As Logos prepared to meet Pope Yvangelista, the upcoming encounter captured the intense scrutiny of far more than just the hosts in Laterano. Foreign envoys and delegations from across Terra were watching with bated breath.
They wanted to witness firsthand how Laterano would treat its bitter, ancient foes. If the Sankta were truly willing to sit down and converse peacefully with a Sarkaz Lord, wouldn't that imply the impending crisis threatening the world was grave enough to force everyone to set aside centuries of hatred?
Everyone remembered the last time the Sankta had mobilized with such extraordinary urgency. Back then, Gaul—the cultural beacon of the continent—still stood proud, its legendary capital holding the title of heart of the world before it was torn to shreds. Even then, these halogen-haloed figures had strained every nerve to preserve that grand civilization.
If that previous mobilization was meant to avert a catastrophe of culture and society, then according to the whispers coming out of Laterano, this upcoming storm posed a direct threat to the very survival of all life on Terra.
Truth be told, had Laterano not spent centuries gathering intelligence across the continent, many international envoys would have assumed the entire nation had lost its mind.
"That outfit..." Jeanne began, studying Logos as he stepped into view. "Is it some kind of traditional attire? Why does it look a bit unusual on you?"
Logos was dressed in formal garments Jeanne had never seen before. No matter how she looked at him, the tailoring gave off a distinctly unique aura.
"Is something wrong?" Logos asked, genuinely puzzled by her reaction. "This is traditional Banshee formalwear."
To him, this was the proper attire reserved for the most solemn and official occasions within Sarkaz culture. Wearing these dresses meant he was stepping forward not merely as an elite operator of Babel or Rhodes Island, but as the Lord of the Banshees—one of the grand leaders of the Royal Courts.
"Is this a Banshee design? Did you design it yourself?" Jeanne asked, a sudden realization dawning on her. Looking closely at the intricate details, the embroidery and cut were indeed... remarkably tailored for a female Banshee.
"No... I took the formal robes worn by previous Lords of the Banshees and modified them slightly," Logos admitted, a subtle stiffness crossing his face before he offered a candid explanation. He seemed to realize what Jeanne had picked up on. "Time was short, and tailoring a new set from scratch takes weeks..."
While the Sarkaz Royal Courts cared little for the gender of their rulers, the Banshee Court was an exceptional case. Male Banshees were extraordinarily rare, and one ascending to the mantle of Court Master was practically unheard of throughout history.
Consequently, every ceremonial robe preserved in his lineage had been designed for female matriarchs. Naturally, he had simply taken a set from his mother's wardrobe and altered it to fit his frame.
"Well, it actually suits you quite well," Jeanne noted with a nod, offering an honest compliment. Though slightly unusual at first glance, the elegant aesthetic grew on the observer.
The two continued to banter lightly over the formalwear adapted from his mother's wardrobe until heavy footsteps resonated from the hallway outside. His escort had arrived.
"Looks like your hosts are here," Jeanne said, stepping back with a warm wave. "I won't linger any longer. May your meeting go as smoothly as possible!"
She waved goodbye, having no intention of intruding upon the formal proceedings. The best thing she could do now was give space to those making history.
"Lady Jeanne," Logos called out, stopping her in her tracks with a deep, solemn tone.
"Hmm? What is it?" Jeanne turned back, noticing the unusual gravity in his expression.
"Regardless of what unfolds today, I, Her Highness Theresa, and all of Kazdel owe you an immense debt of gratitude," Logos expressed with sincere reverence. "I know with absolute certainty that without your intervention along the way, we would never have been granted this opportunity."
He offered his deepest thanks to the young woman before him. He wasn't sure if Jeanne realized the profound weight of her own actions, but he knew for a fact that without her, the icy wall between Sankta and Sarkaz would never have begun to thaw in this era.
No matter how this dialogue unfolded, regardless of whether their actions were celebrated or condemned by the world, they finally had a chance—a precious chance to speak with the outside world as equals.
"Expressing gratitude to me alone isn't necessary," Jeanne replied softly, offering a humble smile. "Perhaps my presence sped things up, but what truly brought this moment into reality was the courage and effort of people like you. If you hadn't harbored the desire for peace, a hundred people like me couldn't have accomplished a thing."
Leaving him with those final words, Jeanne turned and departed before Logos could respond. She made her way to a crowded public square nearby, taking a quiet seat on a stone bench to listen to the murmurs of the locals.
"It's happening today, right? The meeting between that Sarkaz and His Holiness the Pope."
"Yeah... I still don't get why His Holiness is doing this. Letting a Sarkaz set foot on Laterano soil and granting him a formal audience?"
"Who knows? Don't jump to conclusions. His Holiness would never harm us. Besides, I heard Her Highness the Saintess gave her approval too, so it must be fine, right?"
"Her Highness the Saintess... Well, even if the presence of a Sarkaz makes me uncomfortable, you're right! If the Saintess has no objections, then I trust her choice! By the way, did you manage to grab that new Saintess scale model? I worked overtime for just one evening, and those guys bought out every single box, even the display packaging!"
"I got one! But honestly, I just hope this meeting does something about those mercenaries along the border. Every time I travel for trade, it feels like gambling with my life. I hope the Sarkaz can restrain their own lunatics!"
The Sankta gathered around the plaza debated the event passionately—some expressed support, others voiced skepticism, each sharing their own perspective.
Jeanne pulled her hood down slightly lower over her face. She had a strong feeling that if she revealed her face right now, this plaza would become significantly wilder and noisier than the main summit venue itself!
High above the square, a massive broadcast screen was airing Laterano's official program, set to livestream the historic encounter shortly. It was the main reason so many citizens had congregated here to watch together.
Yet Jeanne couldn't help but feel a lingering sense of apprehension. Could something go horribly wrong during their conversation? What if tempers flare and one side starts slinging Arts while the other draws an Apostolic firearm?
No, impossible! Jeanne shook her head, dismissing the absurd thought. Rather than worrying about a firefight, she should probably worry about whether Pope Yvangelista might take an unexpected interest in Chair Sliding after hearing about it.
If Chair Sliding somehow became Laterano's newest trending sport, historical records might forever list Jeanne and Logos as the pioneers who brought office chair racing to the Holy City... Now that is an outcome I absolutely cannot accept!
"Look! The Sarkaz guest appeared on screen! But... he looks completely different from what I imagined!"
A loud voice snapped Jeanne out of her internal panic. Everyone in the square turned their eyes toward the giant display, where the Sarkaz guest had just stepped into view—a remarkably handsome young man with elegant, sweeping horns.
"I thought all Sarkaz were terrifying, fanged monsters with giant horns spewing hellfire... Who knew they could look like this?"
Many of the local Sankta had never seen a Sarkaz in person. The terrifying legends passed down through generations certainly bore no resemblance to the refined figure on screen.
Of course, what they didn't realize was that the Banshee Lord represented the most visually striking and refined lineage among the Royal Courts. As for the rest of the Sarkaz tribes...
On screen, the meeting between Logos and Pope Yvangelista proceeded with striking harmony. None of the chaotic fights Jeanne had feared transpired; the audience looked just like an ordinary diplomatic reception.
Meanwhile, foreign observers watching the broadcast across various districts fell into a stunned silence. They could hardly fathom that a day had come where Sarkaz and Sankta would sit together in peace. Was the world changing too fast for them to comprehend, or was this entire scene an elaborate dream?