Just as Jeanne's crimson blood flowed onto the golden horn, a peculiar change occurred at the handle where she was holding it. Thick black smoke billowed from the area wrapped in leather, as if some demon or monster were dwelling within.
"Drop it, quickly! Be careful!"
Seeing this change, the Pope rushed to Jeanne's side. Jeanne hadn't expected this somewhat portly old man to move with such incredible agility. The Pope looked at her with worry, fearing she might be influenced or harmed by some evil Sarkaz witchcraft. Although he had heard that Jeanne possessed resistance to Originium Arts and such sorcery, who knew what this thing actually was? This was ancient witchcraft left behind by the Sarkaz of old; the fact that it had endured for so many years was a testament to its extraordinary nature.
Jeanne watched the black smoke continuously surging from the strange leather on the horn. She felt no threat to herself from whatever was inside. However, she could sense something wailing within—a cry of sorrow, as if they had been subjected to eternal torment.
Rip—!
Taking initiative, Jeanne reached out, tore off the layer of leather, and tossed it onto the ground nearby. With the leather torn away, mass after mass of indeterminate black entities surged out, and the surrounding smoke gradually coalesced.
Before long, the black smoke gathered into humanoid shapes. They were blurry and indistinct, their faces nothing more than pools of ink-black darkness. Yet, upon their heads were the twin horns symbolic of the Sarkaz. These mysterious entities did nothing aggressive; they simply gazed into the distance and let out a series of silent roars.
Then, they spared a glance at Jeanne. Though their expressions were impossible to discern, she had a faint feeling that they were thanking her! Before she could react, these mist-like figures dissipated into nothingness, as if they had never existed in this world at all.
"Was that... some Sarkaz witchcraft we weren't aware of? What were those black mist entities? I thought they were coming to seize the horn."
The Pope stared at the bewildering scene, lost in thought. He didn't quite understand why those Sarkaz-like forms had manifested just to do that. While Laterano had some knowledge of Sarkaz sorcery, this particular phenomenon didn't seem to correlate with any specific tribe he knew of.
"If my intuition is correct, those seemed to be Sarkaz souls. But what kind of crime did they commit to receive such a punishment?"
Jeanne had sensed the fluctuations of souls within that black mist. It appeared that some ability had been used to bind their souls to that spot. Jeanne knew that Originium Arts involving souls—even those that merely allowed one to interfere with or perceive them—were exceptionally rare. This wasn't just her opinion; even Patriot, who possessed extremely ancient heritage, had once evaluated soul-related Originium Arts in the same way.
"And speaking of which, what kind of leather is this exactly? I thought it was just the hide of a Beast, but it feels... wrong to the touch."
Jeanne picked up the piece of leather she had thrown to the ground and handed it to the Pope with a puzzled look, wanting his opinion. She wasn't an expert on leather, but this old man could usually critique various leather products with expert precision. Just like the leather sofa in his office—with a single stroke, the old man could tell you the age and gender of the Beast it came from.
"Sarkaz souls?"
The Pope was shocked by Jeanne's words. He hadn't expected those to be Sarkaz souls from a thousand years ago. A question identical to Jeanne's echoed in his heart: what kind of person could imprison souls within a piece of leather for over a millennium? If this was truly the work of a single individual, how terrifying must their research into soul witchcraft have been?
The Pope couldn't imagine who could perform such a feat of power. After all, modern Laterano didn't place much emphasis on witchcraft. He took the aged leather from Jeanne; it was hard to believe this object had survived such a vast stretch of time. It felt in his hand as if it hadn't been made that long ago, likely a result of the strange environment beneath Laterano.
However, its texture was exactly as Jeanne described. Holding it gave one a very strange sensation. It didn't feel like the hide of a Beast, nor like sheepskin or any other animal. The Pope, who knew his leather well, was certain of this. After all, collecting leather products was one of the few hobbies this old man had left.
"Hmm, a very strange thing indeed. This isn't the skin of any animal. Rather, it feels like the skin of a specific Sarkaz tribe... the skin of a Goliath!"
The Pope was absolutely certain—this was Goliath skin! If he were wrong, he would almost eat the thing. He had actually touched the skin of those from the Goliath branch of the Sarkaz before. He clearly remembered that back when he was still young, he had plunged his dagger into the chest of a Goliath during close-quarters combat.
Hearing the old man's words, Jeanne was naturally startled. She looked at the item in the Pope's hand with a look of utter disgust, feeling a wave of nausea. Even for her, the fact that this was "human" skin was hard to accept. Even if the Pope called it Sarkaz skin, Jeanne still viewed it as the skin of a human being!
However, seeing the Pope's expression remain unchanged, Jeanne couldn't help but inwardly admire the old man's composure. He could actually hold such a thing so casually. Then again, the Pope didn't find it disgusting. What a joke—he had killed a Goliath; why would he be afraid of a piece of its skin?
At this moment, the Pope seemed to realize something and explained to Jeanne:
"In the past, I read in books that certain Sarkaz tribes used the skin of their own kin as materials for their witchcraft. They believed such skin was the best medium."
Previously, he had always thought this was just a rumor with no factual basis. But now, he had to admit the possibility of its existence.
"It's just a pity that because you destroyed the spell, we don't know exactly what kind of witchcraft was used here."
The Pope tossed the thing onto the ground. The Sarkaz witchcraft on it had dissipated, rendering the object useless. As things stood, aside from being revolting, it could only serve as a collector's item for someone with very peculiar tastes.
"Still, it didn't seem to be an offensive spell. It's a good thing we discovered it here."
Jeanne was still quite repulsed by the object. She shook her hands, feeling a strong aversion to having touched it. The knowledge that it was a person's skin brought back some unpleasant memories; in her mind, only things described as forbidden, occult, or black magic used human skin.
"Then I'll be going. Since this thing was activated outside of Laterano, regardless of what it specifically was, I'm afraid I'll have to leave it to you to worry about."
Jeanne expressed her deep apologies for adding another trouble to Laterano's plate just before her departure. But on second thought, even if the Sarkaz knew something, given the current state of Kazdel, they likely didn't have the energy to interfere here.
"Very well. I wish you a smooth journey. If anything happens, just contact me."
The Pope waved his hand, bidding Jeanne farewell. He stood there until the car driven by the girl disappeared from his sight.