Andoain walked the path leading to the Basilica. He didn't choose the back alleys or hidden routes; instead, he strode down the center of the wide, main road.
He knew perfectly well that if the Pope didn't want to see him, he wouldn't be able to set foot inside that building no matter what he did. Conversely, if the Pope were intent on capturing him, he could fly and still find himself caught. Since that was the case, it was better to walk with his head held high. Regardless of the old man's attitude, he would at least have given his all.
The Basilica was eerily quiet. Andoain couldn't see a single Apostolic Knight patrolling the streets; they had seemingly vanished. Officially, the Pope had announced that the Knights were temporarily dispatched to maintain order at the Revelation Tower. As for the old man's true motive? Perhaps only he knew.
"Hm?"
Andoain glanced behind him. There was nothing there, yet he had felt a distinct surge of killing intent. It was like a searing blade, making him feel as though he were standing in the middle of a fire.
A faint smile touched his lips. It seemed she had come for him. But now was not the time for a reunion, and she appeared to be held back by something.
"Please step aside, Sir Patrizion! Otherwise, I will be forced to view your actions as harboring a wanted criminal and attempting to betray Laterano!"
Fiammetta looked terrifying. Rage had turned her eyes a dull red as she leveled her dual weapons at the towering Apostolic Knight in front of her. She couldn't understand—why! Mostima, Lemuen, and now even this man were standing in the way of her revenge!
Was she the one in the wrong? Or had these Sankta had their brains fried by that thing she couldn't comprehend—that thing called "Empathy"?
"Now, now, don't be like that, Dawn Destroyer... Alright, don't shoot, little Fi! Honestly, how do you get more disobedient the older you get?"
Patrizion wanted to keep up the banter, but seeing that his granddaughter was genuinely prepared to pull the trigger, he quickly backed down.
"If you're done with the boring small talk, step aside. I have a mission. Sir Knight, will you let us pass?" Fiammetta stared at the eccentric Knight, suppressing the urge to fire. Of course, the ammunition she currently carried couldn't even dent a fully armored Apostolic Knight. She just wanted this old man to stop blocking her path to the "rabbit." If he could just stay out of her way, that would be ideal.
And... that bastard Mostima wasn't helping her at all! If Mostima would just distract the old man for a second, Fiammetta would charge through even if it meant taking a few hits.
"Don't look at me like that! I can't raise a hand against an Apostolic Knight on Laterano soil! I'd be inviting way more trouble than I can handle!" Mostima raised her hands in a defensive gesture as she explained, facing Fiammetta's "I want to eat you alive" expression.
Fiammetta believed maybe a quarter of what came out of Mostima's mouth. It was obvious—she didn't want Fiammetta to see Andoain.
"Fine, I'll find my own way. I'm saying it one last time! Old man, MOVE!" She loaded an explosive bolt into her crossbow. If he didn't move, she'd fire and see who broke first. She knew she was using her own safety to threaten him, but she didn't care anymore. She could apologize later, but right now, no one was going to stop her from settling the score!
"And I will say it one more time: No! This is the Pope's order! He wants you to exercise restraint when the target appears. Let him go in and finish what he has to say first."
This was exactly why the Pope had sent Patrizion here. The Pope believed that only he could make Fiammetta regain even a shred of calm.
Hearing this, Fiammetta finally lowered her weapon. It was too late. Andoain had already entered the Basilica. She couldn't very well blow up the Pope's residence.
"The message is delivered. Why are you still here? Don't tell me you're going to make me let him go when he comes back out, too?" Fiammetta had no patience left for the Knight.
"I need to make sure you aren't in danger! Facing that man is too risky for the two of you alone. At the very least, I can lend a hand." As he spoke, he hefted his revolving gun. The weapon in his hand was more than twice the size of the one he had given Lemuen; its power was terrifying to imagine.
"Not necessary. This is my business! Besides, if you use that thing on him, wouldn't you break the Law?" Fiammetta knew the Law's restrictions on Knights were exceptionally harsh. If he faced Andoain and used that gun, things could go south fast.
"If he tries to harm you, I'd kill him even if it meant Falling! Besides, he's a wanted man! Have you ever heard of a Knight Falling for taking down a criminal?"
"You... forget it. You should just go back." Fiammetta didn't know how to react to the old man. She just wanted him far away.
"You two have such a lovely family dynamic," Mostima chimed in.
"Of course! We're family! Why else would it have to be me?"
"Shut up, Mostima! And for the last time, we aren't blood-related!"
Andoain walked through the empty halls of the Basilica. The building, usually bustling with activity, was filled with a profound silence. This was a sight Andoain had never seen. Even late at night, the Basilica was always a hive of light and movement. Now, the only lights remaining were those illuminating the path to the Pope's private quarters.
Clearly, the Pope intended to see him. He just wondered if a room full of Apostolic Knights was waiting for him the moment he stepped inside.
But Andoain wasn't worried about that. He only wanted an answer—an answer a Sankta shouldn't ask for, a nightmare that had plagued him for over a decade.
"Welcome, young man. Although I should have had you arrested, this old man is quite curious: why have you come to see me?"
Inside, the Pope's mind was racing. Too many things had happened today—so many that his aging brain was struggling to process them all. Everything was too coincidental, as if someone had plucked the strings of fate to weave unrelated events together into one moment.
And at the center of it was the young man before him—a boy he once held in high regard, who had then committed an unforgivable act. His eyes scrutinized the fugitive who had been missing from Laterano for years. Andoain looked thinner than before, his life over these years clearly hadn't been easy. Yet, his eyes were brighter. He seemed to have found his direction, even if he was still a little lost.
"Perhaps I should say good evening, or Happy New Year? Great Yvangelista XI?" Andoain looked at the old man's calm smile. He felt a sudden urge to interrogate him, but he suppressed it. Such a confrontation would be useless. Excessive emotion would only make him look like a madman, and a wise man would never debate a lunatic.
"Oh, if you were the man you used to be, I might invite you for tea. But not now. Andoain, tell me your purpose for being here!" The Pope's gaze sharpened, his grandfatherly demeanor vanishing instantly, replaced by the piercing majesty of the Pontiff.
"Ah, and by the way... I am currently Yvangelista XI.V. After all, those fellows haven't officially passed the motion to change my title back yet. I'll just have to make do with this awkward 'point-five' title for now."