"By the way, my master mentioned to me that you spent time in Laterano?" Irene asked as they walked side by side, casting a curious look toward Jeanne.
The people of Iberia had long grown indifferent to Laterano. Ever since Iberia's Golden Age waned, ties between the two nations had withered, until communication vanished almost completely.
"Strictly speaking, I wasn't born in Laterano—I'm not even a Sankta, as you can see," Jeanne replied with a light chuckle. "Still, if there's anything you're curious about, I'm happy to share what I know."
She could tell the young avian was fascinated by the enigmatic city-state, and Jeanne was always eager to discuss Laterano or answer curious questions about it.
"It wasn't anything strange, I was just wondering..." Irene began.
She then launched into a series of surprisingly detailed questions regarding scripture and canon, displaying a depth of knowledge that caught Jeanne off guard.
Most people who asked Jeanne about Laterano were simply fascinated by the myth of a paradise, or curious about Sankta biology—asking absurd things like whether their halos turned off when they slept. A few asked about the famed confectioneries, but Irene was the very first person to ask such serious, probing questions about religious doctrine.
Fortunately, scripture was where Jeanne excelled. Reciting and reflecting upon sacred texts served as her quiet way to unwind when she had free moments. While she might not claim to recite every verse backward, reciting them flawlessly from cover to cover was second nature.
Seeing how effortlessly Jeanne handled the subject, Irene opened up completely. Her eyes sparkled with enthusiasm as they debated theology—a stark contrast to the polite yet stiff and overly serious demeanor she had presented earlier.
Beside them, Fafnir pouted. She couldn't understand a single word of their high-minded conversation, puffing her cheeks in annoyance as she trudged along. Spying an odd, dog-shaped mutated creature near the brush, she kicked the hideous thing into the air to vent her frustration.
That kick stirred a hornet's nest.
In an instant, a horde of bizarre, misshapen beasts surged out from the shadows, rushing toward the trio as if they were fresh rations waiting to be devoured.
"Watch out! They're dangerous!" Irene reacted on instinct, drawing her rapier and raising her brass lantern to guard against the incoming swarm. She immediately stepped in front of Jeanne, moving toward Fafnir to pull the small child back into safety.
Before either of them could draw a breath, a blinding torrent of fire erupted ahead.
In the blink of an eye, the entire wave of monstrosities was incinerated into white ash. Fiery crimson embers flickered along the ground, leaving the air scorching hot.
Irene froze, staring at the embers in utter disbelief. She knew the fiery blast had come from the small child standing nearby, but the sheer destructive force defied all reason.
"This child's Arts... how is that possible?" Irene muttered, her voice trembling slightly. "Even the lower-tier coastal beasts possess a terrifying resistance to Arts!"
The power behind that casual strike surpassed that of most master Caster operators. It was a staggering display.
"She has a very special talent," Jeanne said with a warm smile. Noticing that the small child was still pouting, Jeanne knelt down and offered a gentle apology to soothe her tempers.
Having let off steam with her fiery outburst, Fafnir's frustration evaporated. She magnanimously forgave Jeanne, flashing a bright smile as she skipped along by Jeanne's side, completely forgetting her earlier annoyance.
"A special talent indeed..." Irene murmured. She found the child's raw power extraordinary, but quickly pushed the thought aside to focus on the immediate hazard.
"In cases like this, we must ensure all remaining biomass is completely destroyed. If other coastal beasts consume their fallen kin, they can adapt and develop resistance to that specific energy."
Irene meticulously inspected the scorched earth, refusing to relax until she verified that every trace of tissue had been turned to ash.
"I've always wondered... what is the real difference between coastal beasts and true Seaborn?" Jeanne asked, using her own flames to scorch the remaining residue as Irene had instructed. "Every creature I've encountered so far has been called a coastal beast."
She had asked others before, but their answers were always vague, as though even the locals couldn't clearly define the boundary.
"Simply put, Seaborn are the fully evolved form of coastal beasts," Irene explained, her tone darkening. "They possess far more evolutionary pathways and adaptive potential."
Her voice trailed off, her expression turning somber as if the subject summoned painful memories.
"That sounds terrifying," Jeanne murmured, cradling Fafnir in her arms. She drew a mental comparison between coastal beasts and her own wyverns; if that was the scale of their growth, the true deep-sea threat was formidable indeed.
Keeping her guard up, Jeanne continued walking alongside Irene, searching for clues that might lead them to the local cultists.
"I really didn't expect you to have such a deep grasp of Lateran scripture," Jeanne remarked after a while, breaking the heavy silence. "If I didn't know you were Iberian, I would have taken you for a Liberi living in Laterano!"
It was truly impressive that Irene had managed to study sacred texts on top of mastering Iberian law and her demanding duties as a judge.
Irene's eyes softened with nostalgia. After a quiet pause, she let out a long breath and offered a faint smile.
"There's a reason for it. You might find it hard to believe, but a volume of scripture saved my life when I was young. Ever since that day, I felt as though I was carrying a small miracle... so I swore to study it earnestly."
Hearing her story, Jeanne felt a surge of warmth. Anyone touched by a miracle was a kindred spirit in her eyes—especially given her own extraordinary path.
The atmosphere between them grew noticeably warmer as they conversed. Fafnir, still completely excluded from the conversation, glared at Jeanne and tapped her tail against Jeanne's leg with rhythmic, annoyed thuds to register her protest.
"This is the place," Irene said, stopping at the edge of a desolate settlement. "An entire village vanished from this spot without a trace."
She scanned the abandoned huts, a look of deep worry in her eyes. There were no signs of a struggle or blood spilled, which meant the villagers had been lured or led away willingly, without a fight.
"They move with unsettling efficiency," Jeanne noted, surveying the empty structures. "To spirit away an entire population without leaving a trace takes immense practice. How many settlements have they done this to?"
As she spoke, Jeanne's expression turned icy. This insidious method reminded her of a tragic figure from her past—Gilles de Rais, her old comrade who had descended into complete madness following her death.
He, too, had been broken by trauma, falling into dark cults and committing horrific atrocities against innocent children within his castle walls. The memory of his fall always left a bitter knot in her chest.
Wait... a dark cultist's sanctuary!
Jeanne snapped back to reality, turning her head sharply toward Irene. "Is there an old noble castle or an abandoned grand estate anywhere near this sector?"