Though Feoria was deeply puzzled by the Pope's lenient attitude, she knew that, regardless of the reason, this was a wonderful turn of events for them. At the very least, her child could finally walk out the front door; she no longer had to spend every waking moment devising ways to hide little Cecilia.
As for whether this was some kind of conspiracy? She felt that if Laterano truly intended to move against a mother and daughter, they wouldn't need to resort to schemes.
"Is this... is this really true? I'm sorry, I truly didn't expect you to be so magnanimous..."
She was profoundly moved by Laterano's stance. The heavy stone that had sat in her heart for years finally hit the ground, leaving her feeling lighter than she ever thought possible. Had she not been standing before the Pope himself, she might have let out a sob as the crushing burden was lifted.
"All love is great. While I cannot say I encourage other Sankta to follow in your footsteps, your choice at the time is still worthy of respect."
The Pope looked at the woman with a gentle expression, genuinely happy to see her relief. Feoria's existence proved that the friction between the Sankta and the Sarkaz, at least in certain places, wasn't as impenetrable as it seemed.
If that were the case, perhaps his plan to ease the relationship between the two races was feasible after all. This didn't mean he expected the Sankta to simply abandon their hatred, but he hoped that on an official level, some form of dialogue could begin. Though the probability of success was low, someone had to try—especially in the current climate.
"It seems she doesn't have a very good impression of us. She looked terrified while speaking to me; am I really that scary?"
Once everyone had departed, the Pope sat back, chatting idly with the Apostolic Knight who had come to help clean up the mess. Ordinarily, an elder of his age shouldn't be staying up so late, as it was detrimental to his health. But the news Jeanne had brought him tonight was simply too much; his aged nerves, usually drowsy by this hour, were firing as if he'd spent the night at a rave. He had no choice but to sit there and wait for exhaustion to finally catch up.
"I don't think it's a matter of being scary. Their situation is just unique," the Knight remarked, surveying the once-magnificent office now reduced to a tragic state. "Also, just so you know, the repairs for this office cannot be expensed."
The Pope's mouth twitched at the reminder. He looked at the wreckage surrounding him with a pained expression, remaining silent for a long time.
"Fine then... it looks like my afternoon tea budget will have to be halved this year..."
The sheer heartbreak in the old man's voice was enough to make anyone weep; it sounded as if he had just made the most agonizing sacrifice of his life.
"By the way, remember to remind me tomorrow to call a meeting. My memory isn't what it used to be."
As they chatted, the Pope suddenly remembered something important. He was worried that if he delayed, complications might arise. Had it not been so late, he would have summoned everyone immediately. According to Jeanne, she didn't dare interfere too much with the operations of The Law, so this might be the only chance in their lifetimes to amend the statutes regarding the punishment of "Falling."
Meanwhile, Andoain dragged his wounded body into the sanatorium. He stood in the empty patient room, staring at the vacant bed in silence for a long time.
A companion he knew very well should have been lying here. Now, that person was gone. If he had thought about it more carefully when they said she was "moving rooms," he should have realized something was up. After all, why would someone with such severe injuries be moved so casually?
Though he didn't understand how she had miraculously regained her health, the fact that she could move freely again made him feel slightly better.
Andoain opened the wardrobe nearby. He remembered Mostima once mentioning that she liked to tuck things into the gaps of the closet. When he opened it, he indeed found a small card. He recognized the elegant handwriting instantly.
"I have recovered. No need to visit anymore. In the future... take care, Andoain. — Lemuen"
The few lines of neat script were a clear farewell. This confirmed beyond a shadow of a doubt that the person who had shot the gun out of his hand was Lemuen.
He pulled a lighter from his pocket and set the note ablaze. Things that triggered memories of his past life were better left in the mind. As a man with almost zero chance of ever returning to Laterano, dwelling on the past only added to his suffering.
Andoain didn't say a word, using his silence to bid farewell to this paradise. He knew his past sins could never be fully redeemed; he only hoped that for the rest of his life, his light could illuminate the path for other sufferers.
"You're finally out, Guide. A little later and we would have worried you'd accidentally been snatched up by the Apostolic Knights."
In a derelict building outside the city, a group of nearly a hundred people awaited Andoain's arrival. While some had chosen to leave upon learning that they were moving far away from Laterano, many others had chosen to follow him.
What kind of resolve did it take for these people to leave a warm, comfortable paradise and face the biting winter of the outside world? No one knew, but the courage they showed in stepping out of the "Cradle" was certainly worthy of respect.
"Sorry to keep you waiting. I had to settle the final matters. I'll say it one more time: once we leave, we may never be able to return. If anyone wants to back out, now is the time!"
Andoain looked at the crowd, his expression solemn. He worried that once they were gone, some might find the hardships of the road unbearable. But these people were clearly prepared; not a single person moved to leave. They stood their ground firmly.
"We've made our choice, Guide. But... where do we go next?"
Though they had a goal in their hearts, they didn't know where their future lay. Until now, they had mostly operated around the outskirts of Laterano. For a group this size to suddenly leave, even basic supplies would be a problem.
"Iberia. Our first stop is Iberia!"
Andoain chose Iberia not just because it was his former homeland, but because it shared a similar faith with Laterano. Providing aid there would be less likely to draw suspicion from local authorities, and it would be easier to operate. After all, there were many Sankta in his group; their halos were the best proof of their identity.
Furthermore, the number of people in need of help there was staggering. It was said that the Iberians along the coast had been virtually abandoned by their government, left to fend for themselves.
Hearing Andoain's command, the "Strayed" began their preparations. With so many people traveling together, the sheer volume of food required every day was no small figure. Andoain joined in the busy work, his spirit renewed.
He no longer pinned his hopes on Laterano or expected the city to change. He would use his own light to illuminate others. Even if the journey ended with him turning to ash, and even if those he helped eventually forgot him, it wouldn't matter.
He had made his choice, and he would never regret it. Perhaps freezing to death in the cold was the only fitting end for someone like him. As for that paradise that felt like a warm spring... it would remain forever in his memories.
"Guide! The warehouse where we hid our supplies... there are suddenly a lot more goods there. It looks like someone delivered them specifically for us recently. How should we handle it?"
A companion hurried over to him, suspicious that the items might be poisoned. Andoain heard this and a faint smile touched his lips.
"Just do a quick inspection. But don't worry—it's clearly a form of support provided to us."