The instant the broad screens captured Pope Yvangelista shaking hands with the Sarkaz envoy, an uproar swept through the crowds. It became unmistakable to everyone that the leader of Laterano was orchestrating a truly historic gamble!
While some local Sankta buzzed with intense agitation, foreign representatives gathering across Laterano for the upcoming summit were equally stunned. None of them had anticipated that Kazdel's representatives were actually serious about pursuing this course.
Meanwhile, facing an elderly man whose kindly demeanor mirrored a gentle grandfather resting by the roadside, Logos felt an unexpected wave of tension wash over him. Looking at the aged leader, his pulse quickened despite his best efforts to stay composed.
It was by no means fear. Rather, it was the sobering realization that he had to devote every ounce of his focus to the dialogue ahead. For a Royal Court Lord as young as himself, standing toe-to-toe with such a figure posed a formidable challenge.
"I had heard rumors that the current Lord of the Banshees happened to be a male," Pope Yvangelista began softly once the doors were closed and privacy assured. His tone was relaxed, a stark contrast to the stiff, overly anxious young Banshee sitting across from him. "Back then, I was thoroughly amazed that such a rare occurrence would transpire within my own lifetime. As one grows older, it seems there is no limit to the rare wonders one might witness, wouldn't you say?"
"A male Lord of the Banshees is indeed an anomaly," Logos replied, using the exchange to steady his breath while pondering how other Court Masters would react in his shoes. The thought brought a quiet grimace—the others likely would have drawn weapons by now. None of them could ever have set foot here. "When the mantle fell upon me, I certainly didn't expect to take the seat so soon. I assumed it would be at least another two centuries before such a burden arrived."
"Heh, there is no need to be so tense," Pope Yvangelista chuckled warmly, easing into his chair. "I spoke with your King regarding this matter not too long ago. At the time, Theresa was quite worried whether nerves might cause you to stumble during the audience. Yet seeing you today, your composure is far better than she anticipated. Had I been placed in a similar situation at your age, my mind would have dissolved into total chaos—I certainly couldn't have maintained your poise!"
"..."
"Besides, I heard from her that you hold some sort of championship title?" The Pope's eyes gleamed with genuine curiosity. "Ah, right! That Chair Sliding competition! Could you elaborate on what that entails? I have always harbored a keen interest in unconventional contests that ordinary folks would never dream up. It sounds remarkably similar to our wheelchair marksmanship racing. Perhaps we could introduce something similar here..."
Logos felt a profound sense of cognitive dissonance wash over him. Was this some intricate diplomatic maneuver? Or was the head of Laterano dropping subtle, coded hints?
Yet, studying the genuine intrigue on the old man's face, he seemed utterly sincere in his fascination with the legendary Chair Sliding contest. With no alternative left, Logos braced himself and began detailing the rules of the sport.
Had Jeanne been present, she would have assured Logos that this was simply how the old man operated. Beneath his disarming exterior might lie deep, unsearchable calculations, but his speech was naturally unpredictable—often using lighthearted topics to help guests drop their guard before addressing weightier matters.
The two remained inside the office for a considerable time. Logos never imagined he would spend nearly half an hour lecturing the supreme leader of Laterano on the fine points of Chair Sliding. He briefly wondered if he had lost his mind, yet the old man opposite him listened with absolute earnestness.
He even saw the Pope pulling out a notebook to take detailed notes! Is this old man truly planning to introduce this sport to the Holy City? Logos felt as though his very mind were trembling at the absurdity.
He couldn't help but picture how future historians might chronicle this day: In Year 109X of the Terra Calendar, the Lord of the Banshees—representing the Ten Royal Courts of Kazdel—arrived in Laterano as an envoy. Through intimate dialogue with the Pope, both figures played a monumental role in promoting and popularizing Chair Sliding across the land, marking a day worthy of being etched forever into Laterano's glorious annals...
The potential absurdities were piling higher by the second, leaving Logos uncertain whether his actions were brilliant or utterly ridiculous. Was he steering history in the right direction, or committing a monumental blunder?
He couldn't be sure. But one thing was clear—taking action, no matter how bizarre, was infinitely better than remaining stagnant! If this whole endeavor proved to be a mistake, then he would simply ride it out to the end!
"Speaking of such contests, the organization I currently serve also hosted a tournament," Logos added, finding his rhythm. "I happen to have a visual recording with me if you would care to view it..."
"Oh? You mean the company where my old friend currently serves?" Pope Yvangelista asked, his eyes softening with nostalgic warmth. "I recall her mentioning that her codename on Rhodes Island was... Outcast, was it not?"
With the memory of that venerable Sankta serving as a bridge, the conversation shifted smoothly. The residual stiffness melted away from Logos, and he found himself conversing as naturally as if he were sitting beside a familiar elder.
