After a lengthy conversation, Jeanne finally managed to dissuade Skadi from rushing right back to Ægir. She sat with the Hunter, sharing stories of her own past and listening to quiet accounts of Skadi's endless battles against the horrors of the deep.
The details made Jeanne's heart skip a beat. If every Abyssal Hunter was as impossibly strong as the girl sitting in front of her, just how formidable were the Seaborn they had spent years fighting? What amazed Jeanne even more was Skadi's casual admission that they fought exclusively with cold steel.
"Why not use Originium Arts?" Jeanne asked, unable to keep the curiosity out of her voice. "I know the ocean creates complications, but surely there are Arts that function underwater? The destructive power alone would be far greater."
A nation capable of building full-scale cities beneath the waves had to understand Originium Arts. Was this preference due to some quirk of Ægir biology, or was there a deeper, darker reason behind it?
"Because of their adaptive nature," Skadi answered with quiet gravity, though her distant eyes betrayed how far away her thoughts were, wandering somewhere out in the open sea. "If you hit a Seaborn with Arts, its body adapts to the stimulus. They evolve past the threat. Leave them alone long enough after an Arts attack, and cold steel won't be able to bite through them anymore."
Jeanne blinked in surprise. The sheer horror of such evolutionary speed was staggering. She made a mental note to keep her wyverns far away from those things. If a Seaborn somehow absorbed wyvern blood and integrated dragon traits into its lineage, the result would be a total nightmare.
Wait... if they inherited dragon traits, would my authority over dragonkind extend to them too? Could I control them? Should I test it?
Jeanne shook her head vigorously, banishing the wild thought as quickly as it had come. Gambling on something so unhinged was a recipe for disaster. If it backfired, the entire world would pay the price.
Skadi, completely oblivious to the crazy thought passing through Jeanne's mind, offered a few final words of caution. She repeatedly asked to be notified if anything shifted along the coast, then turned and walked off to process her thoughts in solitude.
Left alone, Jeanne found herself pondering the creature Skadi had described—a sprawling, multi-limbed ocean terror with writhing tentacles. It was an image she found deeply unsettling.
She couldn't help but recall an old acquaintance who had tumbled down a dark path long ago, consorting with similar tentacled abominations. They might not be the exact same species, but the family resemblance was uncanny.
"I reached out to a few old contacts outside. I have a clear picture of the situation on the coast now," Kal'tsit said, stepping back into the chamber.
Her face was darker than Jeanne had ever seen it. Jeanne's relaxed mood vanished instantly, replaced by a sinking feeling in her gut. Something went wrong.
"Do not panic. The situation in Iberia is grim, but it has not reached a point of total collapse," Kal'tsit said, taking a sip from a water bottle. She had clearly spent considerable effort wringing information out of her intelligence network to pull together these details. "It has not escalated into a second Great Silence."
She unrolled a map across a nearby bench. "Multiple coastal settlements in Iberia were submerged during the surge. Fortunately, an unusual party managed to spread an early warning, allowing local authorities to evacuate the populace to higher ground before the waves hit. Casualties were kept to a minimum. However, the Iberian Inquisition is currently stretched to its absolute limit dealing with Church of the Deep cultists hiding among the refugees, alongside fears of a second Great Silence."
Jeanne listened in sheer disbelief. The ocean literally rose up and swallowed entire coastal towns?! That wasn't just a natural disaster; that sounded like the terrifying work of an active god! And Kal'tsit was treating it as manageable? In Jeanne's eyes, this was a massive crisis!
Jeanne was well aware of what the Great Silence entailed—it was the catastrophic event that had dragged Iberia down from its golden age straight into a bleak bronze era. To think that another such disaster was teetering on the edge of breaking out...
As Jeanne marveled at the sheer terrifying power of the Seaborn and their ancient god, a cold, displeased snort echoed quietly in the back of her mind.
Jeanne quickly offered a warm, placating thought toward her internal divine presence. You're the strongest, alright? Nobody compares to you!
What do you do when a deity gets jealous? You soothe their ego as best as you can.
"The silver lining is that we are not facing an immediate doomsday scenario," Kal'tsit continued, her tone steady. "Even if a major crisis is building, we still have time to prepare for what lies ahead."
