When the sound of a closing door finally came from Jeanne's side, Fyodor closed the black communicator with a weary expression. He sat there, chewing over the few words Jeanne had said to him.
After a while, Fyodor walked to the window and opened one that hadn't been opened for a very long time. A gust of wind immediately disheveled his hair, and the white papers on his desk were blown about, flying all over the room.
Winter in Deity Grypherburg was colder than in the capitals of any other nation in Terra. The moment he opened the window, the temperature in the previously warm room plummeted until it felt like an ice cellar. Fyodor sat in the freezing room as if he couldn't feel the cold at all. He simply leaned back motionlessly in his plush chair, making no move to warm himself even as the hot tea beside him turned into cold tea.
When Talulah used to hear her grandmother praying to the Emperor, her grandmother would always say that the man had never experienced such hardship—that he was the type who had enjoyed warmth since the day he was born. But what Talulah didn't understand was that as a Prince of Ursus, Fyodor had enjoyed very little luxury growing up. In fact, his lifestyle couldn't even compare to some of the residents of Saint Petersburg.
From a very young age, he had been subjected to militarized management by his tutors. He had slept on cots since childhood and taken nothing but cold baths. These were orders issued by his stern father, and no one dared to disobey. Even after his coronation, he had never indulged in the extravagant lifestyle others perceived.
Thus, he could rely on his physical constitution to sit there composedly in the increasingly frigid room, lost in thought. A thin layer of ice began to form on the tea atop his desk, yet he wore only a single layer of clothing.
"You certainly have a point. This country really is cold..."
After a long period of meditation, Fyodor looked up at the exquisite ceiling and let out a sigh. No one knew exactly what he was referring to—was it the country's freezing winter, or the civilians who were still suffering oppression? Or perhaps, was it both?
However, his sigh was heard by no one. The only things that could have heard it were the whistling cold wind and the snowflakes mixed within, but they had no way to express it.
Fyodor stood up, closed the window, and picked up the white papers scattered on the floor. Once the room had returned to its proper warmth, he called the two figures outside back in.
The first thing Kashchey noticed upon entering was that something was off with the Emperor. Although Fyodor controlled his emotions well, they did not escape Kashchey's eyes. To Kashchey, the Emperor's mood seemed peculiar—he looked like someone preparing to do something great, yet there was a hint of bewilderment. What on earth had those two discussed in there?
But he had no intention of asking the Emperor. Although he enjoyed playing with fire, he was a snake who knew his priorities. He knew which matters to inquire about and which to leave alone.
Then again, he had a "daughter" he had raised himself. He could just find a way to hoodwink his silly girl into using her charms to fish for information from the other party. He wouldn't lose anything either way.
On the other side, Talulah and Lemuen huddled around Jeanne with curiosity the moment she emerged. they were dying to know why Fyodor had been so mysterious about talking to her alone.
"It was nothing much. We just had a very rough chat about things like life. We exchanged some views, but nothing of major importance."
Jeanne chatted with Talulah and the others for a short while before walking over to the Pope. While she had been speaking with them, the old man had simply watched them quietly from a distance.
As for Councilor Witte? He had gotten up and gone back inside to pack up the communicator. During his conversation with the Pope earlier, the Pope had subtly indicated that he wished to accompany Jeanne to the Laterano lounge later and that no hospitality staff would be necessary.
"I'm sorry, Your Holiness. I had to keep you waiting. Let's go to your lounge and talk there."
Hearing Jeanne's words, the wrinkles on the Pope's face blossomed into a smile. He then led Jeanne toward the rest area for the Laterano bishops. Everyone was practically dying to see the Saint.
Behind them, Lemuen and Talulah glanced at each other and followed quietly behind Jeanne, walking at a leisurely pace.
"You aren't seriously planning to go in there and join the commotion, are you? How about the two of us just wait for Jeanne at the door? There's no need for us to follow them in!"
As they drew closer to the lounge prepared for Laterano, Lemuen—who was herself a Sankta—actually appeared more nervous than Talulah, seemingly wanting to stay as far away as possible. Physically, she even showed a subconscious refusal to enter that terrifying room; she just wanted to get as far away as possible.
"What's wrong with you? Those are the elders of your own race, right? Why do I feel like you're more afraid of them than I am, an outsider? Did you borrow money from them and never pay it back?"
Talulah looked at Lemuen, who was trying to persuade her to leave, and couldn't help but wonder what Lemuen had done to make her dread meeting these bishops so much.
"You don't understand! You don't know the horror of being surrounded by a group of elders recounting your embarrassing childhood stories—especially when my family has a Living Ancestor who is basically a legend. Put it this way: because of my sister, I've met every single bishop..."
By this point, a look of despair had appeared in Lemuen's eyes. She truly didn't dare to imagine what she would look like after being bombarded by the "verbal cannons" of those bishops. Now, she could only try her best to turn invisible, praying that the Pope would be so distracted by seeing Jeanne that he would temporarily forget her existence.
When they reached the lounge, the Pope led Jeanne inside. Immediately, a commotion could be heard from within. The sound was so loud it broke through the soundproof walls and poured directly into the ears of Talulah and the others.
"Great, that old man the Pope really does have a bad memory. He just forgot about me and left me here. I need to get out of here fast..."
Just as Lemuen was mumbling to herself and preparing to flee this place of trouble before anyone noticed, a hand landed on her shoulder. Then, that familiar voice came from behind her:
"Little Lem, what's the hurry? Come, come... wouldn't it be nice to come inside and catch up with all your Bishop Grandpas? Everyone misses you quite a bit and wants to hear you talk all about these past few days..."
Lemuen saw the old man the Pope standing right behind her. He gripped her shoulder so she couldn't leave. Then, he wore an expression that was distinctly vengeful.
"Help me, Talulah! This old man is planning to use public office to settle a private grudge! Quick, think of a reason to distract him and give me a chance to get out of here!"
Talulah didn't know how Lemuen managed to convey so much information just with her eyes. However, looking at Lemuen and then at the kindly, smiling old Pope, she chose to follow her heart and simply waved her hand, wishing Lemuen the best of luck.
"Aaaaah! You're actually pushing your friend into the fire! No, Talulah! Only you can save me!"
As Lemuen's wails gradually grew quieter, she was dragged into the lounge. A moment later, the old man actually returned, and this time, he said to Talulah:
"I'm sorry for the spectacle. Well then, please come with me, Lady Talulah. Everyone is also very curious to see what kind of person the Saint's recognized best friend is."