Listening to the Pope's words, Andoain fell into silence.
How could he not have seen the darkest sides of human nature? Whether it was the war-torn Kazdel or the chaotic regions of Victoria, he had witnessed it all. No matter how they described the prosperity under their rule—he had seen their sickening atrocities time and again.
But...
"How greedy the nations are is not something I need you to remind me of, Your Holiness. I have seen those scenes with my own eyes!"
Despite his words, his eyes couldn't hide his inner turmoil. Andoain's tone shifted immediately as he continued:
"But even in such a hell, under such a pitch-black night sky, I have seen people with beautiful spirits! To dismiss them entirely—is that not the very definition of Laterano's arrogance?"
Facing such a stubborn Andoain, the Pope found himself at a loss for words. This man simply wouldn't listen to reason.
"You want to tear down the lighthouse and use its remains to keep the masses warm, but don't you understand? Once that fire burns out, the last remaining beauty in this world will cease to exist! Do you want people to only be able to imagine such beauty in their dreams?"
The Pope realized he couldn't change the mind of someone so entrenched in his own views. Andoain's ideology was truly dangerous. A more ruthless leader would have eliminated him on the spot to prevent such radical thoughts from causing severe damage to Laterano. Someone like Andoain was capable of anything; eventually, he might truly find a way to destroy the city.
Yet, the Pope still hoped to persuade him—not out of weakness, but because he knew that ideas cannot be erased simply by killing those who hold them.
"Yes, Laterano must remain isolated to preserve beauty... but what about Iberia? What about Rocamarea? They shared the same faith; why were they not saved?"
Battered by the Pope's arguments, Andoain finally found the source of his resentment—a memory of a place that still lived vividly in his mind. He was not a Sankta born in Laterano; his hometown was Iberia, a land that shared an equally fervent faith in the Lateran Church.
The people there lived in misery! After the Profound Silence, the citizens of Iberia lived in agonizing pain. Yet, they maintained their faith in the gods, praying almost constantly for salvation. Their devotion was arguably more sincere than that of most Sankta!
But even an Iberia like that received no redemption. A place like Rocamarea
was silently erased from the map by disaster, known now only to Andoain. When he had come to Laterano alone to beg for aid, he was coldly rejected. By the time he returned, Rocamarea was gone.
"You are our kin, so we will help you. But they are not, so we will not help them."
Andoain had never forgotten Laterano's response. He could still remember the face and the expression of the person who said it. It wasn't a cold expression; it was one of pity. They sympathized with what happened to Tiallon, but they were unwilling to save it.
After that, Andoain sought out countless sages, asking the same question, but they only shook their heads in silence.
"Why did Rocamarea deserve only destruction? Why is it that non-Sankta are not worthy of salvation? What exactly do the teachings of Laterano protect?"
The nightmare that had haunted his heart was finally laid bare. As he had told his companions, his arrival was not just for the future of the Pathfinders, but to resolve a question deep in his soul—one he hadn't quite been able to articulate before, but could always feel weighing on him.
Now that all his arguments had been countered by the old man, his deepest nightmare had surfaced. Having spoken these words, Andoain felt a sudden, immense relief, not even needing an answer. It was as if he had returned to the sensation from moments ago; he felt himself entering that light again, and the shackles on his heart loosened.
He didn't need a response anymore. He knew what he had to do.
In an instant, he drew his Patron Firearm and fired at the old man. He sought to achieve his goal through this final act. Across from him, the Pope fired his own weapon almost purely by instinct.
Two gunshots rang out simultaneously, but at that same moment, the sound of something shattering reached their ears.
It was the sound of wood splintering under a massive impact. Andoain, who had been sent flying by a shockwave, regained his senses to find an object in the room that hadn't been there before. It was a banner. The flag itself didn't seem to belong to any known faction, but the sharp point atop the pole suggested it could be used as a weapon.
It was a snow-white banner embroidered with a golden iris. The pole was lodged diagonally into the floor, yet the flag fluttered in the air. Strangely, there was no wind in the room, yet the banner danced as if caught in a gale.
How did this get here? Andoain, dizzy from the fall, couldn't process it until he saw the shattered remains of the door. That was a heavy, solid wood door! Even Andoain would have had to exert significant effort to break it down.
From the hallway, the sound of running footsteps drew closer. Could someone have thrown this thing from a distance? What kind of monstrous strength was that?
However, rather than being shocked by the situation, the Pope was more concerned about his once-comfortable office. The room was now a ruin. He wondered if he could get Velliv to find a way to put the office repairs on this year's maintenance list. Otherwise, if he had to pay for it himself, he might have to cut his dessert intake by half for the rest of the year.
"What... is happening?"
Andoain was bewildered. Even if someone had intervened, he had certainly forced the Pope to fire a gun at him! Why then, was the Pope's halo still shining brightly, with no sign of darkening? This contradicted the Law of Laterano!
Andoain stayed where he was, wanting an explanation from the Pope even though he knew someone was approaching.
"So that's how it is..."
The Pope seemed to realize something, looking at Andoain's halo with a thoughtful expression. His own halo remained unchanged. According to the Law, both of them should have Fallen. While Andoain was one thing, if a sitting Pope were to Fall, the blow to Laterano would be unimaginable.
"Is everyone alright?"
At that moment, Jeanne rushed into the office. She had sensed something might happen, and it clearly had. When she heard the two gunshots, she feared the worst, because no matter who fired, the result would be disastrous.
But upon entering, she saw that both Sankta still had glowing halos! How was that possible? Had someone else fired the shots?
Jeanne saw Andoain lying disheveled on the floor, looking as though he'd been knocked down by something. Seeing the firearm in his hand, Jeanne stepped to the side and gripped her banner, remaining alert in case he tried anything.
As for Andoain, he had no idea who this girl was. He had never seen her before. She wasn't a Sankta—she had no racial characteristics of one—so who was she, and where did she get that strength?
"Do not worry, Your Saintess. There is no need to be so wary of this child," the Pope said quickly. The fact that the man hadn't Fallen meant he still had a "purpose." He couldn't let Jeanne kill him just yet.