The long-awaited day finally dawned upon Laterano. Today, a grand summit uniting every major power across Terra was to convene within the Holy City—a gathering unprecedented in scale throughout all recorded history. Whether the world would ever witness such an assembly again was a question left for future eras.
Throughout the city, crowds of Sankta gathered in excited clusters, eagerly discussing the event. Broadcast screens across every district were set to air the arrival of foreign dignitaries live, and no one wanted to miss a single second.
Inside the grand summit hall, Jeanne stood near the threshold, still finding it surreal that she had been tasked with greeting the incoming envoys. As the organizers had insisted, such a role could belong to none other than the Saintess!
Jeanne maintained a warm, polite smile as she welcomed person after person whose name she didn't even know, receiving quiet, courteous nods in return.
"Good morning. That attire suits you exceptionally well," Logos offered as he approached, his eyes lighting up at the sight of her.
The formal gown enhanced Jeanne's pure, radiant aura, making her appear so serene that even the pristine white architecture surrounding her seemed to pale in comparison. It felt as though the brightest, gentlest light on Terra was concentrated in this single spot.
This was a Jeanne entirely different from her everyday self. Her sacred presence commanded deep reverence, inspiring those around her to simply appreciate her beauty without a trace of impropriety.
"You praise me far too much," Jeanne replied with a polite smile, acknowledging his compliment. "I wish you all the best in the upcoming sessions. Both Laterano and I hope everything proceeds smoothly, though... some still harbor deep-seated prejudices."
As she spoke, Jeanne cast a discreet glance toward the nearby foreign delegates. When Logos had stepped into view, many had exchanged loaded, subtle looks, their eyes glinting with underlying vigilance.
Doubt and resentment toward the Sarkaz still lingered in their hearts. However, none of the envoys selected for this summit were fools—no nation would send a hothead to humiliate them on the international stage. Thus, despite their lingering discomfort, every diplomat maintained strict, practiced restraint.
Not a single person was foolish enough to utter crude or provoking words to Logos. They were seasoned politicians who had fought their way to top positions in their homelands, fully aware that cheap provocations would only make them look utterly absurd.
"I am well aware," Logos remarked calmly. "Taking the first step is always the hardest." With a subtle nod, he took his leave, knowing it was unwise to linger beside her for too long.
The next dignitary to approach caught Jeanne entirely off guard. She blinked in surprise—a Sankta was representing a foreign power? The sight felt undeniably surreal.
"A pleasure to meet you, Saintess," the old man offered a courteous bow.
Jeanne hastily returned the gesture, momentarily flustered by his sudden deference.
Then, memory clicked into place regarding his identity. In his youth, this man had held prestige in Laterano comparable to the Pope himself, before choosing to leave his homeland behind to throw his lot in with Siracusa.
Now, after ninety long years away, the elder had returned to his birthplace not as a local citizen, but as the official representative of Siracusa. Jeanne could not help but wonder what emotions were stirring within his heart.
"When word reached me that a Saintess had appeared in Laterano, I felt very little at first, assuming it was merely political theater," Agenir noted as he looked upon Jeanne. To his eyes, the young woman seemed almost bathed in divine radiance.
"Yet seeing you in person, I feel a touch of regret. I returned far too late," Agenir admitted, his voice swelling with genuine warmth. "To think I would live to behold your true face... just the thought causes my old heart to surge with youthful vigor!"
Jeanne could tell his words carried no empty flattery; every syllable came straight from the heart of a venerable elder.
"Welcome home," Jeanne replied softly, offering a warm smile. "You must visit more often when time permits. Your health seems quite robust—certainly far heartier than His Holiness's!"
"Haha! Indeed!" Agenir chuckled heartily, thoroughly amused by her observation. "That old friend of mine has let his eight-pack melt into a single lump! I, on the other hand, never drowned myself in an ocean of sweets all these years, so naturally I'm in far better shape!"
Deeply cheered by the interaction, the aged Sankta shared a brief laugh about his old companion before taking his leave.
Once Agenir departed, Jeanne resumed her role as a tireless greeting machine. Aside from Speaker Witte of Ursus, she truly did not recognize a single soul among the remaining delegates.
She noticed the envoy from Yan was a middle-aged Lung, holding a complex title in Lungmen—a high-ranking official of the Second Class, which reportedly carried immense weight within the empire's administration.
When the grand arrivals finally concluded, Jeanne sat inside Pope Yvangelista's private office, her face stiff from holding a smile for so long. She collapsed against her chair, staring up at the ceiling in complete exhaustion.
"Greeting diplomats is infinitely harder than fighting!" Jeanne groaned to the Pope. "If I had a choice, I'd rather step outside and duel them all—winner takes all!"
She knew the idea was absurd, but the exhausting protocol of statecraft had thoroughly drained her energy.
Yet, reflecting on the heavy burden Pope Yvangelista was about to shoulder, her own weariness seemed insignificant. The old man was about to step onto a very real battlefield.
He was heading into a war fought without blades or spells—a confrontation far more taxing than physical combat, demanding every ounce of his mental fortitude.
"This is the price of civilization," Pope Yvangelista remarked with a gentle smile, amused by her dramatic sigh. "Because we wish to spare our lands from the flames of war, we must wield unseen blades across the negotiating table, straining with all our might to secure what matters most."
Watching her, the old leader recalled his own days as a Cardinal, when he too had uttered identical complaints and felt overwhelmed by political burdens.
Now, decades of experience allowed him to navigate these treacherous waters with ease. He remained confident that Jeanne, too, would grow to master these responsibilities in time.
Youths always grew. Just as he and Agenir had grown decades ago, Jeanne and the younger generation of Laterano would eventually step up to carry the world on their shoulders.
Inside the main summit hall, representatives from every sovereign state were seated around a massive circular table. Logos sat among them, feeling a subtle pulse of tension in his chest.
He had braced himself for severe pushback, yet taking his seat proved far smoother than anticipated. Though suspicion lingered in the air, the delegates exercised remarkable discipline.
None of them were the hosts of this event, and few nations were as aggressively confrontational as Ursus, so no one made an overt scene despite their subtle displeasure.
However, a different complication arose—a noblewoman seated nearby kept casting lingering, overly friendly glances in his direction. Logos could only return her attentiveness with polite nods while frantically trying to devise a way to escape her unwanted charm.
Yet, the primary focus of the assembly was not Kazdel. Though the Sarkaz were historically feared, their fragmented realm currently posed little immediate threat as a minor power. Instead, all eyes were fixed on the mighty nations gathered on one side of the table.
Iberia, Yan, Ursus, and Victoria.
A group of delegates had already clustered around High Inquisitor Carmen—the representative of Iberia—inquiring about recent developments, with Yan and Ursus displaying particularly intense curiosity.
As the nations engaged in low murmurs, the host of Laterano finally made his grand entrance.
Pope Yvangelista approached the head of the table dressed in immaculate white robes beneath a vivid scarlet ceremonial mantle. His snowy beard bore witness to his advanced years, yet the sharp, fiery determination in his eyes belonged to a youth in his twenties.
"Welcome to Laterano, honored guests," Pope Yvangelista spoke, his voice carrying clearly across the silent hall. "I extend my deepest gratitude to each of you for placing your trust in Laterano, allowing us to gather here today to deliberate upon a matter... that directly threatens the very survival of every nation present!"
The Pope's tone was deadly serious, leaving no doubt that this was no mere diplomatic posturing.
Every delegate straightened in their seats, their expressions turning solemn as they prepared to hear the revelations to come.