In that quiet exchange, Pope Yvangelista observed precisely what he had hoped to find: a generation of young Sarkaz who no longer clung blindly to ten-thousand-year-old blood feuds. Rather than remaining shackled to an ancient past whose details had grown blurred by time, these youths were actively striving toward a different future.
...
"Is this the future you desire?!"
Meanwhile, on the outskirts of Victoria near Londinium, Theresis and his loyal cabal remained concealed within a mobile city.
Having just received word that Logos had successfully met with the Pope in open audience, the Regent of Kazdel gripped the metal cup in his hand—crushing it into a twisted mess of scrap metal.
That cup was forged from a reinforced high-density alloy, built by manufacturers who proudly advertised it as virtually indestructible.
Yet, under the crushing force of the Regent's rage, the metal was reduced to a twisted heap of junk.
It gave a chilling glimpse into the sheer fury surging within Theresis. Even losing control of Kazdel had not incensed the sovereign to this degree. He simply could not comprehend his sister's actions.
She had dared to send a royal envoy to that city of all places. Did such a desperate move fit the dignity of the King of Kazdel? Did it not spit on the memory of every fallen soul whose agonizing shrieks echoed through their history?
This was treason—a blatant betrayal of the Sarkaz legacy!
For weeks, the displaced Regent had swallowed his frustration while taking refuge on foreign soil. Now, the dam broke completely. He harbored a burning impulse to march his forces straight back to Kazdel and drag that foolish sister of his off her throne.
"Your Highness, please stay your anger," the Confessarius Leader urged softly from the side, attempting to soothe the furious Regent.
"Stay my anger? How can I stay my anger?!" Theresis growled, his eyes dark with wrath. "How can the fallen souls of the Sarkaz stay theirs? Logos set foot on traitorous soil to hold a peaceful audience! He has disgraced every sacrifice our people ever made!"
Theresis was incandescent with rage that Logos had actually dared to travel to Laterano. To him, this meant Kazdel was bowing its head before the world once more. Had they forgotten ten thousand years of suffering and blood hatred? His sister and her inner circle were straying dangerously far down a path of madness.
He could not fathom what she was thinking. Was she completely under Kal'tsit's spell? Or did she genuinely believe that naive, impossible dream of hers could somehow be realized? How could she entertain such delusional fantasies!
"Indeed, this is an outrage," the Confessarius replied, his voice calm and insidious. "The vast majority of Sarkaz will be deeply offended by Her Royal Highness's choice. And we can turn this fury into our greatest asset. Take the Vampire Prince, for example... his stance has already begun to shift in our favor."
Hearing those words, Theresis gradually curbed his violent outburst. He sank back into his seat, falling into a long, menacing silence.
Deep down, Theresis knew taking immediate action was impossible. He could not send an army to storm Laterano; even if he desired to do so, such a march would end in complete ruin.
He had no choice but to endure. He had to complete his preparation in Victoria first, then turn his attention back to dealing with his disappointing sister... That was his only realistic option.
"Yet all of this hinges on our ultimate success here!" Theresis said, a lingering headache creeping over him as he shifted his focus back to their local plans. "Losing our home base in Kazdel has severely restricted our freedom of movement. The forces we can command right now are far too meager."
That was the primary reason he hadn't made a bolder move in Victoria yet. With such limited assets at his disposal, a single misstep could wipe out his entire force.
"Even so, we cannot afford to sit idle. If we wait much longer, every fleeting window of opportunity will vanish," Theresis commanded, his gaze turning cold. "Begin gathering the mercenary bands. We need more muscle on the ground!"
He needed raw numbers. Even if bringing in volatile mercenary forces might cause friction down the line, that was a small price to pay for immediate martial strength.
"Understood, Your Highness," the Confessarius bowed smoothly. "Many mercenary leaders are eager to join our cause, and the local Victorian nobles are growing restless in secret as well. Perhaps we could offer a few subtle suggestions—a way to ensure those troublesome warriors never return to this city. Eliminating them without lifting a finger will save us immense effort."
Theresis knew precisely which troublesome warriors the Confessarius was referring to. The lingering presence of those elite warriors in Londinium—the Steam Knights—had long been a thorn in his side.
"Leave that to those foolish Victorian aristocrats," Theresis scoffed with a weary wave of his hand. "They will move heaven and earth to dismantle the Steam Knights on their own. We won't need to waste a single blade."
Theresis leaned back against his seat, exhausted. He hadn't enjoyed a proper night's sleep in ages, and deep shadows had formed under his eyes.
"Please remain patient, Your Highness," the Confessarius murmured, offering a low bow before retreating into the darkness. "The turning point that belongs to us will arrive soon enough."
Once the doors closed, Theresis stared into the quiet, empty chamber, his voice dropping into a barely audible murmur.
"Is this truly the path you chose, Theresa? Do you honestly believe your dream stands a chance of coming true?"