Andoain stared at the white-bearded old man before him, finding it impossible to imagine that he wasn't joking.
You made an Ursine the Saintess? Have you gone mad, or has the world? Had the relationship between Ursus and Laterano reached the point of "shaking hands and making peace" without anyone telling him? For a moment, Andoain even wondered if his time spent in isolation had left him so out of touch that he simply couldn't keep up with the era.
In his memory, while relations weren't so tense that war was imminent, they certainly weren't "Let's share our most sacred titles" good. A Saintess was more than a status; to some extent, she could interfere with the very machinery of Laterano. Letting a foreigner hold the lifeline of the country... Laterano had truly lost its mind!
"Don't keep looking at me with that expression! The choice of the Saintess lies with It; I don't even have the authority to interfere. Besides, Jeanne would never act against Laterano's interests."
The Pope, felt a bit unnerved by Andoain's unblinking stare, which made him look like he was examining a mental patient. He scratched his cheek awkwardly and explained slowly. He understood the sentiment; most Sankta held a rather poor view of Ursus. Especially after the war years ago, where the Ursine military actually managed to defeat the Apostolic Knights several times—even if they didn't gain much in the long run.
To those who lived through that era, Ursus was the second most disliked nation. As for the first? Naturally, that was Kazdel; no Sankta would ever like that place.
"Unbelievable... an Ursine chosen as Saintess. But you've mentioned this 'It' more than once. What exactly is it?" Andoain finally voiced the question that had been building. What did this entity represent? And what was this old man planning by revealing it now?
Both Andoain's suspicious gaze and Jeanne's curious one converged on the old man. They noticed him fiddling with a very small, inconspicuous communication device. He seemed to be waiting for something.
The Pope sighed softly, looking at them both. "Wait just a bit longer; the time hasn't quite come. You can continue your chat for a moment. I will tell you the truth of everything, exactly as it is, but we need to prepare."
This was the secret of the Sankta's origin and the reason they guarded this city—a mystery known only to successive Popes. In theory, no one else should know, but these two were exceptions.
Andoain's heart calmed slightly. He realized he finally had the chance to face the truth. Even if it shattered his beliefs, he wanted to know. He was here now; as long as the Pope didn't plan to kill him, he could afford to wait.
He turned his gaze back to Jeanne, who was still holding her banner, showing no intention of letting her guard down.
"You were born in the snowfields? Then you must have seen the suffering of the poor. Why, then, do you not support my plan?" Andoain asked. If someone who had never seen hardship spoke those words, he could understand—but why would someone who knew the struggle for survival not agree with him?
Andoain had never been to the snowfields; Ursus was notoriously xenophobic toward non-Ursines, making it hard for a Sankta to blend in. Even the work of the Legatus was difficult there. He had only heard stories from refugees in Laterano—a place so poor you only saw the bared teeth of beasts, where the only "specialties" were infected people sent from abroad and endless patrols of the Imperial Strikers.
How could she come from a place like that and feel nothing? This paradise had the power to save her home.
"To be accurate, I only live in the snowfields. I wasn't born there... actually, I can't quite say where I was born. If you must have an answer, just assume I fell from the sky."
Jeanne thought about explaining her origins, but then realized—where was her home in this world? France? There was no such country on Terra. The only nation even remotely related to the old France was Gaul, and Gaul was gone. It was easier to just let them think she was from the snowfields; at least that place was too chaotic for anyone to check a household registry.
She kept her background vague to prevent the Pope or Andoain from sending people to investigate her "parents." It was a mess over there; better not to stir it up. Besides, they wouldn't doubt her just because of a mysterious past, so there was no need to hide too much.
"And while the snowfields are poor, I don't believe Laterano has a reason to help them. Moreover, that is a hostile nation."
This was their fundamental divide: Andoain believed Laterano had a responsibility to save the world; Jeanne believed it only had the responsibility to manage itself. Without a major shock to his system, Jeanne doubted she could talk him out of his obsession.
So annoying... maybe I should just knock him out with a headbutt, she thought. Jeanne, never one for flowery words, looked into his eyes. If she used her "Gilles-special" glare on him, he might go blind. A headbutt was better; she had armor on her forehead, so it wouldn't even hurt—she might even get a nice metallic clink out of it.
Andoain fell silent, realizing he couldn't convince her. He only hoped the coming revelations would provide something to validate his view.
For a time, the only sound in the room was the sipping of tea. The old man sat on his half-sofa, calmly drinking as if he were in a garden rather than a wreck. It was unclear if he was confident in their safety or just incredibly thick-skinned.
Crackle—
"Your Holiness, the perimeter of the Pontificia is clear," a deep voice came from the communicator. It was a Pope's Knight who had been sent to evacuate everyone—including Velliv, Cecilia, and Feoria, who were now waiting in a nearby shop.
As for Lemuen? She had slipped away as they approached. She had told Jeanne that while she no longer sought revenge on Andoain and even understood his thoughts, Fiammetta hadn't given up. As a friend, she had to go and "support the scene." She left carrying her specialty—a long-range sniper Patron Firearm. Though she liked her submachine guns, she was still a master of the long shot.
"Very well. Thank you for your hard work."
The Pope stood up, his expression turning solemn. "Now that we are sure no one is around, follow me. I will show you... the truth of Laterano and the Law!"
The old man pushed aside a hidden door. Andoain hadn't even realized that the portraits of the first Sages masked a secret entrance.
As Jeanne looked into the dark tunnel, the mechanical sound in her ears grew louder, as if a great machine were calling her into the depths.