"Saint Carmen?"
Hearing the elderly gentleman introduce himself, Jeanne studied him closely. This spirited old man standing before her was truly the living legend of Iberia—the last surviving Saint?
In Iberia, the title of "Saint" represented the highest possible honor. When Iberia adopted the faith from Laterano in centuries past, they established the Saints as their supreme spiritual leaders.
Still, Jeanne couldn't help but wonder why such a monumental figure was here in Laterano rather than overseeing affairs back home. Had Iberia really quieted down enough for its highest authority to take a trip abroad?
Despite her internal questions, Jeanne didn't forget her manners. Leaving a figure like him standing in awkward silence simply wouldn't do.
"So... was it you who brought Andoain's remains back?" Jeanne asked, looking at the old man. If that was his sole reason, she found it a bit difficult to fathom—what could drive someone of his stature to make such a journey personally?
"He was a Sankta who sacrificed his life to save Iberians," Saint Carmen replied calmly. "It was only right that we escort his remains home to express our gratitude. However, my presence here is also tied to other pressing matters."
At those words, the old Saint let out a quiet sigh. A complex, heavy expression settled onto his face as he turned his gaze toward the window—looking out in the direction of Iberia.
Jeanne showed no surprise at his admission. It was obvious that a man like Carmen hadn't crossed the border merely to act as an escort. Anyone could have handled that task.
So why was he truly here? To consult with Laterano on confidential matters, or had the situation grown so dire that Iberia was finally reaching out for help? Could things really have devolved to that point?
Meanwhile, Carmen was quietly observing the young woman before him. Though he hadn't crossed paths with the famed Saintess during his stay, he had noticed how deeply reverent the local populace was whenever her name was spoken.
In other words, even if she rarely involved herself in daily statecraft, Jeanne possessed the right to offer guidance on national affairs—and her actual influence might be far greater than he had originally anticipated.
The two exchanged light conversation while awaiting a third party. Once everyone was present, they could dive into the weightier matters.
"It has been a very long time since I last set foot in Laterano," Carmen mused, gazing around at a city that seemed largely unchanged by time. "Ever since that catastrophe struck, communication between our two nations practically ground to a halt... It was a tragic turn of events, though dwelling on the past serves little purpose now."
As he looked upon Laterano's unbroken splendor, nostalgia washed over him. Once a peerless realm of golden glory, Iberia had been reduced to a crumbling shadow by a single disaster, while Laterano continued to shine bright.
The contrast brought back memories of that golden era. Perhaps it was his advanced age, but lately, his mind kept wandering back to those bygone days—and to the horrors of the Great Silence.
"The Great Silence..." Jeanne repeated the name, having heard it mentioned before. Still lacking detailed knowledge, she looked to the old man and asked, "What kind of disaster... was it, exactly?"
At her question, Carmen's demeanor grew even graver. He looked at Jeanne, a swirling mix of dark emotions stirring in his chest.
How many years had it been? Even in modern Iberia, almost no one dared ask him directly about the Great Silence. The citizens today knew of it only through historical records and a handful of surviving texts, while deeper knowledge remained strictly classified under seal.
"It was a terrifying disaster," Carmen spoke openly, making no attempt to sugarcoat the painful history. "The ocean swelled without warning and devoured our lands. Countless bizarre, grotesque Seaborn surged out from the depths, annihilating our grand armadas and tearing down the mobile cities along the coast. We had no effective means to fight back. To make matters worse, those cultists from the Church of the Deep were causing chaos from within... Truth be told, our nation came within a hair's breadth of being erased from the map entirely..."
He recounted the grim past without reservation, despite the lingering pain it brought him. Every memory of that era was stained with grief and loss.
Of the original twelve Saints, he was the only old fossil left alive. And under his quiet stewardship, the nation had barely managed to keep its head above water. None of it was pleasant to recall.
As Jeanne listened, she could almost picture the desperate struggle he described—the dark ocean swallowing the land in an apocalyptic display of ruin.
Noticing the shift in Jeanne's expression, Carmen felt a small measure of relief. His primary reason for sharing these details was to ensure this young woman understood the sheer magnitude of the threat they feared—and what kind of calamity Terra might soon face.
If Jeanne truly grasped the horror of their enemy, she would be far more likely to support the proposal they were about to discuss, drastically increasing its chances of success.
Jeanne, however, was already making mental plans to visit the Iberian coastline herself when time permitted. Some horrors couldn't be fully understood through second-hand accounts alone.
"My apologies for the delay. The crowd at the service was larger than expected, which held me up," a steady voice called out.
Pope Yvangelista stepped into the room, his plump face wearing a somber expression.
"I certainly didn't expect so many people to see Andoain off," the old Pope remarked, stroking his white beard thoughtfully. "I wonder... when my time comes, will there be as many souls attending my funeral?"
Jeanne winced slightly at the casual talk of mortality. Who brings up their own funeral in polite conversation like this?
"If it were for Your Holiness, the service would surely follow the grandest traditions of Laterano," Carmen replied, taking the topic in stride. "I expect the streets would be completely packed with citizens wishing to bid you farewell."
The Pope chuckled softly, looking genuinely entertained by the thought. He held a remarkably open-minded view regarding his own inevitable demise.
"Is that so? Though I would hope everyone wouldn't be so gloomy when the day comes! We should grieve when a young life is cut short, but when an old man like me finally departs, people ought to throw a grand celebration instead."
The Pope spoke with an air of genuine anticipation, as if looking forward to a lively, joyous farewell.
Jeanne's lips twitched. This old man really is unpredictable. If he was that eager for a party, she almost felt tempted to call Enforcer or Exusiai—they could easily turn his funeral into an absolute riot.
"Haha, enough of that. Let us not dwell on my departure!" The Pope shifted the topic away from his death. He had only brought it up because seeing a young Sankta with a bright future perish had left him with a lingering sense of helplessness.
"I trust introductions are hardly necessary, but let us observe formality," the Pope continued, gesturing between the two. "This is Saint Carmen of Iberia. Back when he first visited Laterano to exchange theological views, he was still a spirited young man. And beside you is our Saintess of Laterano, Jeanne d'Arc."
Knowing both parties were already aware of each other's identities, the Pope performed the formal introduction anyway, prompting a polite nod of greeting from both sides.
"The reason we have gathered here today concerns a matter of utmost gravity," the Pope said, his tone turning dead serious. "We are here to deliberate Iberia's formal appeal for aid—a plea directed not just to us, but to every major power across the entire continent."
Pope Yvangelista fixed his gaze on the two before him. Saint Carmen's expression likewise turned solemn as he looked toward the Holy Maiden.
Jeanne, suddenly caught under the weight of their focused stares, felt entirely put on the spot.
Talk all you want, but why are you both staring at me like that?!