Pope's Point of View Words that practically said: if you're going to brush off our goodwill, we have no obligation to cooperate.
Reading between the lines, I realized my failure.
Hadn't I been the one to suggest it?
That we should speak openly.
I'd disregarded my own words and doubted what White said, and this was the response I got.
Which meant, in her eyes, we'd already been judged as: Not worth cooperating with.
That was something I had to avoid at all costs.
The fact that she'd invoked the Black Dragon's name meant—at the very least—that she was connected to that personage.
Whether White herself was an Administrator or not, I still couldn't determine. But even just having a genuine link to a true Administrator meant she couldn't be dismissed.
Besides, the world's crisis appeared far more serious than we'd anticipated.
Soul attrition—no detailed explanation had been given as to what kind of phenomenon that was, so I could only speculate. But I could make rough guesses.
If the Black Dragon was involved, then its importance skyrocketed.
Far too high.
And when White's words implicitly asked how we, inhabitants of this world, could possibly be ignorant of it—well, I had no grounds to complain.
We were past the stage of probing for information.
The cooperation we'd been asked to provide was specifically about countermeasures against the Elves.
We had not been asked to cooperate on the world's crisis.
In other words, to White, the Divine Word Church was only worth that much.
From White's own mouth, the effort to save the world didn't require the Divine Word Church's help at all.
She'd told us as much from the very beginning.
I'd misunderstood, overestimated the Divine Word Church's standing, and paid the price.
I could not let the Church's credibility sink any further.
To do so would be to lose the only remaining thread that connected us to world salvation.
"You leave him alone with his mouth, he just runs it."
The one who spoke was the general who oversaw the Divine Word Church's military.
Before that mouth could open again, I spoke up.
"Rein yourself in, General."
The words "rein yourself in" made the general puff up with pride, but the words that followed—"General"—caused his expression to flip in an instant.
"I said, rein yourself in. If these negotiations fail because of you, understand that your head alone won't be enough to answer for it."
A warning—not just to the general, but to the others who had taken offense at White's remarks.
And also a signal to White's side that I considered this negotiation weighty enough to warrant such severity.
Honestly, what the general had done wasn't heavy enough to balance out the damage.
White might have written him off entirely after that remark.
If that truly came to pass, I might have to offer up not just the general's head, but those of his entire family and retainers, just to gauge White's mood.
The general was hot-headed, but he'd fought alongside us as a comrade all this time.
I couldn't lose him over something like this.
"My subordinate has been rude. If it displeased you, I'll have him removed."
My clumsy handling of the situation seemed to finally drive the point home to the other members: the people across the table were their superiors.
I'd warned them beforehand, of course. But none of them besides myself had ever faced someone truly above them, so the reality of it hadn't sunk in.
"Fine."
A single, curt word.
As good as saying: with or without you, it makes no difference.
That was what seemed to follow.
White showed no sign of rising from her seat.
She'd judged—just barely—that there was still enough value in exchanging words to stay.
If that was the case, then a chance to redeem ourselves still remained.
From here on, failure was not permitted.
I had to weigh every word with the utmost care.
"White's words have made me painfully aware of my own inadequacy. With that in mind, I would like to ask for your help—a small portion of it, at least. I am fully aware this is a brazen request, but would you be willing to consider it?"
First, establish even the thinnest thread of cooperation.
If negotiations collapsed here and now, the Divine Word Church risked falling steps behind the rest of the world's shifting landscape.
If cooperation could be established, there would be opportunities to earn trust.
And if that happened, perhaps we could learn about deeper matters.
For now, cooperate toward defeating the Elves.
To be frank, if we could bring down the Elves—creatures sheltered behind barriers and untouchable by normal means—that was a request we'd embrace with both hands.
Defeating the Elves would benefit both the Divine Word Church and the world, and could harm neither.
So yes, we would agree to this cooperation wholeheartedly.
Beyond that, we could only probe further once we'd earned White's trust.
Whether we could earn that trust would depend on our actions going forward.
"Being told that much today is enough to satisfy me. For now, you're saying you're willing to get on the same page—am I reading that correctly?"
"Yes. We will certainly prove useful to you."
The answer came without a beat of hesitation.
White's words made it clear: there was nothing more to discuss today.
There was plenty I still wanted to talk about, but there was no helping it.
Before this meeting even began, the only path left to us had been "yes."
Having answered "yes," I had nothing more to say to White.
Perhaps she would have shared more—but there was no point dwelling on that now.
The negotiation hadn't collapsed, but calling it a success would be a stretch.
Rather, it should be taken as having barely avoided failure.
I couldn't shake the impression that we'd been given a last-second reprieve from being abandoned.
"Then let's arrange a time soon to align on next steps. I'll be seeing myself out."
White moved to close things and started to rise from her seat.
"Wait."
"My turn to talk isn't over yet."
It seemed the meeting would continue after all.
And in a direction that was anything but favorable to us.