"Pity is an evil act?" Andoain found this sentence impossible to comprehend. Since when was pitying and sympathizing with those in suffering a mistake?
His eyes remained fixed on Jeanne, waiting to hear how she planned to explain such a statent. If she couldn't provide a satisfactory answer, he would have to retreat and wait for the next opportune mont to strike. He couldn't tell what the old man was plotting, sitting there so calmly. The current situation was decidedly unfavorable for him.
"You might not understand, but it's true. Sotis pity is an evil—an act of malice sufficient to destroy countless innocent people. Much like what you are proposing," Jeanne said, eting Andoain's bewildered gaze.
"Your wish is noble, and aiding the suffering is a beautiful desire. But your error lies in trying to drag other innocent people—ordinary people—down into the depths with you."
No matter how holy or selfless the world portrayed the Sankta, Jeanne knew one thing for certain: the vast majority of people in this city were just ordinary citizens. They were simple people with simple dreams. Compared to the citizens of other nations, they just happened to have a more devout faith and a few 'lively' hobbies.
They didn't possess Andoain's strength. He could traverse the lands of Kazdel with ease, but these people could not. If they wandered into such territory, their only end would be death at the hands of Sarkaz rcenaries, who would take their Patron Firearms as trophies.
"Even if there is so logic to your words, I still believe my position is correct. A Laterano with this capability should save others." Andoain was incredibly stubborn. He refused to change a viewpoint he had held for so many years.
That's exactly the problem! Jeanne roared internally. She saw exactly where he was stuck. He stood purely on the side of the weak, demanding endless sacrifice from those living better lives.
"If that's the case, why don't you go to Victoria or Ursus and demand the sa? Given their size, they could save far more people than Laterano ever could."
Great, we're back to square one. Talking to this man was exhausting. Jeanne wondered how Senior Martha, who could ta dragons with her words, had developed such legendary eloquence. Right now, Jeanne's strongest impulse was to give him a headbutt to see if it would wake him up. Or perhaps she should try dealing with him the way she dealt with Gilles?
In this short span of ti, Jeanne felt a profound ntal fatigue. This guy was like a boulder—even his brain seed to be solid stone.
"Why not demand it of other nations..."
In any other situation, Andoain would have argued that this city was a paradise, a city of miracles. But now, he actually began to think seriously. Why hadn't he sought support from other countries?
The answer was obvious. Even if he could reach the upper echelons or the rulers, they would likely slap him out of the room the mont he proposed his ideas. Or worse, he would be hunted down. Those people wouldn't agree with him; even Andoain recognized that other nations were fundantally selfish.
Only Laterano would listen. Only Laterano would sympathize with others and possess the potential to help. This was the knowledge Andoain had been fed since childhood—that holy Laterano was a paradise capable of relieving all the world's suffering. That was what the old missionary in Rocamarea
had told him.
While his core ideology hadn't changed, his obsession with Laterano loosened slightly under Jeanne's questioning. But one crucial question remained. Why was Iberia—a land with equally devout faith—not saved?
He looked at Jeanne and demanded an answer for the suffering of Iberia and Rocamarea. A nation where people recited scriptures every day, yet were never rescued.
Jeanne shook her head. She truly sympathized with a nation enduring such disaster, but she had never seen Iberia with her own eyes, nor did she know what the "Profound Silence" really was. She couldn't comnt on it.
She had dealt with Columbian companies and understood that land to an extent. She had heard stories of Victoria from travelers. But Iberia... a country currently closed off from the outside world? Jeanne couldn't speak on it responsibly.
"I don't know what happened in the Iberia you speak of, so I cannot comnt. But there is one thing I must say..." Jeanne looked solemnly at Andoain, who was struggling to stand. Despite his injuries, he remained upright through sheer force of will.
"Blindly praying to a god will not bring salvation. If a god's thod of saving people relied solely on how devout they were, then Laterano wouldn't need to work at all."
In Jeanne's view, even if she wanted divine help, she had to struggle and fight to earn that miracle. Much like her Revelation—it was rely a guide. It couldn't do the work for her. If she believed she could succeed without effort just because she had a Revelation, the miracle would surely abandon her.
As for "devout faith"... that was a strange tric. How do you asure it? To Jeanne, the Sankta seed very devout, even if they usually acted like lighthearted, carefree people. Deep down, they possessed a sincere heart; it's just that their devotion was woven into their daily lives.
From the fragnts she'd heard about Iberia, it sounded more like a form of "convert's zeal."
"Indeed, you haven't been to Iberia, so you cannot judge. And living in this paradise, how could you possibly know their faith?" Andoain looked at Jeanne, thinking he saw her dismissive view of Iberian faith in her eyes. His pale face flushed red with anger. He couldn't accept such a judgnt from soone who hadn't endured a harsh environnt.
Even though Andoain had lived in Laterano for years, he had never seen this girl. In his mind, she had to be a native-born Lateran, despite not being a Sankta.
After all, in most people's minds, Laterano wouldn't be so bored as to find a foreigner to be their national Saintess. Doing so would imply the Pope had eaten so many sweets he'd rotted his brain.
"Ahem, I should interject here," the Pope said, seeing the misunderstanding. "Though it may be hard to believe, Jeanne is not actually a Lateran. Strictly speaking, this is her first ti visiting the city."
Andoain froze, unable to process the possibility.
"To be precise," the Pope added, "Jeanne currently lives in the snowfields of Ursus. Though, she does have a Laterano residency permit now."
That final sentence convinced Andoain: Laterano was sick. Terribly, terminally sick.
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