Once the meeting concluded, Pope Yvangelista looked toward Jeanne, who had been sitting quietly through the exchange without interjecting, observing everything from the shadows.
Leaning back into his sofa with a tired sigh, the Pope looked at her and asked softly, "Do you also find it difficult to understand why I am pressing so urgently for this?"
He wanted to share his thoughts with Jeanne, hoping she would understand his motives, believing that open dialogue was the only way for them to truly align.
"I can actually understand it," Jeanne replied calmly. "This summit is hosted by Laterano, but our voice in managing this joint force down the line might not be as influential as we hope. You are worried that this army will ultimately devolve into a tool for those empires to carve out personal gains."
Jeanne understood his anxieties completely. She bore no objection to the Pope's maneuvers, recognizing that nothing he did had crossed any lines.
"Indeed," the Pope admitted helplessly. "While Laterano possesses the means to defend itself, we remain small when measured against the truly massive empires of Terra."
The peculiar traits of the Sankta had made them disinclined to expand their borders through conquest, which inevitably capped Laterano's territorial reach.
"I see no fault in your approach," Jeanne said earnestly. "Laterano is perhaps the only faction on this continent that can truly be called impartial. If such an army fell under someone else's command, I fear it wouldn't be long before it was absorbed as a private force."
Truth be told, even now, Jeanne held little faith in this grand alliance. The mutual distrust between nations ran deep, making true cooperation an uphill battle.
Pope Yvangelista spread his hands in a helpless gesture, acknowledging the truth in her words, though his resolve remained unbroken.
"If we do nothing, nothing will ever change. For better or worse, we must try, must we not?" The Pope stroked his beard thoughtfuly. "Besides, the calamity is real. If those leaders wish to survive, they have no choice but to stand together first."
He looked at Jeanne with a reassuring glint in his eye. "In the end, much will rest upon your shoulders. So long as you can resolve this crisis, those rulers will be more than willing to sit down and negotiate with us."
The old man held unwavering faith in her success. He had never once entertained the thought of failure, anchoring his entire grand strategy upon her performing the sacred ceremony.
"Putting it that way only makes the pressure feel immense!" Jeanne let out a bitter, wry smile. He was essentially gambling the entire future on her, where a single misstep meant total defeat.
"It is not just me—everyone in Laterano believes in you," the Pope offered gently. "And even if we fail, there is no need to despair. Before a continental disaster, all men are equal."
"Hearing that... only makes the pressure worse."
Their conversation stretched on until evening, uninterrupted by any aides or officers.
What finally broke their solitude was the approaching evening banquet—an informal reception open to all visiting diplomats.
As the hosts, Pope Yvangelista and Jeanne naturally had to attend. However, in the eyes of foreign guests, the Pope's political weight far eclipsed that of the rarely seen Saintess. Envoys immediately swarmed around the Pontiff to curry favor, a sight that didn't bother Jeanne in the slightest.
In fact, she preferred it this way. Slipping unnoticed into a secluded corner, she blended into the background like phantom air. Astonishingly, the bustling crowd seemed completely oblivious to her presence.
"I didn't expect anyone else to find this spot," a raspy, aged voice remarked nearby.
Agenir, the elderly Sankta, approached Jeanne with the knowing look of a fellow conspirator.
"It is quite hidden from view," the old man chuckled, taking a seat beside her. "When I was young and forced to attend these functions, I would dump my duties onto others and sneak over here to slack off."
Agenir gazed out at the grand hall, his eyes brimming with nostalgia. It was clear that despite nine decades away, he had never truly forgotten his homeland.
"You seem to miss this place deeply," Jeanne noted softly. While other envoys clamored for influence in the center of the hall, this legendary veteran preferred hiding in a corner for a quiet chat.
Looking around at the familiar architecture, Agenir felt as though he had stepped decades back into the past.
Catching a glimpse of his own weathered, frail hands, he let out a soft laugh. "How could I not miss it? I lived here for so many years. Even if I tell myself otherwise, the heart remembers."
He gestured vaguely toward the Pope, who was swarmed by foreign dignitaries. "I still remember when he wasn't the Pontiff yet. Back then, the two of us were among the most promising young Sankta in the city. Had I chosen to stay, perhaps the one wearing those papal robes today would have been me."
"Have you ever thought about moving back for a while?" Jeanne asked gently. "You are retired in Siracusa now; coming back for a few months every year shouldn't be difficult."
Agenir fell silent at her question. After a long pause, he shook his head with a wistful smile. "I cannot come back. I have grown accustomed to life in Siracusa, and at my age, I have no desire to uproot my life again."
He understood his own heart well: it was not the physical comfort of Laterano he missed, but the lost years of his youth—the days when he and the Pope were young and full of fire.
He missed who he used to be, even if that young man could never return.
"Enough about me," Agenir said, gently shifting the subject. "Tell me about you. How did you become the Saintess? The rumors circulating outside are wild and varied—I still don't know the real story."
In recent days, he had heard no fewer than twenty different versions of how the Saintess was discovered, each more implausible than the last. Only the person involved could give him the truth.
"You might not believe it, but some of those wild legends actually contain a grain of truth," Jeanne replied with a slight smile. "I remember back when I was still living in Ursus..."
She recounted her past journey in detail, and Agenir listened intently, utterly captivated by the story. It was indeed a romantic, extraordinary tale.
"A truly romantic tale," Agenir commented fondly once she finished. "One that almost no one outside of the Sankta would ever believe." He believed it because he, too, had felt that enveloped, sacred warmth when her light radiated across the city.
Setting his gaze upon the young woman, Agenir asked quietly, "How do you view Laterano?"
"A very wonderful place," Jeanne answered from the bottom of her heart. "Wonderful to the point where, compared to other nations, it almost feels like a realm that shouldn't exist on this harsh land."
Having traveled across many territories, she knew Laterano possessed an extraordinary grace. It was not perfect, but it was easily the brightest beacon she had seen.
"Then do you believe Laterano will change if it gains supreme authority?" Agenir pressed softly, his expression turning serious. "Once we hold immense power in our hands, will unseemly ambitions take root?"
This was his true reason for seeking her out. Beyond the Pope's assurances, he needed to confirm Jeanne's personal conviction—a vital piece for his upcoming decisions.
He understood the weight the Saintess carried in the hearts of the Sankta. Her standing among her people was equal to, if not higher than, the Pope's own. In many ways, she held the key to Laterano's future.
"Laterano is a neutral realm," Jeanne answered firmly. "Everything we do is meant to ensure that our people—and this entire land—may survive the coming storm. His Holiness told me this, and I believe Laterano is genuinely striving toward that goal. It has been doing so for years, has it not?"
Her clear, unhesitating response brought a broad smile to the old man's face.
Looking across the hall toward Pope Yvangelista, who was currently conversing with Speaker Welsh of Victoria, Agenir let out a warm, satisfied chuckle.