When Jeanne first brought up the rumors, Kal'tsit had worried that a second Great Silence was already underway, which would have forced her to abandon Rhodes Island's immediate plans and redirect everything south. The entities lurking in those waters were genuine world-ending threats.
Fortunately, it seemed the Seaborn gods were merely stirring in their sleep rather than launching a full-scale assault. Still, the threat demanded complete attention—especially now that even Laterano was mobilizing its forces.
"As long as there's no immediate collapse, that gives us breathing room," Jeanne sighed, continuing her conversion work while complaining aloud. "Once Chernobog settles down, I'll have to make a trip over to Laterano. Is there ever going to be a single day where I actually get to rest?"
Kal'tsit offered no response to the complaint, remaining immersed in her own heavy thoughts.
"Rhodes Island will lend its full support to stabilize the region surrounding Chernobog," Kal'tsit said after a long pause. "The sooner your allies secure their footing, the sooner we gain a reliable partner. It will make handling future disasters much smoother."
"I appreciate it!" Jeanne smiled.
"There is no need for thanks. In the grand scheme of what is coming, your role will likely prove far greater than mine," Kal'tsit stated matter-of-factly.
Jeanne gave her a skeptical look. What kind of wild capability does she think I have to make a statement like that?
Silence settled over the room once more. Jeanne resumed her mechanical work, crushing Pure Originium into glass-like fragments while Kal'tsit focused on keeping Mon3tr calm. Since her companion was formed entirely of Originium structures, watching Jeanne strip the mineral's energy was the equivalent of watching a horror movie.
"Oh, right," Jeanne recalled a detail from earlier. "What was that special team you mentioned? The one that sounded the alarm in Iberia?"
"Reportedly, it was a group originating from Laterano, led by a male Sankta named Andoain," Kal'tsit replied plainly. "They were the first to spot the abnormal surge along the coast and raised the alarm, saving thousands of lives."
"Andoain?" Jeanne blinked in surprise.
She remembered hearing that he had fled after getting thrashed by Fiammetta. To hear his name pop up here of all places was completely unexpected.
"Yes, Andoain," Kal'tsit confirmed. "He died a hero's death. It is a pity."
"He's... dead?!" Jeanne's voice jumped an octave.
Kal'tsit looked at her. "You knew him?"
"We crossed paths once. I just didn't expect someone like him to meet his end like this. How did he die?"
"After spotting the danger approaching the coastal settlements, his team rushed to the front lines to evacuate the villagers. He held off a massive swarm of Seaborn to buy time for an entire village to escape, suffering mortal wounds in the process. He succumbed to his injuries shortly after."
Kal'tsit recounted the Sankta's demise with quiet detachment. A man who had spent his entire life haunted by the nightmare of his destroyed home had ultimately laid down his life to protect an unfamiliar village from the exact same fate.
Jeanne found it hard to pass judgment on him. Out of loyalty to Lemuen, she could never truly forgive what he had done to their circle of friends. Yet in his final hours, his actions were unmistakably those of a genuine hero.
Now she understood why those three had rushed back. No matter how deeply he had betrayed them in the past, he had once been their friend. They were going back to attend his funeral.
"It seems that in his final moments, Andoain finally broke free from the nightmare that bound him," Jeanne murmured softly. "Even though it cost him his life, he shattered his own haunting memory."
Jeanne brought her hands together in silent prayer, offering a quiet petition for the soul of the complicated, tragic Sankta who had ascended to the high heavens. In the end, he had lived and died like a true hero.
"Indeed," Kal'tsit agreed quietly. "I know little of his past deeds, but his final sacrifice prompted the Iberian Inquisition—which had severed all ties with Laterano—to open official lines of communication with the Holy City once more. That is undeniably positive news, even if it came at the cost of his life."
A single man saving tens of thousands of lives from being dragged into the depths to feed the Seaborn, while simultaneously bridging a long-broken diplomatic gap between two great nations—that was a legacy capable of altering the future of Terra.
"Perhaps, for him, it wasn't the worst way to go," Jeanne said, gazing off in the direction of Laterano. "In the end, he used his own life as fuel to ignite a flame across these barren wastes."