"Saintess?"
Upon hearing the old man address Jeanne by that title, Andoain's inner composure fractured. He scrutinized the young girl before him, trying to discern what could possibly be so special about her to earn such a title. Throughout Laterano's long history, despite the countless women worthy of record, not once had the city officially consecrated a Saintess.
Andoain was certain of this; as someone who had once devoured Laterano's historical records, he was not prone to such simple errors in memory.
What did this seemingly out-of-place girl possess? What made her so significant that Laterano would place such weight upon her?
Despite noticing his quiet observation, Jeanne didn't pay it much mind. Her focus was entirely on the Pope's well-being.
"Are you truly alright? I heard two gunshots just now, and one was definitely yours. Won't... won't something bad happen?"
Jeanne was naturally concerned for the old man who had looked after her so many times. She worried whether he had triggered some sort of "Law" violation. She vividly remembered Lemuen saying that the conditions for breaking Laterano's Taboo were as simple as firing the weapon, regardless of whether anyone was actually hit.
"That is true, but you needn't worry too much. At the very least, neither of us has Fallen, have we?"
The Pope offered a brief explanation. Though he didn't elaborate on the why, Jeanne felt relieved. Perhaps the old man had some special authority? Much like Mr. Executor, who seemed to have a means of being exempt from the usual consequences of firing at his own kind.
"How is this possible? Why are we still like this?"
Andoain, having regained some strength, pushed himself up from the debris-strewn floor and stared at the two people before him. Jeanne's previous throw had truly brushed right past him; even now, the memory of that sheer force made his body ache. He didn't even want to imagine what it would have looked like if that weapon had pinned him directly. It wouldn't have been pretty.
But what he couldn't comprehend even more was the fact that both his and the Pope's halos and wings remained unchanged.
In his mind, they should have become like his old friend Mostima—transformed into Fallen Angels, with Sarkaz horns sprouting from their heads and tails from their backs. At that moment, the lie that had deceived Laterano and Terra for a millennium would have finally been exposed! The Sankta would have been dragged down from their pedestals!
"Why was there no Falling? It was the judgment of the Law, Andoain," the Pope said with a heavy sigh.
Andoain couldn't wrap his head around it. He and the Pope had objectively violated the Law! Why did the Law turn a blind eye to their crimes?
"What is so special about us? How are we different from her?"
Why was he exempt from punishment? Was there some hidden secret? If some privilege had protected him, then wasn't it horribly unfair to Mostima, who had Fallen simply for acting against him?
"Because it chose you, and therefore avoided the punishment."
The Pope stroked his beard, glancing at the bewildered Andoain and then at the confused Jeanne. He sighed again. It seemed he really would have to let Andoain see that. He might as well show Jeanne while he was at it. Originally, he had planned for Jeanne to enjoy the holiday before exposing her to such things, so as not to ruin her mood.
But plans, as always, failed to keep pace with changes.
Tick-tock, tick-tock... Rumble...
The mechanical roar echoed in Jeanne's ears again. She wasn't sure if her hearing was simply too acute or if the city was hiding a massive secret. Since these "auditory hallucinations" had happened several times now, she figured the "Revelation" was guiding her toward a place with heavy machinery. Perhaps she should check the power furnace later?
"Ah, what a headache."
The old man sat down on what remained of his furniture. He hadn't expected to face so much in a single day.
"While successive Popes have described the Law as something divine and sacred, etching these commandments into people's hearts... at its very core, the baseline of the Law is to ensure we live on forever."
His gaze as he looked at Andoain was profound. Indeed, no matter how much flowery language was used to describe the Law, it was ultimately set up to ensure the continuation of the Sankta race. If a sitting Pope were to Fall, the survival of the Sankta would face an unprecedented crisis.
"It?"
Andoain felt a dark premonition at the word. Why did the Pope say it had chosen him? What was the secret of Laterano? Was something actually controlling the Sankta?
His instinct told him to stop—that knowing the truth would shatter the goals he had spent years pursuing. Yet, this truth was the very "statue" he had been chasing. For a moment, a sense of agonizing conflict flooded the young Sankta's heart.
"You look restless. Steady your mind before witnessing the truth. Perhaps you could take this chance to tell our Saintess about your goals."
Seeing Andoain's changing expression, the Pope sat back on the half-destroyed sofa to rest.
Andoain, still struggling with his internal conflict, did eventually begin to explain his ideals and his questions to Jeanne, hoping for a voice of agreement. In his mind, a girl like her must have countless beautiful dreams; surely she would support his vision? At this moment, he craved that validation—especially from one recognized as a Saintess.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Andoain. I do not agree with your ideas."
Jeanne maintained a firm stance against Andoain's vision of Laterano recklessly sacrificing itself to save all who suffer. She closed her eyes and shook her head, leaving Andoain stunned.
"Why, Miss Saintess? Do you not wish to aid those in misery? Especially when Laterano clearly has the capacity to do so?"
"Have you ever wondered why it must be Laterano? Is it because this place is a paradise that you feel the Sankta must be forced back into a life of displacement and suffering?"
Jeanne acknowledged that Andoain's ideal was beautiful, but that beauty was built on the premise of sacrificing the peaceful lives of countless Sankta. Why them? If it were a matter of economy, Ursus and Yan were far more prosperous. Londinium was hailed as the center of the world. If it were a matter of military might, Laterano wasn't necessarily the strongest.
Currently, Laterano was just a lonely boat in a vast ocean. One wrong move and it risked capsizing, despite how well the passengers were living.
"You see it as a necessary sacrifice because, compared to those suffering, the people of Laterano have it better. But have you considered that they themselves are the culprits behind those suffering?"
Jeanne left one thought unsaid: if the true culprits did not restrain themselves, Andoain could throw the entire city of Laterano into the pit and it still wouldn't satisfy those hungry wolves. She knew exactly how greedy the nations of Terra were; destroying Laterano for them simply wasn't worth it.
"Furthermore, has Laterano really never fought for peace and beauty?"
The Pope's eyes twinkled at those words. Indeed, how much effort had Laterano put into peace? Unfortunately, those efforts were often like stones thrown into a vast sea—like their efforts during the Battle of the Four Emperors. Even now, the old man held that ideal. The Legatus system was created for that very purpose.
"Your ideal is noble, but it does not give you the right to decide how the people of Laterano should live. No one has the right to choose another's path for them."
Jeanne looked at Andoain. He had vision and drive; he had even achieved some success. But...
"Forgive my bluntness, Mr. Andoain. Your primary motivation is pity for the weak. But sometimes, pity can transform into an evil—a truly terrifying form of malice!"