently, Allegro III flung himself aside in panic.

A fireball had fallen from the sky!

Just moments ago, he had been immersed in divine serenity—but now, flames licked at his robes.

There was no time to think.

He scrambled wildly, trying to extinguish the flames on his garments.

Throwing off his golden vestments, he rolled across the floor like a donkey in the sand.

The attendants and holy knights who rushed in stood aghast—

And then quickly averted their eyes.

The Pope was in his underwear.

"Your Holiness! Are you all right?!"

"Do I look all right, you damn fools?!"

Pope Allegro III shot to his feet, hair disheveled, eyes wild.

His heart was still pounding uncontrollably, and sweat poured down his body like rain.

"Who dared throw fire into the holy heart of the Papal Palace?!"

Everyone in the room froze.

No—more accurately, they couldn't move.

The silence pressing in on them was tangible, creeping into their skin.

No one could breathe, let alone speak.

Something was watching.

Slowly, very slowly, all eyes turned toward the ceiling.

Beyond a massive crack in the ceiling, a golden eye gleamed down at them, unblinking.

It was as if that eye could see through all things—not just flesh and bone, but the very essence of their being.

Marcus's massive golden eye shifted its focus and locked onto the Pope.

His claw scraped along the cracked ceiling, widening the hole with deliberate precision.

And then, he bared his fangs and grinned.

[Found you, old man.]

Marcus clicked his tongue with deep regret.

[Tch. What a waste. I could've taken out that lunatic old man in one blow.]

Michael gently stroked Marcus's neck to console him.

"It's better this way, Marcus. Powerful people shouldn't be killed too quickly. Losing an arm or leg? Sure. But men like that… they need to be judged before they die. That way, there's no backlash."

A ruler who dies in the chaos of war is remembered with sympathy.

It was far better to capture him, expose his crimes, and execute him legitimately.

Michael quietly surveyed the area.

Allegro III now lay unconscious, slumped helplessly across Marcus's back.

His golden-embroidered robes had been tossed over his underwear-clad body like an afterthought.

The once-arrogant face was now pale and soaked in fear.

But Michael no longer paid him any mind.

What mattered now was the fall of this wretched city.

Screams and explosions echoed through the ceiling above.

A swarm of magical beasts filled the sky above the Holy Capital, casting colossal shadows.

Each beast roared in fury—

Kyaaaaah!

Special grenades, designed by Labouin, rained down from the claws of the gargoyles.

A dull boom followed as part of the Papal Palace collapsed.

Marble shattered, statues crumbled, and dust blanketed the air.

Screams of terrified priests rang out from every direction.

"Beasts! The beasts are invading!!"

The holy knights scrambled, raising their spears and shields in panic—

But the situation had already spiraled beyond control.

—Fwoooooooosh!

Suddenly, a sharp high-frequency sound ripped through the air.

A skyship led by Drake had arrived.

Glittering silver bombs tore through the sky like falling stars.

"Now this... this is aerial warfare at its finest."

By the time the holy knights realized they were under attack, it was already too late.

Michael looked down at his own hand.

The divine power that once filled the Holy Capital was now being drawn into him.

Anyone trying to rise into the air would find it impossible.

Inside the palace, Holy Knight Commander Vito screamed in frustration.

"Why isn't the divine power working?! I need to ascend—those damned heretics must be struck down from above!"

But despite his words, his own body remained safely hidden deep beneath the palace—

In stark contrast to the soldiers outside, ordered into battle.

And he wasn't the only one.

The other cardinals were holed up as well.

"What's going on here? What about the city's shield? The guardians?" one of them asked, eyes wide in disbelief.

The Holy Capital had always been protected by a sacred barrier.

Its key points were guarded by appointed protectors.

"…We went to check… but they were already dead."

"Dead?! That's impossible! I saw the morning shift myself—"

Another cardinal stopped mid-sentence and bit his lip.

The protectors on night duty were mostly devout monks,

But those of noble blood often assigned themselves the easier day shifts,

Notorious for ignoring protocol.

Complaints had piled up for years, but favoritism always won out.

Having eliminated the shield's protectors, Isper calmly approached Leonardo.

Their personalities couldn't be more different, but as demonic beings, they had developed a strange bond.

Leonardo, eyes shining with awe at the unfolding destruction, began gathering his brush and easel.

Isper, resigned, moved to assist him.

When Leonardo got like this, there was no stopping him—

Best to simply help.

After all… the man was insane.

But truth be told…

Leonardo's art was strangely beautiful.

With manic energy, he began sketching the destruction of the Holy Capital.

Charcoal flew across the canvas, tracing bold strokes:

Crumbling spires.

The Papal Palace in flames.

Holy knights and clergy in chaos.

Beasts slicing through the sky.

He was immortalizing the fall of the Holy Kingdom.

But what captivated him most—more than the destruction, more than the fire—

Was one figure.

His lord.

Amid the crimson blaze and the ruins of the palace, a single man stood tall.

His black cloak was dyed red in the firelight.

His shadow stretched across the debris.

With eyes full of reverence, Leonardo began sketching.

It was the first of what would later be known as "The Michael the Great Series,"

Celebrated as the most magnificent collection in continental history.