Since the secret room was set behind a mural on the second floor, they could clearly see what was happening in the lobby through a one-way window. Meanwhile, pipe-like devices channeled conversations from every room into this chamber.
The trio watched as a Laterano Bishop dressed in crimson robes entered the hall. A smile sat on his face, making him appear quite amiable as he skillfully greeted the surrounding reporters.
"Those clothes... are they Shroud of the Saints? Did they already turn the Shrouds I gave them into robes and send them over in such a short time?"
The moment Jeanne saw the red robes worn by the bishops, she recognized them as the batch of Shrouds she had gifted to Laterano a few days ago. These weren't the high-quality Shrouds like the one Alina wore—those required a great deal of her energy to craft—but rather a mass-produced version she had personally blessed after the fabric was woven.
Though labeled "mass-produced," they were still capable of defending against ordinary attacks. Their greatest advantage, however, was their speed of production.
As far as Jeanne knew, Laterano had lost the method of crafting such holy relics. The Shrouds currently held by the Church had degraded into ordinary fabric, long since stripped of any power. Jeanne remembered the excited look in that bishop's eyes when she had handed them over. She had assumed Laterano would still be debating how to handle these items; she hadn't expected to see them make an appearance so soon.
"Of course they made them into robes. According to the ancient traditions of the Laterano Church, every Bishop should receive a robe made of the Shroud of the Saints upon the day of their inauguration."
Lemuen found it perfectly normal that the robes had been finished so quickly and were already being worn by the accompanying bishops. However, looking at the high-spirited bishops below, she sighed:
"But that tradition stopped long ago. Laterano simply didn't have enough Shroud material to make robes anymore. Before today, the only time I saw robes like those was in a museum."
Lemuen's memory of that museum robe was quite vivid. It was from a primary school field trip. That garment, having lost its power, was so old that even its color had begun to fade.
Listening to Lemuen's account, Jeanne couldn't help but feel a touch more respect for Laterano. She had heard the bishops say that the "glory of the Lord" was fading, but she hadn't realized it had receded to such an extent.
No, this wasn't just "fading." To a more extreme observer, one might think God had abandoned them, perhaps even leading them to discard their faith entirely...
Wait. Angels who discard their faith? Wouldn't that be Fallen Angels? Jeanne felt she might have guessed the reason behind the birth of Azazel and how the Fallen Angels connected to this place came to be.
"So, Laterano once had an era where miracles were common? When exactly did the fading of Laterano's miracles begin?"
Jeanne was curious. While miracles aren't things that appear every day, they usually don't vanish suddenly without warning to the point where they can never be found again. What kind of anomaly had occurred in Laterano to cause the light of God to stop shining there—even to the point of ignoring their existence until her arrival began to change things?
"Hmm... I can't remember the exact year. But it's said that a very serious disagreement once broke out among the twelve main cities of Laterano. Everything changed after all the Sankta in the city of St. Judas turned into Fallen Angels."
Even after hearing Lemuen's response, Jeanne couldn't grasp what had actually happened. An entire city of Sankta falling at once was a staggering thought.
"After that, those Fallen Angels left the lands of Laterano. Consequently, the city of St. Judas was abandoned. Later, the Church built a new main city, St. Matthias, to replace it."
As she spoke, Lemuen was incredibly grateful for her own brain. Fortunately, it hadn't returned all the history knowledge she hated as a child to her teacher; otherwise, she would have had to admit she'd forgotten today. This was all taught in junior high history class. Back then, she really disliked her history teacher and hadn't studied the subject properly at all. She never expected she'd be able to recall so much; Lemuen felt that sometimes, if you don't push yourself, you really can't know the limits of the Sankta race.
While they were chatting upstairs, the crowd below had moved into a specific room. After the two parties met, they prepared to begin the day's negotiations.
Talulah was busy rummaging through the speaking tubes for the corresponding room. Although she knew public speeches rarely contained important information, she still wanted to hear what they had to say.
Soon, she found the correct tube. Through some unknown principle, even though they were eavesdropping, the voices coming through sounded amplified. It was exactly as they imagined: the speech wasn't particularly important. However, the bishops' oratorical skills were truly top-tier; they could take a script as dry as a scripture and make it sound as exciting as a ball game.
"Truly worthy of being chosen from among so many bishops! This level of oratory could beat most bishops and maybe even go toe-to-toe with the Pope himself."
Lemuen listened listlessly. Despite the bishop's brilliant delivery, she was starting to feel drowsy, looking as if she might drift off at any moment.
"I really miss this style of speaking," Jeanne mused. "It's exactly like the principal's speech at the start of the school year when I was little! But I haven't heard this kind of sleep-inducing voice in three years..."
Jeanne looked at Lemuen's near-slumbering state with some confusion. Did this kind of voice have a hypnotic effect on Sankta? Why didn't she feel sleepy at all?
"Is it because you graduated so long ago and haven't heard a school speech in forever?" Jeanne asked curiously. "I didn't think you were the nostalgic type. But you know, you could have asked someone to record it for you if you missed it that much?"
Lemuen suddenly sat bolt upright, her fists clenched as if recalling a particularly painful memory. She spoke with a voice full of resentment:
"It's all because of my unlucky sister! Every time there was a ceremony like this when she was in school, she would absolutely blow the place up! In the three years of her school career, I never got to hear a single complete speech!"
As she spoke, Lemuen's eyes burned with the fire of anger toward her sister. The worst part was that every time the school called for a guardian, her parents would push the trouble onto her!